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The Xeoforce Equation	By : Esequell Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 5632 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I'm not making any money from this.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
A/N - Hi folks. Welcome to my latest project. Let me know what you think! Reviews are my fix ;)
This story follows on after the events of Deathly Hallows with the exception that Hermione doesn't marry Ron after all ;) Tricky, tricky chaos theory *evil smirk* That darned butterfly just won't stop flapping about in my head...o.O
Obviously, characters belong to JK Rowling and I'm not making any money from this, (I am, however, enjoying myself IMMENSELY.)

The Xeoforce Equation
1. The Waiting Viper
It was easy to be brave - and pragmatic - when half a country lay between Hermione Granger and Malfoy Manor. Her stomach twisted into knots as the wrought iron gates morphed into an ugly face. Heavy wards caressed her skin and the scarred letters that Bellatrix Lestrange had carved into her forearm tingled unpleasantly. Hermione felt sick.
'State your purpose,' the iron gatekeeper barked.
'Hermione Granger. I'm here about the Xeoforce Equation.'
The gate arched an eyebrow. Hermione felt a nervous laugh bubble up. The trademark expression was just so quintessentially Malfoy.
The Manor was almost minimalistic in its post-Gothic design. The grounds were deserted and stank of neglect. Shadows were thick between the courtyard trees and patches of dense fog haunted the lawns, revenants in cobweb shrouds. A lone albino peacock strutted proudly around the risen birch roots, his pink feet a splash of colour against the frost.
A diminutive and barely clothed House Elf apparated to the gate and bowed lopsidedly.
'Good day, Miss Hermione Granger,' she squeaked. 'Misty is so very pleased to make your acquaintance. Please come in.'
Hermione had the feeling she'd been recognised, though she wasn't sure if it was for her part in the War or her work for House Elf rights. Misty huddled in a dirty pillowcase; an inadequate defence against the bitter November chill.
Heavy warding parted like dense cloud. The gate morphed back to its usual design and the iron took on a sparkly, translucent texture that indicated she should walk straight through. She found it deeply unnerving. As she crossed the threshold, a wash of powerful magic sensitized her skin and the atmosphere lightened immediately. She sighed a breath of relief. It was only after she'd left behind the sense of intense desolation and the comparative gloom of the outer defences that it dawned on her; the grounds were enchanted to be unappealing to strangers.
Misty lead Hermione along a gravel path that clicked and popped under her boot-heels like dry little finger bones. A dry topiary peacock listed to one side, root-and-earth innards disembowelled from the bowl of a clay pot. Unmaintained hedgerows grew wild and grass as tall as her knees was trodden into pathways to outhouses and rockeries. There were black hex-marks on the walls and pillars. Every window was dark, curtains drawn in the fashion of a home in mourning except for a few rooms on the second floor.
Misty scampered ahead to be out of the cold. In sympathy with her obvious discomfort, Hermione hurried to the front steps. She was glad to find the foyer warm. Hermione shed her scarf and coat. Misty levitated them onto a hook in a little closet under the stairs. Hermione's overstuffed book-bag chose that moment to finally relinquish its fingernail hold on life. The strap snapped and hit the floor like a fallen snake. Her Ministry Guidelines for the Rights of House Elves leaflets scattered the flagstones like disobedient grey butterflies.
'I'm sorry,' Hermione started to pick them up.
'No, no Miss!' Misty reassured her quickly. 'It's not a problem. Misty will see to it!'
The Elf scurried about, gathering the half-sheet papers into a neat pile. She went into the darkness under the stairs to pluck one that had gone a bit further than its peers and returned to hand them over carefully. For a moment, Misty eyed the topmost sheet with a keen interest. When she realised Hermione was watching her closely, she submerged her curiosity under a mask of innocence and stepped back to fold her little hands like a child trying to look innocuous.
'Follow Misty, please, Miss. Master Lucius will see you now.'
The Manor smelled familiar; old stone, ancient books and velvet undisturbed for years. It brought back unpleasant memories that Hermione tried to ignore. The grey marble she remembered from her one and only visit was actually streaked with white veins by daylight, lending the surfaces a soft, elegant shimmer. A set of double doors left of the staircase with twin bronze handles jarred a sense of recollection, though she couldn't recall why they were important.
Misty's bare feet slapped softly on the stone steps. Hermione's heels were uncomfortably loud. The staircase wound about in an elegant curve that lead to a second floor landing. She guessed, by the layout, that they'd just walked over the drawing room.
The stairs brought them out in a long red corridor that was lent natural light by tall windows to her right, each supported by a single stone cross. Busts and paintings haunted the alcoves. Most of them scowled as she passed. The first room on the left was a reception room. The drapes were missing, the light inside harsh and undiluted. House Elves busily scrubbed every surface. The second room was an office.
As Misty brought her to a wide set of double doors and knocked, Hermione peered over the balcony. The ballroom below was in a state of undress, the drapes and nets missing from tall windows. An impressive chandelier sat upon a wooden frame. House elves, clad similarly to Misty meticulously polished every crystal facet. Others scrubbed the floor and walls, their big eyes reflective like dogs at night. Their abrasive brushes were loud in the quiet. Nobody spoke.
The doors opened onto a study that was as large as her sitting room. It was devoid of the paperwork in the office and it boasted a mahogany desk big enough for three to sit comfortably. Two of the four walls were lined with bookcases and one with windows. Every volume was neatly placed, dusted and probably aired to boot. She couldn't imagine Malfoy allowing an expensive collection to dampen and spoil. The wood was dark and the furnishings exquisite. A few sparse, magical photographs littered the grey stone mantel. She noticed a picture of a much younger Lucius, his arms around a little Draco. They were sharing a smile over handfuls of Autumn leaves.
Overstuffed red leather seats looked well used. The expensive rugs nearest the bookshelves and fire were worn almost bare by constant footfall. A Christmas fire crackled in the grate and lent her frozen extremities some much-needed warmth. The familiar scent of wood-smoke threatened to snatch her into a memory of her younger years, when security was a given. In the alcove nearest the tall windows, a cabinet harboured an extensive collection of decanters and bottles beside a huddle of clean glasses upon a silver tray.
Lucius Malfoy stood very close to the fire with his arm braced on the mantel. His slightly straggly hair had grown long enough to tickle his ribs. In his free hand he cradled a crystal wineglass, half full. He turned to appraise her and Hermione felt the barb of a vicious mental insight as keenly as if he'd insulted her aloud. The man was a shadow of his former self. He'd lost a lot of weight and there were unbecoming shadows under his flinty blue eyes. His proud posture hid a prolonged and profound exhaustion. Though clean and well presented, he was unmistakeably diminished.
'Mr Malfoy. I hope I'm not putting you out,' she said quickly. 'Your cooperation really means a lot to us. We'd have to go to extreme lengths for this information otherwise. Thank you.'
'As the Minister so often sees fit to remind me, Miss Granger, we must all do our part,' his tone carried a hint of bitter lemon and at the sound of his cultured drawl sent a jolt of very real fear through her.
He still sounds the same.
'This is your home, Mr Malfoy. I wouldn't presume,' she felt she'd mastered diplomacy with that sentence.
He finished the wine and poured himself another glass. His hands trembled subtly. It made him look vulnerable which in turn made Hermione uniquely uncomfortable.
'What an admirable quality,' his eyes glittered like shards of very fine, blue glass. 'How very...Gryffindor of you.'
She smiled tightly.
'It's been a long time since school, Mr Malfoy. Don't you think we're a bit past Hogwarts house politics?'
His lips twisted into his trademark little smirk.
'I worked at the Ministry for twenty years. You'd be surprised how often Hogwarts house politics come up in conversation.'
He detached from the mantel and straightened. His lips lifted, humourlessly.
'How fitting it should be you,' he said. 'I imagine the Minister is pleased in his...machinations.'
'I-I'm not Ministry funded,' she straightened and tried to control her anxious voice. 'This is private research, on behalf of Lox Labs.'
'But public endorsement can go a long way to securing funding, Miss Granger,' his eyebrow arched pointedly. 'The Minister has certainly done his best to indicate his support.'
That was certainly true.
She'd last glimpsed the Malfoys at the Hogwarts feast just after the fall of Voldemort. Narcissa, who had risked so much to save Harry's life, looked ill-at-ease and Lucius eyed those closest to him under pink-lined lids as though he expected to be hauled away without a trial. He was broken, his shattered composure held together by strands as fine and fragile as his own hair. Few had worked up the courage or desire to speak to them, Hermione included. His eyes were frozen.
'The book you seek is very rare and needless to say, extremely valuable. You will exercise the greatest caution with it,' he loomed over her. 'It must not leave the library.'
She was almost overcome by irrational fear. Harry had taught her a lot of defensive spells from his Auror training. Her hand twitched for her wand, hidden in a secret pocket in her work robes. He froze. His eyebrow twitched upward, a silent challenge. She managed to release the handle and breathed out slowly, steadily.
'I'll be careful,' she tried to keep her voice even. It was difficult. Her mind played back images from that night. She'd done her best to prepare for coming here but to her chagrin, she realised now that no book could protect her from her own memories. She was more afraid to be back than she'd ever want to admit.
Lucius straightened. He gestured to the doors with an arched eyebrow.
'Shall we, then?'
She followed him up a second marble staircase onto the third floor.
He pushed open the heavy oak doors and gestured for her to precede him. She stopped instantly. Hunger chased unadulterated shock across the canvas of her face.
So expressive, Lucius thought with amusement as he watched her soak up the sight and smell of Bookworm Heaven. He'd not seen such appreciation for his collection in so long it was almost pleasant to witness, because he too had a love of books.
'Oh my God!' she exclaimed, as she spun on the spot.
A black iron spiral staircase joined a mezzanine floor, one at each end of the hall. An artistic, faceted ceiling was designed to naturally enhance the available light. It was airy, beautiful and bountiful, a stark contrast to the rest of the house. It was also spotless and clearly loved. It had the air of a room used often, the warmth of recent habitation and human energy.
'I had no idea you had so many,' she said unguardedly.
'Why would you?' he asked with obvious distaste. 'It's not as if I ever intend to make it a public library, Miss Granger.'
His tone suggested that he found the idea of any part of his collection becoming a public anything to be very distasteful.
A deep grate was set far enough into the broad chimney base to minimise the risk of sparks. It crackled with a fresh fire. She tingled with familiar excitement as she imagined reading in here and was instantly distressed that even if she camped out here and never left, she couldn't possibly read them all in one lifetime.
'This way,' he lead the way through the high shelves by wand-light, where the shadows deepened despite the huge windows. His voice floated to rub her ears, soft, sinuous and a little frightening.
'You must be very brave to come back here alone, Miss Granger. Considering you've had such...direct...experience of this house.'
Her heart rate picked up.
'I was only here once, Mr Malfoy, and it was a long time ago.'
He turned. His hair fell in twin curtains. He drew himself up, his lips upturned in a smirk. By God he's tall!
'Still. It was memorable,' he arched that eyebrow again.
Hermione laid a hand on her ribs where the worst of the after-effects tended to strike.
'I'm sure you'd know that the Cruciatus leaves a physical trace long after the curse is cast. You must have as many reminders as I do,' she made it sound almost innocent.
Lucius smiled, one side only, humourless.
'I'm sure Muggles have something for pain?' He sounded every bit as innocent as she.
'It doesn't work on witches,' she let a little bite creep into her voice.
'What a shame,' he murmured, insincerely.
He turned the light of his wand on a greyish volume that was at least six inches thick.
'I trust you can manage,' he said, an unmistakeable edge of sneer in his voice. 'Do mind the steps, Miss Granger.'
He left her. She watched his back. You too, she thought, I hope you trip over your Pureblood pride on the way down.
'Asshole,' she mouthed to the shelf.

oOo
Hermione thought of Gillian cooped up in the lab, her grey hair frazzled from the heat of the cauldron. She felt the tiniest quiver of guilt that she was enjoying her reading so much.
The book wouldn't be a quick study. She wondered how Malfoy would take that. Parts of it were written by hand in a rune-system that was simply murderous to translate but it was becoming worth every minute because already she was uncovering an alternative use of Willow in diagnostic spells, which was an avenue she hadn't even considered trying. It was certainly far safer than Nightshade, which Hermione knew the Department for the Regulation of Magical Medical Research would never consent to test on human subjects.
Malfoy Sr came to the library with Misty in tow. The diminutive elf wrung her hands as Lucius spun on one dragon-hide heel and jabbed his cane-tip at the precariously stacked pile of books on the edge of a desk. Hermione noticed the gap on the upper shelves and assumed Misty was simply cleaning.
'Would you care to explain why these have not been returned to their proper place?' he enquired, softly.
Misty shifted uncomfortably. She said something quiet.
'Speak up!' Lucius snapped.
'Master...the water leaked from the Study of Oceans again-'
Malfoy put his cane down with a thump. Misty flinched. He stared blue daggers at her.
'Have you never heard of a drying charm? Come, Misty. Surely you can manage that?' he sneered.
'Y-Yes, master,' Misty bowed low.
'While you're at it, perhaps a ball and chain for that blasted sister of yours!'
Misty cringed.
'Please, Master-' she whispered. 'Misty speak with Bobbly...Bobbly not mean to! She have nightmare and disapparate by accident!'
Malfoy arched an eyebrow at her.
'Set it to rights. Immediately!'
He glanced once at Hermione.
'Something to say, Miss Granger?' he sneered.
She gave a light shrug and shook her head.
'No,' she said, a little defensively.
She pointedly returned her attention to the book.
The tap, tap, tap of his cane faded as he strode away. Hermione arched an eyebrow. Peevishness and petulance, she thought, as her quill scratched the page. Hardly attractive qualities in such an outwardly handsome a man. No wonder Narcissa divorced him.

oOo
Misty worked diligently for a long time, drying each page carefully. She scrubbed the shelves and table at angles awkward even for an elf and replaced each book with the utmost respect. When she was done she padded over to Hermione.
'Are you OK?' Hermione couldn't help herself. It was only a civil question, after all. What Lucius Petulance Malfoy doesn't know won't hurt him.
'Misty is...tired-' she stopped dead and her periwinkle blue eyes stretched wide in horror. 'Oh!' she wailed. 'Misty is bad elf, BAD ELF!'
Hermione jumped out of her chair to catch Misty as she began banging her head on the polished wooden edge of a bay window seat. The diminutive elf was a lot stronger than she looked. Her persistence earned her a trickle of blood and only then did she stop, sway, and sit down with a thump at Hermione's knee.
Misty eyed Hermione anxiously. Wringing her hands in an obvious show of guilt, her bright, teary eyes slid over to Hermione's broken bag.
'Miss-?' Misty enquired politely. 'Misty wonders...what is those papers?'
Hermione fetched one.
'Misty...you know the rights are protected by law now? I mean, he can't hurt you any more!'
'Shhh!' Misty pleaded desperately. 'Master will be angry!'
Hermione nodded, defeated. She held out a leaflet. Misty hesitated, her fingers trembling but she took it eventually and cast suddenly damp little eyes over the details of the Rights for House Elves meetings. Most were held in private by a third party organiser, usually a Ministry volunteer. They were open to any elf, and by law said elf no longer had to declare details of their attendance to their master. Hermione was willing to bet Misty would find her way to the next one.
She folded the paper carefully and stashed it inside her pillowcase.
'Would Miss like something to eat?' Misty picked herself up. 'Bobbly has prepared a joint of beef for Master's dinner but much of what she cooks is wasted. Master is not often hungry.'
Misty looked like she might cry if Hermione refused but she wanted to cause as few ripples as possible for now. Turning up here and eating his food might be overstepping an invisible mark and what she'd so far gleaned from the book was too valuable to miss for the sake of a sandwich.
'I've bought my own, thank you.'

oOo
Lucius stood too close to the fire. Lately he couldn't get warm. His toes were always frozen. His very core seemed to reject all heat except that which could be provided by a very hot bath. He couldn't stay in the bathroom all day, it would arouse suspicion. The last thing he wanted was for Draco to come poking around again trying to help. Lucius grimaced at the mirror. He felt weak and headachey. Not at all like himself.
Misty brought his afternoon tea. A pot, a home-baked scone with jam and a smattering of cream. It certainly hadn't escaped his notice that Misty brought his favourites when he was annoyed with her.
As she pushed the silver serving tray carefully onto his desk, a single perfectly white cube of sugar dislodged from her carefully constructed pyramid and broke into three on the Persian rug. It created a starburst of fine sugar dust. Misty bent to pick up the pieces and her folded Rights for House Elves leaflet fell out of her pocket. She startled.
She knew better than to imply guilty conduct by grabbing for it like it was a secret so she bent as calmly as she could. She could feel his gaze, heavy and cool on the back of her vulnerable, bare little neck. A single glance at his face was her only cane pinned it with a thud. Misty retracted her fingers, reeling in the knowledge that he'd almost hit her hand.
'What is this?' he asked coldly.
Misty shook her head quickly.
'Nothing, Master! Misty has just emptied the parlour bin...where she find it. Just an old scrap of paper.'
'Give it to me,' Lucius released his cane and held out his open hand.
Misty picked it up with trembling fingers and put it in his palm. At his hiss of annoyance she snatched it back, chewing her lip in fear and meticulously unfolded it. She presented it back to him, blank side up. He arched an eyebrow in clear irritation and turned it over. His jaw tightened, his lips thinned. His cold eyes chilled.
'What is this doing in my house?' he was so calm but Misty felt as though the oxygen had been vacuumed from the room.
'Misty sorry, Master!' she wailed.
'You rotten little rat!' he snarled. 'You dare-'
Incandescent with rage, he momentarily lost the ability to insult her and instead raised his cane. There was a thunk, a yelp, the sudden crack of disapparition and a vengeful cry of;
'MISTY!'
A second crack followed. The study was suddenly empty.

oOo
Hermione was actually comfortable. The fire warmed her back. The cold Winter morning had given way to a beautiful, if crisp day and the wide library windows afforded her an unrivalled view of the frosty gardens. She was just growing tired enough to warrant a quick break to stretch her eyes and legs when she heard the commotion. She followed the noise to the courtyard below, her nose pressed to the glass. A sheet of paper floated down in front of her. It was smouldering at the edges. She managed to catch -Rights for House Elves – before it extinguished in the gutter and the ink began to bleed in the standing rainwater.
Oh, bloody hell!
Misty emerged from the house, tripping and scrambling as Malfoy smacked her roundly about the ear with his cane. He followed her mercilessly onto the crunchy gravel, his face twisted in fury. Hermione ran. Right, down the stairs, left, through the big doors. She never went anywhere any more without memorising the route back. It was force of habit from too many years needing to escape people with dark wands and dark minds.
'MR MALFOY!' she yelled, as Lucius drew his wand with a grimace and pointed it at his elf.
Misty knelt on the frozen gravel, clutching a bleeding elbow, cowering as though she expected murder. Sudden hope kindled in her face as Hermione whipped her wand free of her back pocket and stepped between them.
'Stop it! What on Earth are you doing?!' Hermione held her hands up in almost-surrender, except that her wand still rested, albeit loosely, between her spread fingers. 'This is completely illegal!'
'How dare you lecture me in my own house!' His lips were pale in his fury, his eyes so piercing she began to worry if he could perform wandless magic just with his gaze.
'But it's not her fault! I was at the library early this morning to drop some leaflets off. I didn't have enough time to take them home and when my bag broke, they went everywhere! Misty must have found one.'
Tiny, warm hands wrapped around her leg. Hermione found her courage in that little reminder that the elf was very much alive.
'Misty pick it up, Master! Misty only clean...make house nice and fresh for the reopening!'
'You expect me to believe that you impudent little wretch!' Lucius snapped.
His wand slashed at the air. Hermione was ready. She deflected his simple stinger with more strength than he expected. His eyebrows went up in surprise.
So the Gryffindor chit has some ability with a wand. Perhaps a fraction more than expected, he grudgingly conceded, privately.
'Miss Granger,' he hissed at her, drawing himself up to his full - very imposing - height. 'Kindly step out of the way.'
Misty shrank in terror. Hermione shook her head.
'No. Because this is illegal, and you'd know that if you'd even read the Rights for House Elves. She could report you!'
'Move!' he snarled.
'No,' Hermione lifted her chin. 'This is my fault, Mr Malfoy. If you want to hex someone, you can hex me.'
He sighed, irritated.
'I don't wish to hurt you,' he enunciated clearly, as though he was trying to ensure maximum retention. He flicked his wand to the left as if to say, move. Hermione stood her ground.
'No, Miss!' Misty said finally. 'Misty lives to serve the noble house of Malfoy-'
Misty took two very courageous steps into view and cringed, head bowed, ready for her punishment.
'Don't,' Hermione turned her attention to Lucius. 'Don't do this. You can't! She's not even half your size!'
'Turn around, Miss Granger,' he commanded, coldly. 'And keep walking.'
She folded her arms and swallowed her tears.
'No,' she said obstinately. 'I'm going to stand here and watch you. It's not as if I haven't seen worse,' she added the last bitterly.
There was the slightest tremor in his hand. After too long holding a wand at arms length, muscles begin to betray. He'd hesitated too long and he knew it. He lifted his chin, eyes icy. His teeth flashed for a second before he sheathed the wand and snapped;
'Get out of my sight, Misty!'
Misty disapparated with a pop. Hermione lowered her wand. Silence reigned, unbroken. His face was so white he was almost ethereal in his anger.
'I'm sorry,' she tried, 'I just-'
'Get out,' he hissed venomously.
She sagged in disappointment. Unable to face returning to the vast library only to taunt herself with unobtainable knowledge, she summoned her things and left. The gate allowed her passage. She apparated to a street in wizarding London, her gut twisting with guilt and sagged against the brickwork, her throat full of tears. The few notes she'd gathered were in her bag. It hurt to think that there was so much more available, now out of reach.

oOo
Hermione leaned her backside on the edge of her desk. Lox Labs was little more than a tiny mobile unit on the edge of a Muggle council estate. The tiny office smelled of Hermione's favourite incense, which Gillian had affectionately nicknamed Tibetan Yak Shite. Gillian occupied the only office chair, her perfect legs crossed one over the other and her greying hair drawn up into a ponytail. Gillian had been a loyal friend to Hermione, especially after her messy and decidedly public breakup with Ron and by extension, most of the Weasley clan. That made telling her Second-In-Command the news even harder.
'It didn't go well,' Gillian observed. She was almost psychic in her understanding of Hermione.
Hermione wanted to cry. They'd both worked so hard for this, for the squibs and the victims of the Xeoforce curse. Why the Minister couldn't see his way to financing such important research as this, Hermione couldn't begin to guess.
'I fucked it up, Gilly,' Hermione chewed her lip anxiously, hovering on the edge of tears. 'I'm so sorry. He's just...such a bastard to his House Elves!'
Gilly's gaze dropped to the novelty Muggle pen in the pretty Guernsey pottery mug on her desk. It was a pink Emu made of feathers with googly eyes that rattled as you wrote.
'Did you get anything?'
'Some,' Hermione nodded. 'But I don't think going back for more is an option.'
Hermione rolled her eyes at her own stupidity and folded her arms protectively.
'He was beating this tiny little elf. The thing can't be a day under a hundred.'
Hermione swallowed back her tears and tried to hide the evidence of a wobbly lip behind her hand.
'I'm not surprised,' Gillian said. 'If his son's anything to go by anyway.'
'You know Draco Malfoy?' Hermione asked in surprise.
Gillian nodded.
'He's Assistant Head of Human Resources. My less than charming other half is his boss.'
'Human, Resources?' Hermione's mouth nearly dropped open. 'Firstly, I don't think he qualifies as exactly human, but secondly doesn't that job require an actual interest in the well-being of others?'
Gillian grinned.
'I think he's vying for Minister of Magic, 'Mione. I reckon he'd do just about any job if it meant getting there. That's not important. Give me a couple of days, let Dan call in a favour. Draco might be able to persuade Lucius to let us back in.'
Hermione glanced at her. Then she laughed tearfully.
'God, Gillian, I'm glad I hired you.'
Gillian smirked.
'I'm good for more than data analysis,' she said. 'Speaking of which, Number Seventeen is well and truly dead. Litter included.'
'And?'
'Well. The test revealed the implanted genetic anomaly correctly but Seventeen was just a sack of blood when I opened her up. Massive internal haemorrhage, pups too,' Gillian sat back and snapped her fingers. 'Like bloody water balloons.'
Hermione winced.
'Crap,' she whispered.
The Nightshade data had been promising indeed, but despite the success of the early trials at low doses, it seemed that at the level required for the test to work, the rats just couldn't metabolise the poison fast enough.

oOo
Draco was curious when he received a request to meet Hermione Granger. A study into the treatment of Squibbery for the victims of the Xeoforce Curse wasn't very high on his list of priorities. He had budgets to finalise, staff to manage and a young wife to impress with his next promotion. On the other hand, Granger still packed some punch with publicity. A Malfoy always made the most of his opportunities.
She looked very different. Her overly skinny frame had filled out a bit, lending her classic curves and a slender waist. It was the sort of waist he liked - somewhere to rest your hand and something to hold onto. Her once mad hair now fell around her shoulders in lustrous, gentle curls. They might have been charmed in, but he didn't think so. Her caterpillar eyebrows were gone, reduced to thin lines that accentuated her huge brown eyes. She hadn't gone up a cup size, which he was vaguely disappointed to see.
She held herself with a lot more confidence and he was pleased to see that she hadn't reverted to Muggle clothes. She stood in his office in a black skirt, heels and work robes. The ghost of tiredness hung around her eyes. It was probably down to her recent breakup. The Daily Prophet were determined to follow every move the Golden Trio made, even if more than half of the Trio were no longer on speaking terms. Skeeter was obsessed with anything even remotely connected to Potter. Once or twice, it'd been suggested she had a bit of a toy-boy crush.
'Thank you for seeing me, Draco. How are you?' she shook his hand and took the chair he offered.
He was a Malfoy after all, he wouldn't forget his manners.
'Knackered,' his eyebrows arched just like his Father's. 'Scorpius doesn't do bedtime. Barely even does sleep. I hear you and Weasley-' he smiled with less malice than she remembered. 'He was always a brat. I bet he got sick of you having the upper hand at everything except Quidditch.'
She smoothed the sadness that wanted to emerge. The way his family had snubbed her since the breakup was the worst part. She missed Molly more than Ron.
'That's about right,' she said, trying to keep it light.
Draco had grown a couple of inches and filled out.
'I read your last article. In fairness, I did find it...well presented,' he said.
A compliment? Wow, he really has changed his tune. Perhaps becoming a Dad has changed him?
'Thank you.'
'I don't think you're here for coffee and a catch-up,' he said then. 'If it's funding, you probably already spoke to the right person and asked the wrong questions. My Father is always looking for a way back into favour.'
There was a certain bitterness in his voice that suggested all was not well between Father and Son.
'Well,' she said nervously. 'Our research had hit a bit of a block and as it happens, your Father owns one of three surviving unabridged copies of a book. One is in Switzerland in the care of an old lady who won't answer our letters and the other went missing ten years ago. We might be able to track it down, but it'd be hard.'
Hermione steeled herself for the confession.
'I was hoping...you might be able to help me get access to the book. I need to make a breakthrough...or the project will be dead in the water by January. I didn't have time to get everything I needed before he asked me to leave.'
'Told you, more like,' Draco smirked.
He spoke again before she got chance to defend herself.
'I might be able to persuade him. If you'll credit our participation in the final papers. It helps to be seen to be actively supporting charities.'
'Of course,' she nodded, secret hope rising with relief like a coiled spring inside her.

oOo
A curt message arrived on the last day of November, borne by an elegant eagle owl whose bright orange eyes, Hermione found a little disconcerting. She could have sworn it sneered at her before it flapped away to the window, scattering research papers in its wake. It was an invitation to resume her work at Malfoy Manor. She Floo'd Gillian and asked to meet her in the Triwizard Cup just off Diagon Alley, a shady, off-the-beaten-track little pub where it was easy to stay clear of cameras. Success called for a drink, or maybe three.

oOo
Gravel crunched her favourite knee-high boots. They were soft black leather with a buckle across the ankle. They left a few inches of black tights bare before her legs disappeared into a simple black skirt. She'd made an effort today, since she was unlikely to get covered in potions ingredients. She felt Malfoy might tolerate her more easily if she didn't look like something coughed out of a Saturday afternoon cinema.
Misty went out of her way to ensure Hermione was as comfortable as possible. She offered endless cups of tea, tended the fire so that it never burned down and even brought Hermione a blanket under the guise that the library could get chilly at times. The happy warmth threatened to send Hermione to sleep on her work. In the end, she sent Misty away as politely as she could with the assurance that there was absolutely nothing else she could do to make Hermione more comfortable. Then she shed the blanket and went to work.
An eerie, unfamiliar call summoned her to the window mid afternoon. An albino peacock preened the first pinfeathers of his magnificent tail on the haunches of a stone lion, a pair of which guarded the entrance to a great, circular garden. At the moment it was little more than a frosty, grassy path through coarse, tangled briars to a lonely stone fountain, devoid of life or movement. In the summer it was probably breathtaking.
The low cloud cover parted in a sudden December breeze. Winter sunshine glinted off the glass-topped table that was hidden behind a stack of chairs under the mezzanine floor. It was covered in a sheet which was tucked tidily under the four feet. A corner had come loose. Hermione crouched in the shadows and whispered; 'Lumos.'
Four desiccated House Elves held up the glass on shrivelled little hands. One of them had fingers missing. Their sunken sockets reminded her of dead birds. The taxidermist hadn't even bothered with glass eyes. They were stitched from groin to throat, slack, foul and shrivelled. Hermione pulled back so sharply that she nearly tripped on the hem of an expensive rug.
'Curious, Miss Granger?' asked Lucius icily.
Hermione spun.
'Oh God, you scared me!' she yelped, clutching her heart.
He nodded to the antique table.
'I'd advise you not to touch anything. The Manor is old and we have quite a few strange pieces.'
His gaze flicked up to her face.
'Draco once brought home several samples of your...work. Your campaign for House Elves, that is. I must say, they amused us all for quite some time.'
She fought not to fold her arms protectively, reminding herself that he was just goading her.
'I don't think there's anything funny about fighting for people's rights,' she said.
'People?' he queried, his lips tilted into a clever smirk.
'Yes,' she said. 'You may not think they qualify as people, but I do.'
'How quaint. Tell me,' he quirked a smile. 'How goes the campaign?'
'It's been met with some resistance,' she said drily.
'Well,' he smiled, 'I can't say I'm surprised. After all, what would a Muggle-born witch know of such things? Having never owned a house elf yourself, I'm sure you can understand that the grown-ups find your sentiments rather...naive,' he drawled, with false apology.
Hermione smiled and shook her head in disbelief. He gave her a cold smile.
'Good day, Miss Granger.'

oOo
Hermione pored over a page of unfamiliar runes, frustrated. The author, AM Anonymous, changed rune-systems often, as if to guard the secrets of the book from the uninitiated.
'Still here, Miss Granger?' Lucius drawled from the doorway. 'How determined you are.'
Hermione realised that the sun had gone down and Misty had been into the light the lamps and set charms in the rafters to provide light for reading.
'I'm sorry,' she smiled apologetically. 'I didn't realise.'
'Wouldn't you rather be out hunting the perfect Christmas gifts with Potter and Weasley?' he asked snidely.
'Actually, Ron and I aren't on speaking terms. And right now, this is a bit more important.'
She set down her quill with an edge of frustration. Lucius noticed how pink her cheeks had gone. He crossed the room to gaze down at her research, leaning idly on his cane.
'This is a dusty old book. I don't think it's been touched once since my Father's death. What...may I ask...are you looking for?'
'A rare potion. I found a reference in another book that suggested it might be here, but the rune-systems are heavily encrypted. The worst I've ever seen,' she sighed. 'I've got to figure it out. Hundreds of people were hit with the Xeoforce Curse during the War. Apparently, Voldemort considered being rendered a Muggle a far worse punishment than death, which is absolutely insane.'
Lucius smirked, a hint of genuine humour in there.
'The Dark Lord was not known for his grip on sanity,' Lucius said. 'It must be distressing, I imagine, to find oneself suddenly devoid of magic.'
'Yes,' she nodded. 'And considering that most of those hit were Muggle-borns through targeted attacks-'
'You consider it your personal crusade to restore balance,' he nodded sarcastically.
'Yes,' she nodded unapologetically. 'I do. And, since Squibbery is on the rise, pre-natal testing could save a lot of heartache.'
He straightened.
'Are you in favour of abortion, Miss Granger?' he quirked an eyebrow at her, his eyes chilly.
She folded her arms, slightly flushed.
'Don't tell me you're a pro-lifer,' she asked with a cold smile.
'That would be contradictory, wouldn't it?' he smirked.
'I think that under particular circumstances, for example, when a genetic condition is likely, or certain, to impact the...child...negatively. It hardly seems fair to bring someone into the world who'll never be accepted.'
Arithmancy wasn't his strong suit but Lucius knew enough to discern the meaning of the equation that stretched the length of three sheets of paper. It was spread out before her, incomplete and unbalanced despite many floating, holographic notes. He frowned lightly at it.
'You identify the genetic marker for Squibbery as a recessive gene, Miss Granger. May I ask...what would you suggest in the case of an arranged marriage, should both parents be found to be carriers?'
Hermione shrugged.
'Well, it'd be really stupid for them to marry, wouldn't it? I wasn't aware you knew anything about genetics Mr Malfoy.'
He cast her a disdainful look.
'I do read, Miss Granger.'
'It's Muggle science.'
'And?' his eyebrow arched.
Her eyebrows ascended in surprise.
'I doubt you fully understand the ramifications of your proposal, particularly with regards to Pureblood families. Squibbery is a rather...uncomfortable...matter. It's rarely discussed. Most would never consent to genetic profiling out of fear of stigma.'
'Well, when it's for the greater good-' she argued.
'I, for one would be wholly opposed to being reduced to numbers and stored on one of your...Muggle machines,' he sneered the last.
'And if it saved your future children from lifelong ridicule and disadvantage? Would you do it then?' she challenged.
'Thankfully, my days put to stud are over,' he drawled.
'Well...that hardly precludes the chance of love, Mr Malfoy.'
His eyebrows arched.
'Love?' he murmured, his eyes gone wide. 'My, my, Miss Granger. You're a romantic. How touching.'
'I prefer to think of it as being normal,' she said, as she began to stuff her papers into her bag. 'Thank you for the use of your book.'
'Where are you going?' he asked. She froze.
'Home, Mr Malfoy.'
'It's much quicker this way,' he gestured her towards the back of the library.
Under the mezzanine floor was a wooden door. It lead onto a dark, stone spiral staircase. Hermione gazed into the dark apprehensively. Lucius drew his wand with a flourish and a wordless Lumos.
'Shall we?' he gestured.
She could hear her own breathing in the dark. She didn't trust him. She'd never trust him. She followed down the thirty or so steps, trying to hold her breath to keep calm and the staircase emptied into the drawing room where Bellatrix had tortured her. She knew the smell of the cellar and the shape of the dead hearth.
Terror rose up to claw her resolve to shreds. She faltered, clutching her book bag, trembling. Fear and fury scaled her spine backwards like a mad scorpion under her blouse.
He waited silently on the long, rectangular rug. Triumph danced in his eyes, his lips formed a little smirk that left absolutely no question he intended to torment her. In that instant, she hated him.
'Is something the matter, Miss Granger?' he enquired, innocently.
'No,' she lied, as her eyes filled with tears.
Lucius smiled and stepped closer.
'Let me give you a word of advice, Miss Granger. That which you fear, can be used to control you,' he offered his hand.
She pulled away from him violently.
'Such a proud little Gryffindor,' he sneered. 'Come, come, Miss Granger. After all,' his eyebrow arched and his face split into a grin like a shark. He snapped the last with such bite that she jumped in fright; 'They are only memories!'
She pushed past him and ran for the door. His laughter echoed behind her. She cursed at the sky under her breath and hurried down the drive. She'd sooner choke on her tears than cry in front of Lucius Malfoy.

oOo
Lucius swirled the wine around his glass and lifted it to his lips. The study door opened with a soft click and he recognised the sound of his sons expensive work shoes on the polished wood. Draco helped himself to a glass of Firewhisky.
'How's Scorpius?' Lucius enquired coolly.
'He's well,' Draco said. 'I wish he'd sleep more.'
Lucius sipped his wine and grimaced. It wasn't the vintage that was upsetting him.
'And I suppose, meeting this possibly fictional Grandson of mine is still out of the question? Honestly. You won't listen to your Father but you'll dance to the tune of that harpy.'
'Astoria isn't the problem. It's Mrs Greengrass,' he did a passable impression of his Father's trademark sneer.
'I didn't mean Astoria,' Lucius amended. 'She's an odd girl, but decent enough despite her...unsavoury ideology.'
'But I love her,' Draco said plainly.
'Exactly,' Lucius had been willing to offer that one concession and in so doing, had saved his son the discomfort of an arranged marriage.
Draco sighed at his Father.
'You look a mess. I'm not bringing my son over here to watch you drink yourself to death. He deserves better.'
Lucius gazed at him coldly from behind a curtain of platinum hair.
'Surprising though you may find it, I am capable of restraining myself for one evening.'
'It's not about that and you know it. When was the last time you went out, Father?'
Lucius hissed in irritation but the chance of losing this rare contact stopped him from an outright display of temper.
'Recently.'
'When?' Draco persisted.
'A week,' Lucius closed his eyes tightly. 'Two,' he admitted.
'Two?' Draco arched an eyebrow doubtfully.
'Three,' Lucius confessed angrily.
Below the gilded mirror frame was a photo of his younger self, standing under a Chestnut on the estate. Draco set his whisky down with a clink and picked up the photo. Lucius selected a red leaf out of the pile for him. He remembered the day. A chilly Autumn. Draco had managed his first magic not long after.
'Do you remember this?' Draco asked, not looking at his Father. 'You've changed so much. You were happy then.'
Lucius took the photo from his hand and laid it face down on the stone with an angry click.
'It's gone, Draco,' Lucius said. 'It's the past.'
As soon as the words were out he wanted to take them back. Draco's brow furrowed in pain. He turned on his heel and headed for the door.
Something wrenched in Lucius' gut. Something so old it defied all logic and warped all self control. It took the last shred of his dignity and crushed it.
'Draco, I-'
The study door banged shut. Before the front door followed suit, Lucius knew he'd hurt Draco only to hurt himself.
He buried his hands in his hair and bunched his fists but that sort of pain had ceased to bother him the day the Dark Lord first cast the Cruciatus on him. Lucius sank ungracefully into his favourite chair with his head in his hands and tried to fight his tears.

oOo
Hermione stepped out of the Floo into her office. It was upside down, drawers emptied onto the floor, papers gone. She stumbled over her pen-pot and snatched her wand out of her back pocket. Broken glass crunched under her boots as she opened the door to the lab. The unit was in pieces, samples gone, freezers hanging wide open. Gillian lay on her back, head against the cupboards, a thin trickle of blood drying at the corner of her mouth. She was white, her eyes dull like a doll.
'Gillian!' Hermione dropped beside her. 'Oh God, hold on!'
Something displaced all the air in the room. There was a great gasp and a moment of absolute silence – then heat as the furnace ignited.

TBC
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The Xeoforce Equation