Chapter 3

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. Huge thank you to my betas...Glorioux and AmyLouise.

Chapter 3

The old clock chimed eleven times.

The girl will come in an hour, thought Lucius Malfoy. The Floo was open. Lucius was dressed and had just finished breakfast. In other words, he was ready for her.

On Friday, when Lucius had visited the cemetery, he had spoken to Narcissa again. The first time he had done so, he felt awkward and pathetic, sitting in front of a granite plate and talking. But the need to talk to someone, to be able to get it all off his chest, overshadowed everything else. Lucius Malfoy was lonely...

Now he was doing it regularly. He told her about Draco and Astoria, about the investigation, and about his plan with the girl.

The girl, Hermione Weasley...what an unusual creature she was. Lucius knew that if he emphasized the facts in the right way, it would force her to cooperate with him. However, when she simply said, "I'll do it," he had felt a tingle of admiration.

It didn't matter what made her say it. A concern for her friend's safety, a foolish bravado, thirst for revenge, or just the habit of fighting for what she thought right...it was probably the combination of all these things. The manner in which she reached the decision in a matter of seconds was remarkable to Lucius.

He couldn't help but wonder what Narcissa would have done in the reverse situation. Would she accept? Probably not. His wife would calculate and recalculate, think and rethink, and eventually (Lucius was almost sure of it), would let others handle it, setting all feelings aside.

That's right, 'the feelings'. The feelings were the main difference between the girl and his wife (or his immediate circle, for that matter). Narcissa never showed feelings; they weren't appropriate. He knew she loved Draco, but he never knew if she had ever truly loved him. Or, if he had loved her. They were perfect companions. They did share the moments of passion, of course, they respected each other, and they loved and nurtured their son. But never, not even once during their marriage, did they discuss love.

Surely, the girl's marriage had been all about love and feelings. That's where the fire in her eyes had come from. She had lost the man she loved; he could see that much.

His own fire stemmed from that purity of purpose. Lucius needed a vendetta; he needed to punish those who dared to destroy something he owned. Most of all, he needed to channel the guilt that was slowly tearing him apart.

In public, it was easy to blame Potter or Weasley. To fool everybody and make it look like the Aurors were at fault. However, when he was alone, it was an altogether different story. Lucius couldn't easily fool himself. His former fellows had killed his wife and the Weasley boy...Lucius knew that. However, the worst part about this situation was that Draco knew it as well. He clearly saw it in Draco's eyes during the funeral; his own son blamed him. The only escape from guilt that Lucius could think of was to make the bastards pay. And for that, he needed all the help he could get, even if it was the help of Hermione Weasley (oh, the irony!).

The clock chimed again, and precisely on the twelfth beat, Hermione stepped out of the fireplace. Lucius looked at her for a moment, taking in her wild chestnut curls and simple summer dress.

Does not she have something more elaborate to wear besides two pieces of flimsy fabric sewn together? Cissa was always so well-dressed.

"Mrs. Weasley, punctual as usual." He nodded to Hermione. "Please, follow me." He led the girl to the library. She silently followed him.

Once there, they settled in armchairs beside the coffee table. Lucius saw a hint of discomfort in the girl's features, and he remembered that her last visit to the Manor had been rather unpleasant. Memories from the past flooded his mind. Now, looking back, all the facts seemed to be surreal. However, they had brought frightfully real and dramatic consequences to the present.

Would the girl trust a Malfoy?

"So, Mrs. Weasley, how are you?"

"I don't think it's relevant how I am, Mr. Malfoy. Please, don't feel obligated to make a small talk. Let us discuss the matter, so that we can both continue with our day." Hermione gave him a direct glare of open dislike.

Clearly, the girl wasn't in the mood for a pleasant chat.

"Very well, Mrs. Weasley. I take it you are still interested in our little plan?" He watched the girl with interest. They were going to be partners of a sort, and Lucius deemed it essential to learn more about her. He knew the basics, of course. She was Muggle-born, a Gryffindor, Draco's rival in Hogwarts, the brain of the Golden Trio, and an adequately capable witch.

"I wouldn't be sitting here otherwise, Mr. Malfoy." The answer was delivered with obvious annoyance.

She acted oddly irritable around him, and Lucius had to make an effort not to snap at her. He swallowed his intuitive, sharp reply and enunciated calmly, "Of course you wouldn't. Tell me, Mrs. Weasley, do you visit your husband's grave often? Believe me, I don't ask it out of idle curiosity," he hurriedly added, when he saw that Hermione was ready to jump.

"Every Friday."

What a coincidence, thought Lucius to himself.

"We need to develop a routine, Mrs. Weasley. We need to make them believe that there are certain recurring occasions when you are alone, unguarded and vulnerable. I think your weekly voyages to the cemetery will work perfectly. Now, I will be there every Friday as well, under Disillusionment charm, of course. We have to choose the time. What time is convenient for you? Later is better for me, Mrs. Weasley." Lucius looked at her.

The girl gave it a moment's thought and answered, "Seven in the evening will work."

"Seven it is then. Only a few things are left, Mrs. Weasley. You need to be alone at the cemetery. You will need to keep your comings and goings to a minimum, besides going to work and to the cemetery. And the last thing: I hope you understand that you cannot speak of our little project to anyone, especially to Potter?" Lucius drawled this with finality.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Are you quite finished with stating the obvious?" With that, the witch rolled her eyes with blatant intent.

Rolled her eyes! Well, now she had done it! Lucius sprang up and closed on her in mere seconds. He was hovering dangerously over her, both hands on the armrests of her chair. He noticed with satisfaction how her pupils dilated in fear; he had caught her off guard.

Good!

"Now, you listen to me, insolent girl! This is not a game. You will get yourself killed if you do not do what I say. Can your little, overconfident brain comprehend that? They killed your husband and my wife, and they will kill you with pleasure if you give them the chance." The feverish motions of Hermione's chest caught Lucius' attention; he ceased his aggressive onslaught and returned to his chair.

There were a few moments of silence before Hermione's breathing returned to normal, and Lucius recovered his calm mask.

When the atmosphere in the room cooled, Hermione said with evident concern, "I have a question for you. What if they still choose Ginny? How could we be sure that nothing will happen to her? Or someone else, for that matter? And what is the plan of action if they take the bait?"

"Let me handle this Mrs. Weasley. I will make sure that Mrs. Potter will be completely safe. As for somebody else, Mrs. Weasley...give yourself some credit. Who could be more symbolic than you? I would say only Mr. Potter himself, and believe me, they will not go there. They are nothing more than a bunch of worthless cowards, after all."

With that, Lucius stood up. "We don't need to discuss our actions in case of the actual attack just yet. It will not happen soon; these things need time to develop. We will meet regarding that later. I will owl you when I deem it necessary. I will check on you at the Ministry, and you will know my presence at the cemetery on Friday. If something important arises, please feel free to owl me, or in a matter of urgency, you can use the Floo to get here. It will be open for you."

Lucius escorted her to the fireplace, and the girl left.

He returned to his library, opened the bar, poured himself a considerable amount of twenty-five-year-old Firewhisky, and sighed. He felt utterly drained and old.

Malfoy couldn't even decide what had tired him more: the girl's bitchy attitude or her completely transparent, flimsy excuse for a dress. He took the drink and settled at his desk. Lucius had work to do; Harry Potter was in for a surprise on Monday.