Meet the Malfoys

The residents of Rochefort house were enduring a dull summer, but no one voiced any complaints. After all, in comparison to the looming storm of war gathering in Britain, they were leading much peaceful lives. Their days were filled with chores and lazy lounging on the sofas. Lucius and Narcissa spent most of their time outdoors, enjoying the gardens, while Hermione immersed herself in books or spent hours in front of the computer, fervently searching the web.

The tension that had marked their early days together had slowly ebbed away, and they'd found an unspoken rhythm, existing side by side while deliberately avoiding one another whenever possible. Narcissa and Draco developed a curious fondness for muggle soda pop and the sugary breakfast cereals, Lucius took to frequently grumbling about the indignities of living in a Muggle household and Hermione found solace in her magical notebook writing letters to Ron.  

Draco was becoming increasingly restless, annoyed at being confined to Rochefort House with no contact with the wizarding world. He had recovered physically—the purple shadows had faded from his face, and the dark circles under his eyes had disappeared—but his frustration only seemed to grow. He missed the thrill of flying, the wind rushing through his hair, and he bitterly regretted not bringing his broomstick along. He missed his friends and the familiarity of the Manor. 

He spent his days helping his mother brew potions, taking solitary walks around the estate, and occasionally spying on Hermione, whose determined focus on her books or the computer only seemed to amplify his irritation. The absence of any real physical activity was beginning to wear on him, and he found himself increasingly sulking in the quiet hours of the day.

While the house didn’t have a lake, it did have a modest pool—something the Muggles used for swimming, or so he gathered. A thought occurred to him, one that might bring some much-needed distraction: he could nudge Granger into filling the pool. Surely, it would be a good excuse for some physical exertion and the idea of a cool swim appealed to him more than he cared to admit. It was worth a try.

“Is that the Standard Book of Spells Grade 7? Merlin, are you really doing Hogwarts coursework?” Draco’s voice cut through the quiet of the small library as he stepped into the room, catching sight of Hermione hunched over a corner desk with her nose buried in a book.

Hermione barely looked up. “I don’t want to fall behind. It’s just light reading,” she said, flipping through her notes.

Draco scowled, his gaze flickering to the open windows, where the fading summer sun made the garden beyond look almost inviting. He crossed his arms. “Well, I’ve got a far more pressing matter. The pool needs to be cleaned. Summer’s almost over, and I desperately need to swim,” he announced, his tone laced with entitlement.

He attempted to snatch her notes, but Hermione was quicker. She wandlessly summoned her notes back and replied while rolling her eyes, “And why, exactly is your need to swim my problem?”  

Draco frowned, he never had to grovel for something in his life, but unwilling to let his chance slip. “I will help you,” he said, as though offering some great concession. “It looks filthy. I could do it myself, but…” He trailed off, knowing she’d catch his meaning.

Hermione glanced up from her book, raising an eyebrow. “But you need my help,” she observed dryly. She sighed inwardly, she did want to use the pool too. The prospect of some fresh air and a good swim had its appeal. “Fine,” she said after a beat. “I’ll help. But tomorrow morning.”

Draco nodded, satisfied, and moved to leave, but Hermione’s mind had already shifted to other matters.

Over the past month, Lucius had shared details of the Dark Lord’s plans in bits and pieces with her to pass on over to Shacklebolt. But he was careful and cautious to not slip something important. Hermione had been playing her part, listening intently and passing on everything to Kingsley through encrypted emails. But the more she learned, the more she realized the risks were growing. She had a gnawing feeling that Lucius was holding something back.

The small vial of veritaserum in her bag was a constant reminder, the thought of using it on Lucius or Draco was tempting, but it wasn’t a move she could afford to make yet. She couldn’t take on three wizards alone, not without risking everything.

For now, she decided, she would play the long game and continue to weave a web of trust with the Malfoys, however fragile. If she had learned anything during the long lectures on war from her grandfather, it was that patience and information was often the most valuable weapon in a war fought in the shadows.

*****

The house had an outdoor pool, hidden behind tall hedges and had a pool house beside it. Inside the pool house was a collection of gym equipment, though Hermione had neglected to restore it for the duration of their stay. When she had initially prepared the house for a long visit, she’d serviced the pool, but after months of disuse, it was in desperate need of cleaning and maintenance. With the weather warming, everyone agreed that it would be ideal to get the pool into working order.

The Malfoys stood at the pool's edge; their heads shaded by wide-brimmed hats to shield themselves from the growing summer heat. Back at their manor, the Malfoys had a large lake where they often swam, and most wizarding families didn’t bother with pools—lakes and ponds were more than sufficient.

“Well, I think we should start with cleaning the floors?” Narcissa suggested, eyeing the murky water.

Hermione nodded in agreement, and with a flick of their wands, the group set to work, casting cleaning charms.

“What are these?” Draco asked, pointing at the pool chairs. The chairs had reclining backs and large, oddly shaped cushions that looked more awkward than comfortable.

“They’re pool chairs,” Hermione explained, glancing up from the pile of diagrams and a thick, well-worn volume on pool maintenance which she was studying. “They're meant for lounging—taking a rest, having a snack, or maybe reading a book by the pool.”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “I don’t see how anyone could relax in those.”

Draco suggested repairing the pool by magic, but she was adamant that it could be fixed the muggle way. She just needed to figure out how to work the filters, pH levels and water balance. She removed large filters and was checking the circulation.

“We need to just fill it with water, isn’t it? It is not that hard, move over.” Draco said and raised his wand to cast a spell.

“Will you just wait? Water circulation is the foundation of pool maintenance, it says so in the book” she replied and switched on the water switch, it whirred to life and the pool started filling with water.

Draco watched her for a moment, clearly unimpressed by her insistence on the non-magical approach, but he said nothing.

"I don’t think we need to roast in the sun for this," Lucius said dismissively, turning to Narcissa. "Let’s go inside, Cissa. Draco, stay here and… well, cast an Aguamenti or something. Sixth-year Hogwarts students should be able to handle this." His lip curled in a sneer as he glanced over at Hermione before taking Narcissa by the arm and leading her toward the house.

Draco, now crouched by the edge of the pool, watched the water level rise slowly. "How long is this going to take to fill up?" he muttered, peering into the shallow end. He glanced at Hermione, clearly impatient. "Can’t we just...?" He mimed casting a spell with his wand, a look of disdain on his face, as if the Muggle approach was beneath him.

Hermione, who had been checking the filtration system, didn’t even look up. “It’ll take as long as it takes,” she replied. "Magic might fill the pool faster, but we need to ensure the water’s properly balanced, and that’s a bit more complicated than simply flooding it." She adjusted a valve and made a note in her book.

Draco rolled his eyes but resigned to the task. He couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take before Hermione’s meticulous methods drove everyone mad. His constant tsking at the water levels was getting on Hermione’s nerves now.

“You are such an impatient child. Ok, we can use magic and fill it up, but I need to test the pool water before you jump in.” said Hermione and they both proceeded to cast spells to fill the pool.

The pool shimmered a brilliant blue in the bright sun. Draco pulled off his shirt and began unfastening his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Hermione exclaimed, her eyes widening as she tried her best not to glance at his bare torso.

“I’m taking a dip,” Draco replied with a lazy smirk. “It’s too hot out here. I need to cool off before lunch. You’re welcome to stay and watch,” he added, sarcastically. 

Hermione’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I hope you drown in that pool,” she muttered under her breath, stomping her foot before turning sharply towards the house.

Draco, unfazed by her outburst, took a running leap into the cool water, creating a large splash. After a while, he settled into a quiet corner of the pool, floating on his back, eyes closed as he let the coolness of the water embrace him. His wet hair clung to his forehead, and he casually brushed it back, gazing up at the cloudless sky above.

It was a rare moment of peace, far removed from the tensions that always seemed to surround him.

*****

Everyone was in the parlor post lunch; the older Malfoys were enjoying a cup of coffee. Draco sat off to the side, his gaze drifting over the paintings adorning the walls. He occasionally chimed in with a remark, but for the most part, he seemed lost in thought. Hermione, curled up in an armchair, had her legs tucked beneath her as she read a thick book, the pages turning with the occasional rustle.

“You need a haircut, my love,” Narcissa said softly, her fingers gently running through the long, blond strands of Lucius’s hair.

Lucius smiled at her fondly, a rare moment of tenderness showing on his usually impassive face. “The last time I had short hair was at Hogwarts… when we were courting,” he said, his voice teasing.

Draco glanced over, his expression one of mild discomfort. He wasn't used to seeing his parents display affection so openly. He quickly turned his attention back to the painting on the far wall, shifting uneasily. "I’m going to take another swim," he muttered, standing up and heading toward the door.

Hermione snapped her book shut with a loud thud. "No, you’re not," she replied. "You’ve been hogging the pool for a week now. We’re going to have a pool-sharing schedule. That way, everyone gets a chance to cool off. You’re not the only one who’s melting in this heat.       

“What makes you think I am going to stick to your little schedule. Don’t mistake me for your Gryffindor lackeys…,” said Draco.

Hermione opened her mouth give a scathing reply about his lackeys but was interrupted by Lucius, “Take your bickering elsewhere” he said coolly, not even looking up from his coffee as he took another slow sip.

Draco shot one last glare at Hermione. “Fine, you can have the pool now,” he said, his words laced with irritation. “And by the way, it’s bad manners to read when you’re in company.”

With a scowl, he spun on his heel and stormed out of the room.

Draco had always been an only child, accustomed to having everything to himself. At the manor, his every whim had been indulged by his doting parents, and sharing was a foreign concept. He had grown up surrounded by luxury and isolation, never needing to compromise or make room for anyone else. The idea of sharing anything with Granger—of all people—was maddening.

But with the days stretching on and little to do, he was starting to run out of options for entertainment. The television and the internet were still off-limits—he hadn't dared to even try them. His father, he was certain, would disown him on the spot if he ever expressed an interest in Muggle technology.

He apparated up the stairs and headed towards the rooms in the east wing. Granger had told them it was off-limits, that it had been closed up for years, but there were no wards or protective charms around it. His curiosity and sense of entitlement won as he wandered through the rooms.

By now he had explored almost all of them, he found few old books and antique furniture draped in white sheets, and stacks of paperwork piled haphazardly in glass-panelled cupboards. None of it was particularly exciting. He found a muggle snow globe, he picked it up, turning it over in his hands. With a slight smirk, he slipped it into his pocket, planning to place it beside his bed later.

Not much had been found in the east wing so far, but Draco was determined to keep searching. If nothing else, it was a welcome distraction from Granger and her endless schedules and her bossing him around.

Draco pushed open the door to a new room, the leftmost one on the second floor. The room had large French windows draped with heavy velvet curtains, and the furniture was covered in white sheets, giving the space an air of abandonment. In the center of the room hung a large portrait of a woman with striking green eyes and brown hair. She was dressed in some old-fashioned gown, her gaze stern and unyielding. For a moment, Draco felt an odd sense of familiarity, though he couldn't place her.

The room itself struck him as the kind of place that belonged to an elderly woman. As he rummaged through the scattered belongings, he noted with a bit of surprise that everything was distinctly Muggle and extremely feminine—old romance books, an intricately carved vanity, and a collection of delicate porcelain figurines.

Draco moved toward the window, to open the curtains to let some light into the room. As he pulled them back, the view outside took him by surprise. The sprawling grounds of the estate were visible in their entirety.

The east side of the manor had a view that overlooked the pool, and Draco’s gaze followed the movement outside. He spotted Granger walking toward the pool house He saw her reach for the zipper on her sundress, as the straps slid off her shoulders revealing a bathing suit beneath.

She walked toward the pool and returned with two towels in hand. She placed them on the poolside chairs before bending down to test the water, the soft curve of her back and the way she moved was making Draco uncomfortable. She wore a two piece; it was black in colour and had criss-cross straps at the back. The swimwear was muggle! Draco tried to look away, somehow it felt wrong and against propriety to spy on a witch who was immodestly dressed. His jaw tightened, and his hands balled into fists at his sides, his fingers digging crescents into his palm.

Draco hesitated for a moment but found himself unable to look away. He watched as Granger gathered her hair into a messy bun, the strands falling loosely around her face. Her skin was sun-kissed, dotted with freckles that spread across her arms and chest. The swimsuit hugged her body, accentuating her soft curves in a way that made him feel an unfamiliar tightness in his chest.

Draco felt an unfamiliar flutter in his chest, he snapped his head sidewards and felt himself blush. He had known Pansy since childhood, and their physical relationship had always felt natural, expected even—part of their social structure, something he had never thought twice about. In Slytherin, Draco was popular, admired by many, and several witches had flirted with him over the years, flirting with the Malfoy heir in hopes of securing an early betrothal. He had seen all kinds of witches in bathing suits, but the swimsuits in the wizarding world were always far more modest and conservative.

In fifth year, Zabini had snagged a muggle pornographic magazine, and it was much more explicit than the wizarding one. Granger’s swimsuit didn’t leave much to imagination, as he watched her bounce in the waves in the pool. She did few quick laps and then floated on her back, her arms lazily moving on her side.

He hated to admit it, but she was pretty. He couldn't help but recall the Yule Ball, when he had first seen her with Krum in that blue dress. For a fleeting moment, he had been struck by how fetching she looked, her hair shimmering, her posture confident. It had been a fleeting thought, one he quickly suppressed.

“She’s a Mudblood,” he reminded himself sharply, his inner voice cold and dismissive. “She’s Potter’s best friend.” The words were meant to push her back into the box he had always kept her in- an insufferable, inferior Muggle-born, someone who should never have been allowed to exist in his world of pureblood superiority.

Despite his internal reprimands, over the next few days, Draco would sneak to the room and watch Hermione take a swim. Sometimes he brought his snitch to distract him and to shake off the thoughts swirling in his mind.

He realized now, with a hint of surprise, that her baggy robes at Hogwarts had done a disservice to her—her figure, curvier than he’d ever allowed himself to notice, had been hidden beneath the oversized robes. It made sense now, why Krum had asked her to the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament.

For the first time, he found himself wondering—what would it have been like to have been friends with her back at school? To have had casual conversations, without the barrier of houses and rivalry between them. He almost laughed at the thought, but the curiosity lingered, unexpected and unwelcome.

She’s a Mudblood, he told himself often, but it didn’t seem to matter to his heart.

*****

The remaining days of summer were mostly spent at the pool, everyone enjoyed lazing around in the cool blue water.

Draco no longer spied on Hermione; he had become too self-conscious, too embarrassed to risk being caught, especially not by her or, worse, by his father. The thought of his father discovering him ogling a Muggle-born witch was enough to make his skin crawl.

As for Hermione, the pool became her refuge. A respite from having to deal with the annoyance of the blond family. One afternoon, she transfigured a towel into a floatie in the shape of a flamingo, pleased with her spell work. The bright pink shape bobbed lazily beside her as she floated on her back, her arms spread wide, eyes closed.

The gentle splash of water against the pool's edges was calming, but even in this moment of peace, her thoughts kept drifting back to the same question. Was hiding out here, with the Malfoys, the right thing to do?

The memories of last year still haunted Hermione, when Dolohov attacked her in the Department of Mysteries, she had almost died. Madam Pomfrey had worked tirelessly to heal her, but the physical scars were just the beginning. For weeks, she had been forced to drink ten potions a day, just to restore her strength. Even now, whenever she felt stressed or anxious, a sharp, dull pain would seize her chest, a constant reminder of the spell that had nearly taken her life.

She had gone to St. Mungo’s, hoping for a solution, but without knowing the specific nature of the curse, the healers there had been helpless. They couldn’t mend what they couldn’t understand and she did not have the right connections to get appointments with experienced and specialized healers.

At the start of the year, Hermione had turned to the one person she thought could help- Headmaster Dumbledore. Surely, she thought, a wizard of his power and experience could find a way to rid her of the lingering effects of Dolohov’s curse. But after several unsuccessful attempts to meet him, she had finally been summoned to his office one evening.

When she arrived, she had expected him to be as concerned as she was, to offer a solution, or at the very least, a sense of urgency. Instead, Dumbledore’s demeanor was almost dismissive. He spoke calmly, about how he relied on her—on her—to guide Harry, to help him focus, to lead him with caution.

Hermione’s heart had dropped in her chest, with Ron ignoring her, the pressure of schoolwork, and having discovered about Horcruxes she was out of options.

There was no mention of protecting her parents, no plan to address the lingering effects of the curse. Instead, the headmaster seemed to have placed the full burden of the war on her shoulders, urging her to stay strong for Harry, as if that alone was enough.

She had pretty much lied to her parents through the years about the dangers she had faced, and her parents were, thankfully, not in correspondence with other magical families. Not that Professor Mcgonagall would ever send a note to her parents highlighting how unsafe the school was for children!

That was when Hermione had made the decision to reach out to Shacklebolt. As an undercover Auror, a member of the Order, from a well-respected pureblood family, working in the Muggle Prime Minister’s office, he was someone she could trust—someone who understood the delicate balance between both worlds.

If Dumbledore had shown even the slightest interest in her well-being—if he had taken the time to consider the safety of her family—she could have been back at the Burrow, where she belonged. She could have been helping Harry with the Horcruxes, fighting alongside him, instead of spending her days babysitting the Malfoys.

She huffed and paddled some more, she felt helpless. Here she was trying to wheedle information from Lucius Malfoy. The man was a master of evasion, and it made her sick to think that, despite all the questions circling in her mind, she was no closer to knowing with certainty if she was helping the Order.  

Lucius was hiding something. She was certain of it. But what? What could he possibly know that was so important?

*****

 “I thought we could do an outdoor dinner today, the weather being nice and all” she said hoping the Malfoys were not too stuck up to enjoy a casual day.

Narcissa and Lucius walked towards the pool, anticipating a casual dinner setting but there were only few pool chairs and a small table. They spotted Hermione flipping patties on the outdoor grill.

Draco stood at the far end of the pool, his wand flicking with precision as he tried to suspend strings of twinkling lights above the water with a practiced wingardium leviosa. His occlumency shields were up in case his mother tried to search his mind about his constant spying on Granger in her swim wear.  

The pool shimmered a soft, golden hue from the lights, casting playful reflections on the water’s surface. In the background, mellow music drifted from the muggle music device. 

The smell of sizzling burgers wafted from the grill, while she placed plates on a folding table.  

“You look quite lovely Mrs. Malfoy this evening” said Hermione as she took a swig from her beer.

Narcissa was dressed in a long skirt, a simple shirt, and a light jacket draped gracefully over her shoulders. She looked pleasantly surprised by the compliment, a soft smile playing on her lips. Before she could reciprocate, however, she was interrupted by an irate voice.

"Is this more Muggle food?" Draco asked, gesturing toward the plate with a raised eyebrow.

"It’s pub food," Hermione replied, unfazed, handing him a chilled pint of beer. "Have a beer if you want. It goes well with the burgers."

To Draco’s surprise, the Malfoys quickly polished off the appetizers and soon moved on to the burgers. The beer—initially met with complaints—was now flowing freely, and even Draco, who had turned his nose up at it earlier, found himself reaching for another pint.

Draco who had never had a burger in his whole life, couldn’t believe how good this sandwich tasted. It was tasty, greasy, had to be eaten with hands- this would never be served at the manor he thought.

"Do Muggles often do this—poolside meals and drinks?" Narcissa inquired, her tone curious as she sipped Firewhiskey, which Lucius had summoned from his private stash hidden in his briefcase.

"Oh, yes," Hermione replied with a smile, despite the company. "Especially in the summer when the weather is nice. It's a British tradition—char a few burgers, toss on some sausages, have a few pints, and just enjoy the outdoors. My father loves it, actually."

Hermione’s voice was steady, and she appeared more composed than the others, having taken a sobering potion earlier to ensure she didn’t let her guard down, not in front of the Malfoys.

Lucius regarded her closely, “And what do your parents do, if I may ask?”

“They are dentists- muggle healers” she replied, “They are incredibly good too. My father comes from a long line of doctors. When I was younger, I thought I might follow in their footsteps.”

“So, you wanted to be a Healer?” Narcissa asked, her voice soft but insistent. “A noble profession, indeed.”

Hermione’s expression faltered for just a moment before she answered, with slight sadness in her tone. “Not anymore. Everything changed when I came to Hogwarts.”

Narcissa and Lucius exchanged a brief, knowing glance. Shacklebolt had likely offered her something significant—perhaps a high-ranking position at the Ministry, a fast track to a career in politics or law.

Lucius, ever the self- serving Slytherin, saw an opportunity to dig for more information. With a calculated smirk, he proposed a game—one that often yielded more than just entertainment.

"Let’s play a game," he suggested smoothly, his tone carrying the familiar allure of a Malfoy parlor tradition. "A Slytherin favorite. It’s called 'Never Have I...’ You simply say something dangerous or illegal you’ve done while at Hogwarts. If you suspect the other person is lying, you either ask them to swear on their magic or take a drink." He paused, watching Hermione carefully.

Draco, sitting quietly nearby, inwardly groaned. He hated this game—his father was a master at it. Time and time again, Lucius had won, and Draco had been forced to reveal secrets he’d rather have kept buried. His father enjoyed pushing boundaries, and this game always left him with a sense of discomfort.

Lucius reached into the folds of his robes, drawing out a small vial of glittering purple potion. It shimmered with a hypnotic glow. "This will make things more interesting," he said with a sly smile, holding up the vial for all to see. "A little something to ensure everyone is motivated to win."

“This is Dreamcatcher’s Draught” Lucius declared with a flourish. Draco’s eyes gleamed with recognition. This potion was rare—nearly impossible to acquire—and his father wouldn't agree to part with it unless he was sure of winning.  

“I’ll go first,” Lucius continued, his voice almost casual. "A few years back, I slipped a diary into the hands of the Weasley girl. That led to the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. And I also made a rather... unfortunate attempt on Harry Potter’s life after I was dismissed from Dumbledore’s office."

He spotted Hermione’s shocked expression, “What? I play to win; I don’t intend to part with my beloved potion just to lose.”

“My naughty thing is more innocuous in comparison. I smoked a certain illegal herb which I grew behind the Hogwarts Greenhouses” replied Narcissa. Draco tried to call his mothers bluff but was surprised when she claimed it on her magic. 

“I did set Professor Snape’s robes on fire in my first year,” Hermione admitted.

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a glance, then both burst into unusual laughter. Lucius, with his characteristic smugness, seemed almost delighted by the thought. Hermione gave a faint, uneasy smile, trying to play along.

“In second year, I nicked someone’s Christmas present,” Draco interjected coolly, “I liked the silver ribbons on it, so I took it for myself.”

Hermione's eyebrow twitched slightly. The Malfoys spoke with a kind of casual entitlement, as if their rule-breaking wasn’t something to be ashamed of but rather something to be proud of. Each story they shared seemed to push the limits of decency further.

She was careful to not let slip secrets but this game was turning extremely gauche for her tastes. She couldn’t help but notice that the Malfoys told their stories with a strange sense of pride—like their underhanded tricks were justified because they served their purpose, because it advanced their agenda. It was as if the rules didn’t apply to them, or if they did, they were merely a suggestion.

“I think I win this game for once. I got Death Eaters into Hogwarts and almost killed the headmaster” Draco replied with narrowed eyes.  

There was a long, stunned silence. Narcissa clutched her chest in anguish. Draco’s confession had put a dampener on the spirits of the party. The audacity of his words, the casual nature with which the spoke of such a monstrous act, was chilling. It was one thing to break rules, to take risks—it was another entirely to confess to something so dangerous, so unforgivable. Hermione was tempted to share the whole-time turner debacle of third year just to best Malfoy but she held her tongue.

Lucius, however, remained unreadable, he handed over the vial to his son, his slate grey eyes betraying no emotion. He recovered quickly and gave a rare smile in Hermione’s direction.

“You’re no different from us, Miss Granger,” Lucius sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. “We’ve all done our fair share of… naughty things at Hogwarts, I daresay.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, the anger in her chest rising, but she kept her voice steady. “I haven’t harmed innocent, defenseless beings. Nor have I ever endangered anyone’s life for my own gain.”

Lucius’s lip curled in a mock smile. “So, you think blackmailing and kidnapping a reporter is so very innocent?”

Hermione’s eyes flashed. “Rita Skeeter was spying illegally and writing salacious gossip about people I care about. She was a threat to everyone around her. She was anything but innocent.”

“Ah, but isn’t that the job of a good reporter?” Lucius mused, “Conjecture and conspiracy are spun every day with even fewer facts. Rita simply filled in the gaps with convenient lies. That’s what sells magazines, after all. You’re not naïve enough to believe everything Witch Weekly prints, are you?”

He leaned in slightly, his gaze cold and probing. “Immoral behavior doesn’t justify more immoral behavior, Miss Granger—no matter how personal the vendetta.”

Hermione was livid, she didn’t want an ethics lecture from Lucius Malfoy.

“That is a really reductive way to look at it. If you are being attacked, self-defense and threat neutralization is not immoral. How can you even compare this to what you and your son have done?”

Lucius rose to his feet pretending to dust his robes, “We are both motivated by self-interest Miss Granger. You bend rules and believe the end justifies the means do you not? How very Slytherin of you! Our views on the magical world might differ little girl, but we both have similar style. Don’t worry we all are bound by magic to not share the things discussed here with others, so your little secret is safe with me.”

He paused for a moment and added, “Perhaps next time I will share a joke I know about a werewolf, a rat and a shaggy dog when they walk into a bar.” Hermione's eyes widened, of course Peter Pettigrew would have told him about that night! 

Lucius and Narcissa wished their son goodnight and walked hand in hand towards the house. Narcissa glanced back at her son who was now sitting solemnly at the table and Hermione who was still fuming from the altercation.

*****

"You can head back if you like," Hermione replied and shifted to the end of the pool. She took off her shoes and dipped her feet into the cool water.

“My mother would frown if I left a lady unaccompanied” he stood awkwardly with his hands in the pockets.

“A lady?” Hermione scoffed. “Remember in second year when the Chamber of Secrets was opened. You had hoped the beast would kill me. I think you should tell that story to your mother, if she asks why, you left me unaccompanied.”  

Draco winced, “That was a long time ago.”

“It was a long time ago indeed. You know Harry suspected you of being a Death Eater all of last year, I rubbished him thinking that You-Know-Who would never recruit a teenage boy…Merlin, I thought you wouldn’t be that cruel to join! And here I am stuck with not one but two Death Eaters” Hermione let out a hollow laugh.

Draco involuntarily scratched his left arm. “You think I wanted to join the Death Eaters?”

Draco rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and sat next to her, dipping his feet in the cool water. Hermione glanced at the Dark Mark nervously, she hadn’t seen one this up close before.

“Did Potter ever tell you what it is like facing the Dark Lord?” he asked.

Hermione nodded, but he continued. “The Dark Lord is a powerful wizard; he has ways to know of deceit and he can force himself into your mind effortlessly. After he regained his strength, the Dark Lord visited the manor, I was lucky to not soil my pants when I met him for the first time. You think I wanted to be a murderer? I didn’t have a choice; I never had a choice!”

Hermione stared back at him, unable to form a coherent reply, she had until that point never thought of the situation from Malfoy’s point of view.

“Why do you hate me?” Hermione asked in a faint voice.

Draco looked sideways, and reluctantly confessed “You know you are the first muggle-born I ever met. I thought muggles were savages, blood thirsty and inferior beings. Then there was you with your wild bushy hair, snarky attitude, trying to be a teacher’s favorite! You got Outstanding in schoolwork, had Potter as your friend and was popular for no reason. You had no connections, no pureblood etiquette and ancestry, no wizarding wealth to speak off- everything I was taught to value, you had nothing! Yet you persisted. Of course, I hated you!”

“Why did you do it? Why did you agree to join the Death Eaters”

“He would’ve killed my mother, if I had objected.”

“Do you still want me dead?” she asked, pointing at the evil tattoo.  

“Merlin no!” he said, almost laughing. “I still hate you, since you are Potter’s friend and a know it all. But I don’t think I want you dead for being who you are. This was supposed to end differently, my father was supposed to retrieve the prophecy and then I would have stayed far away from all this.”

“You still believe in the superiority of pure blood wizards, don’t you? Your family helped a bigoted, and racist wizard. You-know-who had a Muggle father, do you know that? You were proud of it, of helping murder someone, helping smuggle Death Eaters into Hogwarts” she said, tears threatened to fall from her eyes.

“No, I am not proud, I wouldn’t be here if I was proud!” he almost yelled. “And you are lying about the Dark Lord, he is the heir of Salazar Slytherin”

“You are an insufferable and selfish git, and an ignorant one too” she replied coolly and stood up to fetch her shawl. “Likewise,” muttered Draco, not low enough for her to not hear, and followed Hermione back to the house. They walked silently on the stairs, and when they approached her bedroom door, she turned around.

“Goodnight Malfoy”

“Goodnight Granger” said Draco and turned toward his room.

*****

Granger’s implication that the Dark Lord was half-blood gnawed at his mind. He decided to confront his parents, he was already an alleged murderer on the run from the law and had abandoned the Dark Lord, he had nothing to lose.

Draco hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering briefly to the corner where his parents were seated.  He cleared his throat, trying to appear nonchalant. "Father," he began, his voice low, "I was wondering... about the Dark Lord’s house. Why did he move into our manor, why not stay at his ancestral property?”

"Why do you ask?" Lucius replied, his tone flat, but Draco could sense the angry behind the words.

Draco shifted, "I just... I don't understand”

Lucius stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he spoke in a low whisper. “The Dark Lord’s heritage is a complicated matter, Draco. The Gaunts squandered away their inheritance and the last heirs lived in abject poverty.”

“Is it true that his father was a Muggle?” he asked, his wand ready on his side in case his father decided to curse him or punish him for the impertinence.

His father’s voice hardened. "Who told you such lies? You’d be wise not to linger on such questions. The Dark Lord has made his power clear; his blood status is irrelevant now."

Draco nodded, trying to digest the answer, but something in his father’s tone unsettled him. It wasn’t just disdain for Muggles—it was something deeper, as if Lucius resented even acknowledging the question at all.

“Why—why do we never speak of it?” Draco pressed, knowing that he was entering into dangerous territory now.

Lucius’ eyes narrowed, but Narcissa stepped in to answer. “Draco, some histories are better forgotten. Don’t waste your time on questions that will never matter.”

The finality in her tone made Draco uncomfortable but he resigned to the response, however feeble. Despite his mother’s dismissal, he couldn’t shake the doubt that Granger had planted in his mind. If the Dark Lord was a half-blood, what did it really mean? What did it mean for Draco and his family. 

Narcissa looked across to Lucius with worry in her eyes. “It is the girl; she is trying to bewitch him into dangerous notions, planting these suppositions.”

Lucius remained silent, he looked at his wife and added “The real question Cissa is how does the girl knows the truth about the Dark Lord’s father?”