The Radiant

“We’re going out to lunch today.”

Lucius looked up from where he had been reading the Saturday newspaper. He looked like the picture of leisure—his feet up on a footstool, his hair down and over his shoulders, his dressing gown still on. Ginny was jotting down notes for a new article for the Prophet, wearing one of his button-up shirts only halfway done.

“We are?” He sounded surprised but not aggravated, and Ginny took that as a sign to proceed.

“Yes. We’re meeting Hermione at the Three Broomsticks.”

He dropped his cup of tea on the rug.

“What? Lucius—you have to meet her at some point.” Ginny put down her pencil and looked at him. “She’s the only one level-headed enough to even consider accepting this. And she’s—was—is—one of my closest friends.”

“I—know,” he said, his face immobile.

“Lucius—please,” she said, her mouth dropping as she realised that facilitating a civil meeting between the two of them was not going to be as easy as she had first thought. “Please, I’m asking you—pleading with you—please don’t be so rude to her.”

He was silent.

Ginny stood up and walked over to him, perching on his lap, the terrain of her fresh thighs showing as his shirt rode up. She placed a hand on either side of his face and tilted it up.
“Please. For me. You just have to be civil. Silent, even. She’s not expecting a miracle, not from you. But,” she said, tracing the full bloom of his lower lip with her pointer finger, running the tip inside his hot mouth and clicking her nail along the crenellations of his teeth. “But I want you to be civil. Concentrate on her intelligence and her wit, not her blood. Not her blood.” She kissed him slowly, keeping her eyes open, watching him.

His hands fisted in the shirt, shaking with effort.

“Fine,” he said, as she pulled away. “Fine.” His jaw was tight.

“Oh, I know. I know it’s frustrating for you to go out—which makes you anxious—and to be with a Mudblood, but you fucked this blood traitor and now you have to deal with the consequences.” She kissed him again. “Also, you taste nice this morning.” Ginny licked his lower lip.

“Darjeeling. Not Earl Grey.” He tilted over without moving her from his lap and fished a finger around, hooking it in the upset teacup and picking it up delicately. He frowned at the spill on the carpet. “Damn.”

Ginny wound her arms around his neck and pressed her torso into his, and he grudgingly straightened up, looking her in the eye.

“I’ll try my hardest to be civil. Somewhat civil. I’m—I should apologise ahead of time in case I do or say anything grievous.”

“You’re good at self control. Just don’t do it,” Ginny said seriously.

He sighed. “You’re right.”

“Think of this as the biggest and ultimate task to complete in order for me to stay in your life.” She looked at him solemnly. He didn’t flinch. “I’m lonely for my friends. I miss Hermione. I love you,” and here she rubbed her face against him, like a cat, “but I miss them. I miss them. And this is the first step. Please be good. Please be good.”

He nodded tersely.

“It wasn’t too much of a fight to get me to move in here. To live with you. To change my life. And now you are going to change yours.” His body tensed. “Yes, change. I know it’s especially hard for you because you’re—”

“Don’t say older.”

“I was going to say steeped in tradition. You had a rearing that I can’t even imagine—so different from mine. I was raised in a topsy-turvy house, with Dad tinkering with Muggle electronics all over the place, and Mum accepting anyone and everyone in for dinner. And while we were flawed in other ways, we never were racist like your family was. Never.” She was quiet. “I miss my dad.” Ginny looked at him. “Why do you hate my dad so much?”

Lucius shifted, and she could feel his heart race against her fingers. “I don’t—I don’t hate him. Not anymore. Back when you were so little—back when you were eleven—in the bookstore—frustration. Vitriol. Some things date back farther than you, Ginevra. At that time, I was angry at his constant raiding of my house, his disrupting of my family. If Arthur couldn’t physically get back at me, he could at least embarrass my family over and over again with the raids. And I was angry at him for that. At his protection of the Muggles.”

“Why Muggles?”

“Because I didn’t want them in our world. I still don’t, really. I think they weaken the links of wizarding society—with their vacant stares and inane questions and their fear of us—they were the ones who burnt witches at the stake. They were the ones who drowned witches. They were the ones who pressed wizards to death between stones. There has always been such a stupid religious fervour in their kind.”

“Not all are like that, Lucius.”

“The ones who murdered earlier parts of my family were. And I’m sure that your mum and dad have some relatives who were killed by Muggles at some point.” His mouth was tight.

“I know that they have some relatives who were killed by Death Eaters, too.”

The change in his face was instantaneous. His eyes flicked up to hers and his mouth relaxed, the blood flowing back to his lips, making them appear fuller than usual. He looked like a watercolour painting. “There you have it,” he breathed quietly.

“But if we rehash history we are going to be here for a while.” Ginny drummed her fingers on his shoulder. "So you’re afraid? Of Muggles?” Ginny gave him a questioning look.

“Well—” He looked uncomfortable. “No.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “I’m not scared of much, Ginevra. I’ve seen things—” he looked away, here “—things that are a thousand times worse than what I told you about Azkaban.” She continued staring at him solemnly and questioningly. Lucius sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes, his mouth dropping low in the corners. “Fine. I suppose—in a way—fear of change. Anger and fear combined.” He gritted his teeth as though he were ashamed to admit it.

“Well, Hermione’s not going to layer boulders across your chest. And her parents aren’t going to lash me to a stake, either.”

“I know that,” he snapped. “I’m not daft enough to think that such Draconian measures would be taken nowadays, but there would still be—you know that they hate people who are different from them.”

“But you’re doing the same thing,” she said. “You hate them because they are different.”

“It was started by them. It’s history.”

“This is circular. I can’t keep up,” she said, shaking her head. “Although I have a bit more insight into your extreme distaste for Muggles.”

“Why should they be able to infiltrate our world—take away opportunities from our community, our children, things that we have worked so hard to maintain? We were forced into hiding. We were persecuted. And we managed to thrive, even from depleted numbers, and grow again, and keep our witches and wizards safe. Why would anyone want to marry one of the people who wanted us dead and gone? Why would anyone welcome a random Muggleborn into our world? It amazes me.”

“I know I’m Pureblood. Did that play a part in your acceptance of me?”

There was the question he had been anticipating for a long time.

“Yes.”

He had to answer honestly.

She didn’t look surprised or offended. Instead, she nodded. It was as if Ginny had known all along.

“But it’s not one of the reasons I’m attracted to you,” she replied.

“I can’t—the Malfoys were raised to believe that Muggles and therefore Muggleborns were inferior. Haven’t you ever had that thought, Ginevra? Honestly—deeply, darkly—haven’t you ever believed that, for one moment?”

“Yes,” she said honestly. “When such stereotypes and racism exist, it’s hard not to ever be influenced by it. And since there are so many Pureblooded families present in our world, the ideology stays strong. So yes, of course the thought has crossed my mind. But the thing is, Lucius—I never acted on it. I consciously pushed those thoughts out of my mind. And you’ve changed me—and now it’s time for me to change you, too.”

“How have I changed you?”

Ginny smiled. “You just have.” She wound a piece of his hair around her fingers.

“That’s not very helpful,” he groused, trying to smack her hand away. “Leave my hair alone.”

“I’m not the little sister around you—you don’t treat me like some stupid little flower.” She tugged on his hair.

“You—a delicate flower?” He snorted.

Ginny twisted his nipple and Lucius hissed.

“Don’t be rude. You just treat me like an equal. And an adult—which I am. But people always look at me as the addendum to the Golden Trio, and as the youngest, and the baby, and the girl. You don’t.”

“Because you aren’t.”

“And you talk with me. And you touch me the way I want to be touched. And you let me yell. That’s the most important to me. You let me get angry, and you let me take my anger out on you, and you accept it and weather it and then let me apologise and take it in stride. No one has ever welcomed the anger before.” She looked thoughtful. “I’ve always been discouraged from being angry. Ever since first year. I didn’t nearly have the right to be angry, growing up with the huge family that I did. There was always something else to deal with—some other crisis, some other event, some other sibling that deserved it more. But you weather me. You weather me.” She was raking her nails lightly over his scalp. Lucius had his eyes closed, leaning into her touch. “Is that unhealthy?”

“I don’t know.”

“No, me neither. But I’m happy,” she said, still looking thoughtful, frowning slightly at him.

“I’m happy, too.”

“And I’ll be happiest when I can factor my friends back into this.”

He looked at her, and Ginny was taken aback by the set of his eyes. He seemed to be afraid, nearly—nervous about something, as though she would somehow end up coming to her senses and listening to her friends’ complaints about him and that would be that. She wondered if he was going to say something. His hands loosened and he nodded.

“All right. All right, yes. What time are we leaving?”

She kissed his brow. “In an hour. Good?”

“Good.”


---


Ginny was amazed at his ability to seem imperious in any circumstance—even in the melee of the pub, Lucius glided through the crowd, people parting for him like frothy seas. She followed in his wake, trying to ignore the pointed and incredulous looks that were being thrown her way. She certainly still got glares and stares when she went out in public, so the event of two of them being out together was sending people into overdrive. She held onto the back of his robes.

“Good grief, Lucius. Everyone is staring.”

“What did you expect?” He snarled his words at her from the very corner of his mouth, and her hands curled into the back of his robes. She felt childlike and very young, as though she were following in the footsteps of her father, not her lover.

“I know,” she murmured, her voice low. As one older woman threw her a dirty look, Ginny straightened up and glared at her. “What are you staring at?” Her voice sounded like Lucius’ had—snarling—and the woman scowled deeper and then looked away. Ginny sighed, and noticed that he was looking back at her over his shoulder, an amused expression on his face. “And what are you looking at, Malfoy?”

“Don’t take your stress out on me. This lunch—in a public place—was your idea.”

“I know,” she said, rubbing at her head. He had turned back around and was moving forward toward the tables at the back. “I just didn’t want to bring her to the Manor, and I doubted that you wanted to go to her house.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

Lucius stopped, suddenly, and Ginny was pressed up against his back.

“Miss Granger.”


---


He looked down at her—the one with the tainted blood—sitting at the table, and he felt many things. He felt frustrated because he knew that his partner wanted him to be able to be friends with the woman, and he wasn’t sure that that was at all possible. He felt aversion—aversion to actually sitting down at the table with her, aversion to talking with her, aversion—and this surprised him—to sharing Ginny with her. And then he felt curiosity—interest in the girl that Draco had complained about for so many years, and interest in her purported intelligence and quick wit and rules-oriented work ethic.

And so Lucius Malfoy stared down at Hermione Granger with the oddest look on his face—a slightly curled lip but panicked eyes.

“It’s lovely to see you too, Lucius.” Hermione met his stare head-on, and when Lucius visibly flinched at the sound of his given name coming from her lips, she only smiled and looked beyond him. “Did you bring Ginny, or is it to be just us for lunch today? I’m not sure I could handle the pleasure of that.”

Ginny poked her head out from around his body. “Don’t tease him so, Hermione.” She was gently chiding, but sat down. “Do you want to sit, Lucius?” She had a lightly smiling mouth, and extended her hand up to him, her eyes soft.

He grimaced but lowered himself onto the bench beside her, Hermione sitting in the chair across the table from them. Ginny placed a reassuring hand on his upper thigh, squeezing slightly, and turned her face briefly into his neck, forgetting where they were, kissing his skin lightly, right against the galloping pulse point. He was nervous. Ginny realised it, and felt warmth for him, stroking her hand up along the delicate skin of his wrist. When he jolted, slightly, she remembered where they were and drew back.

“Sorry,” she whispered at him, smiling, tugging lightly on a piece of his hair.

Hermione watched the interaction with an unidentifiable look on her face, noting Lucius’ light flush and softened mouth, and Ginny’s smile.

There was silence for a beat. Lucius was between looking gently at Ginny and then glaring at Hermione, who in turn was looking mildly back at him. Finally, Hermione spoke.

“Well, it’s been a while since we’ve actually spoken, Lucius. When was the last time? The Ministry of Magic—the prophecy thing?”

Ginny put her hand to her forehead, shaking her head. “Hermione.”

His jaw clenched. “Yes. I believe so.” The softness around his mouth was gone.

Hermione stared hard at him, and he looked back at her. Ginny watched the two of them, and realised how similar they were. She could, startlingly, picture them as a couple—the fighting would be tremendous but the discussions passionate and spirited. The thought made her smile.

“Why are you grinning like the village idiot?” Hermione turned and asked her the question mildly.

“I was just thinking that you two would be an interesting couple.”

The tenseness was shattered. Hermione threw her head back and laughed, the riot of curls falling down across her shoulders, and Lucius looked equally distressed, offended at Hermione’s mirthful reaction, and curious.

“What’s so hilarious?” His voice was snippy.

“You’re a nice-looking man, Lucius, but I hardly think you would tolerate a Mudblood in your ancestral home,” Hermione said, soberly.

“You shouldn’t assume what others think,” he said laconically, picking up his menu. Hermione raised her eyebrows at Ginny.

There was another moment of thick silence.

“Did you ever play Quidditch?”

Lucius looked up and blinked as Hermione suddenly directed the question at him.

“Why on earth would you ask me that?”

“Because it seems like a mild question to ask, and it steers clears of wizarding eugenics and any other touchy subject. And because you have a Quidditch build.”

He looked like he was about to smile but was struggling not to. Lucius inclined his head slightly.

“I was a Beater.”

“I didn’t know that,” Ginny exclaimed, turning to him.

“You never asked,” he replied, smiling slightly at her. “I played for three years, actually. I had good reflexes back then.”

“Oh, you still have fine reflexes. Quit with the ‘I’m decrepit’ act.” She paused. “Do you still have the uniform?”

“You two are interesting to watch,” Hermione said calmly. “I would have never imagined it like this, actually.”

“What,” Lucius said. “Did you expect me to have locked her away in a tower?” He scowled, and Ginny was amazed at how quickly his mood could change in reaction to Hermione.

“I’d have expected for you to at least be emotionally abusive. I suppose you still could be—just not in the public eye. But something tells me—” Here she pressed her steepled fingertips to her mouth. “Something tells me that you two are more equal than I would have expected.”

“Yes,” Ginny said softly, leaning slightly into his body, feeling the scorching warmth of him up and down the broad length of her side. Lucius slid his hand under her robe and clasped her hand, almost desperately, like a man drowning. His fingers wound around hers, and she rubbed her thumb over the hot skin of his hand.

“Did you want some more time?” The waiter had appeared above them, and Ginny was struck with the similarities between the present meal and her past date with Hermione.

With the food on its way, the silence descended again. Lucius was looking up at the ceiling. Hermione was looking at Lucius. Ginny was leaned against his shoulder, looking at the crowd of people, scowling at anyone who glared at the odd trio.

“Hermione—tell us what you’re working on at the Ministry right now,” Ginny said softly, breaking the quiet.

“Er—I’m actually starting in the Beings Division of the Department—in the next few weeks. And I’m looking into writing a dissertation on Magizoology and the flaws within the practice.”

Lucius looked thoughtful. The food was delivered

“I’m just looking for a few earlier versions of Elfrida Clagg’s theses on the subject. I want to focus on the Jarvey rebellion and the ghost walk-out. In particular, I’m looking for her 1645 treatise on Merpeople mating habits and linguistics.”

“I have that.” Lucius’ voice was calm and clear.

Hermione dropped her fork into her plate. “You do?”

“Yes.” He was eating nonchalantly.

“Do you have her accompanying book on Troll dispute and discussion?”

“Yes.”

“Lucius,” Ginny laughed. “She’s going to have a stroke if you don’t say something else.”

He sighed. “I don’t particularly want you in my library.”

“Fine. I don’t care how I get them.” Hermione was rubbing her hands together. “Ginny can bring them to me. I don’t care.”

“Yes, I’ll do it,” Ginny said, squeezing Lucius’ hand as her heart swelled at his stunted attempt at civility.

Lucius sighed again. “I’m very, very grudgingly impressed that you are aware and interested in the books. I tried to get Draco to read them, once, and he got bored and started to doodle on the pages.” He grimaced. “He was nearly twenty but I almost spanked him.”

Hermione chuckled, and the sound brought him back to reality.

“We’ll see—I have to find them first. If I do, I’ll—”

“Fucking Mudblood filth.”

The reprehensible words came from above them. Lucius stopped in the middle of talking. Hermione’s eyes drifted up almost lazily, her gaze calm. Ginny’s head jerked up indignantly, her hair flinging. The two women stared at the man above them—he was close in age to them, long and dark hair pulled back into a queue, his eyes slanted angrily, dark, thick eyebrows stark in his face.

The silence that followed the statement was different from the previous silences. Hermione seemed not resigned but resolute, while Ginny’s quiet was of a completely different nature—she was enraged, and going over the things to say to the interloper in her mind. Lucius was quiet, his eyes still down, his body languid, and Ginny could not read him in that moment.

Hermione sighed tiredly. Ginny’s hand tightened on her wand, and she made her decision, standing quickly, whipping her wand out in front of her, holding it steady, pointing at his throat.

“Leave,” she said firmly.

The man barked a laugh. “You slutty blood traitor.” Ginny didn’t respond, merely drew breath as if to curse him.

“I wouldn’t trifle with her, Jugson.” Lucius’ voice came up, cool and placid, from between the standoff. He was still sitting, leaning back against the seat, and he flicked his eyes up to the man. “Hm.” Lucius made a sound of thought. “You’re shorter than your father.”

“You shut up about my father. He died in Azkaban while you went free, you fucking faggot!”

Ginny’s breath skipped a beat at the name-calling.

“And for what? So you can ponce around in your fucking velvet waistcoats and fuck a dirty blood traitor and eat—eat lunch—with a filthy fucking Mudblood?”

Suddenly, Lucius stood, and drew himself up to his entire and full height, pushing Ginny behind his body, and she, enveloped in the black folds of his robes, was struck with how illuminated and frightening and striking he could be when he wanted to. Back home, in the Manor, he was casual and half-buttoned, his hair loose and staticky. Here, in the middle of the pub, he was towering, lithe and yet immeasurably strong, his hair pulled back tightly, his eyes absolutely furious. It was as though some sort of blackened energy was radiating out from him, a wayward halo, pure and threatening, and he leaned toward the man.

“Leave,” he hissed, replicating her words from earlier, and it sounded like bells and snakes and rock ripping, and Ginny darted a look at Hermione, who was sitting agog, her mouth open, her hand on her wand still.

Lucius hadn’t even brought his wand out, although Ginny was sure that his hand—somewhere in his voluminous robe—was curled around it, and that his fingers were itching to strike—and she almost wanted him to, she almost wanted to see him lash out like she knew he could, arms coiled and finessed, beautiful—

Jugson made a choked, angry sound in his throat, made as if to grab his wand, darted a look around at the rest of the pub—and then seemed to think, briefly, and turned to Lucius and spat a thick wad of spit on his boots. He then snapped his teeth at Hermione and Ginny and left.

The entire pub had fallen quiet, watching them.

Lucius drew himself up again, and pivoted slowly on his heel, looking at everyone in the room with a look that dared—just dared—someone to speak, and then sat back down on the bench, pulling Ginny gently in beside him. As he fished a handkerchief out from his robes, the clatter rose gradually again, and the pub went back to its business.

“Disgusting,” he muttered, wiping the spit off of his boots.

“Was that—was he related to the Jugson from the Department of Mysteries?” Hermione had regained her power of speech.

“Yes,” Lucius said, incinerating the used handkerchief with his wand and watching it burn on the empty plate. When he looked up at Hermione, he spoke again. “The one I fought beside. I hadn’t known that he had died, though.”

It was as if the incident had subtly re-set Lucius, and shaken the cruelty and cynicism out of him for a moment.

“The family was always fucking un-hinged, though.”

Ginny knew he was upset because of his profane language. She grimaced at Hermione, who took the hint.

“Well—it’s been an eventful meal, but I should go—Ron’s expecting me. I told him where I was going and he wasn’t as ridiculous as I thought he would be. Mainly just irritated. Maybe he’s coming around. Who knows?” Hermione grabbed at her purse but Lucius sighed and shook his head.

“No, let me.”

“What?” She raised her eyebrows.

“I said, Miss Granger, that I would take care of the bill. Don’t protest—it’s rude to turn down someone’s generosity.”

Hermione was silent for a moment before speaking. “Well, thank you very much then. That’s very—generous of you.” She didn’t say ‘kind’.

“It’s the least I could do, what with that maniac—” Lucius trailed off, his voice grumbling and low, and Hermione shrugged and looked at Ginny, smiling slightly.

“I’ll see you later, Gin.”

Ginny stood and hugged her hard. “Thank you.” The words were whispered into Hermione’s hair. “I’ll owl you tonight.” She watched as Hermione picked her way through the crowd, walking confidently out of the pub. “Do you think she’s alright with that loon running amok in the streets?”

Lucius had his head down, sorting through his pockets. “She should be. Miss Granger is a big girl, after all.”

“Don’t act so nonchalant. You stood up for her today.”

“I stood up for you. She just happened to be there.”

“So you’re saying that you would have sat back and let him attack her if I hadn’t done anything?” Ginny looked at him wryly.

“Perhaps,” he replied. “And why on earth has she married your brother? She’s much smarter than him,” Lucius grumbled.

Ginny grinned.


---


Back in the Manor, Lucius exhaled and collapsed onto his study’s couch, sitting up right for a brief moment before sliding down, over to the side, to fall onto his stomach, his face buried in the material.

“What are you doing?”

“Resting,” he replied, his mouth muffled.

“Was it Jugson?” Ginny was unbuckling her shoes.

“It was having to be civil to a Mudblood all lunch.”

“Lucius.” She threw her shoe at him, and it bounced harmlessly off of his bottom.

“It was Jugson, yes. It was a mixture of lunch and then Jugson.”

“But you were civil to Hermione.”

“Grudgingly. She is smart. You were right. I appreciate her intelligence. She needs to comb her bloody hair, though.” His face was still in the couch.

“You’re going to suffocate yourself.”

“Or at least braid it.” He turned his face to the side, looking at her. “I’m concerned about him, actually. I thought he had moved to Bulgaria. I suppose he’s back. The Ministry will always keep tabs on him, but I think his main probation period is over, and it seems like he’s still the vitriolic and sadistic man he always was.”

Ginny felt a stab of worry. “Will Hermione be—safe?”

“I’m not sure. Probably. He seems angrier with me, which will translate into anger with you, too. It’s you I’m more concerned about.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve fought my fights.” She came over to sit beside him, pulling his hair back over one shoulder. “I can handle myself. So can Hermione, actually.”

“It’s a different kind of magic. Dark magic.”

“Well, I’ll let you know if anything out of the ordinary happens.”

He nodded.