The Affair

Chapter Four: A Working Lunch











"To find out what one is fitted to do, and to secure an opportunity to do it, is the key to happiness." – John Dewey







In the week that Hermione had been working for Lucius Malfoy she already felt better. She felt productive and useful as she set about righting his library. It had been so long since she had taken any real pleasure in anything that the feelings seemed new and sometimes scary. She really had needed this opportunity more than she thought.







She began with the books stacked on the floor, going over each one and carefully documenting the title, author and year of publication. Some of the titles amazed her as they were nearly impossible to get, a few were even believed to be no longer in existence yet there they sat collecting dust on Malfoy’s floor. She divided them into categories and tossed all duplicates into a box bound for Hogwarts.







She had done so much yet still had barely made a dent in his vast collection. This pleased her because it meant that the project was going to take some time and she would get to savor that warm, sated feeling of having done something productive for quite a while.









She sat on the floor of the library with a silver tray in front of her nibbling idly on her lunch and thumbing through a book when she heard the doors open behind her. Lucius tilted his head, wondering why she was eating on the floor instead of using the cart provided by the staff and sitting in a chair.









“I thought to invite you to join me for lunch, get a progress report on your first week.” He said. Hermione set the book aside and pushed to her feet.







“Of course!” She said, dusting her hands on the seat of her khaki trousers before bending over to retrieve her tray. When she stood upright Lucius was there taking it from her hands and carrying it into his study where he placed it on a small table across from his.







“Please be seated.” He said, holding a chair out for her. His manners were impeccable and somewhat disconcerting as she wasn’t accustomed to it. Once she was settled properly into a chair he took the seat across from her and tucked himself beneath the table. “So, how are things progressing?”







“Well, I have begun to catalogue your collection. Going through each text and documenting it then sorting them into different categories. So far I have completed half of what is currently stacked on the floor.” He was eating but she could tell that he was listening. It was an odd feeling to be having a conversation during meal time where the other person was actually listening to what she said.







“And what is your impression so far?” He asked.







“That you have a collection of great value and you should take better care of your books.” She said, biting her lip when she realized what she had said. He looked up and she sighed with relief at the amused twist to his lips.







“That is why I hired you.” He chuckled.







“I apologize, I didn’t mean to be rude, I have gotten out of the habit of socializing with other people since…” Since the death of her child. She didn’t need to say the words, he understood.







“No need to apologize. You are entitled; no doubt I deserve it for some slight in the past.” He watched her nibble at her sandwich and her cheeks were flushed. She had seemed to perk up a bit since their first meeting; she looked better, healthier even in just a few short days.







“You have more than made amends for your past, I will not hold it against you.” She knew about his year in Azkaban, then the subsequent year of house arrest and yet another year on probation. He had paid for his crimes and had mended his ways; she had nothing to hold against him that would not seem petty and unfair.









“You would be the only person who doesn’t.” He said cryptically. She didn’t know what to say to that. People could be terribly stubborn about letting go of the past. She knew that first hand as her husband was one of those people. He didn’t forget or forgive easily. Sometimes she wondered if that was why things were so strained between them. Did he blame her for Oliver’s death? Did he believe she had done something wrong?







The silence became deafening and uncomfortable as they ate their meal. The sound of her own chewing was getting to her. It was too similar to meals at home and she needed something different.







“How are Draco and Mrs. Malfoy?” She asked. Lucius sat back in his chair and sighed heavily.







“Draco is living in London, very busy with his business interests. As for Mrs. Malfoy, well I wouldn’t really know, she doesn’t speak to me unless absolutely necessary.” What had made him reveal that to her? Why would he tell a veritable stranger about the sad state of his marriage?







“I am sorry, Lucius.” She didn’t know what else to say. She knew that the words meant to comfort rarely did. More often than not they made a person feel worse so she would not patronize him by spewing false sentiment. “I understand.”









“Do you? She blames me for everything. For nearly losing Draco, for the loss of our reputation and she’s right, it is my fault.” He was like a leaky dam; once the confessions began flowing there was no stopping him.







“Not entirely. She had a choice not to go along with your decisions. She could have taken Draco and gone but she chose to stay. It is just as much her fault as yours.” Hermione could see that he felt remorse for what he put his family through and she wondered at a woman who could not forgive or accept her own role in what had happened.







“Well she doesn’t see it that way. She chooses to ignore me and my son avoids me. The honest truth is that you are the only person who has actually spoken t me at any length in a very long time, Hermione.” He was more grateful for her company than she could possibly imagine. He had not realized how lonely his life had become.







“I can empathize.” She said softly.









“Might I inquire about your husband?” He asked, curious about her.









“I am afraid my situation is no brighter than yours.” She said, staring at him across the table. “He works nearly all the time and even when we are together he is never there. He doesn’t talk to me about the baby or visit his grave; it is like he never existed.”









“What is his name?” Lucius saw the tears fill her eyes.







“Oliver.” She smiled softly.









“A very nice, literary name. How old is he?”









“He would have been one next month.” She felt raw as she spoke of her son to Lucius. It was painful yet with every word she felt lighter. “He had red hair and blue eyes like his father. There was a tiny little birthmark on his thigh that looked like a cloud. He was beautiful.”







“I have no doubt that he was. I recall Draco as a baby; I remember how beautiful and innocent he was. Did they ever tell you what happened?” He asked.







“No, they never found a cause of death. They told me it was just one of those things. “She shook her head in irritation. Their explanation angered her still.









“He was obviously too good for this world then and the powers that be needed him more than you.” He said softly. “He is a very lucky boy to have a mother who loves and misses him so much.”







“Thank you, Lucius. No one ever speaks of him, no one ever asks me about him. They are all so afraid that I will break, that I can’t handle it when all I want is for him to be remembered.” She said, wiping away at the tears in her eyes.









“I don’t believe in tiptoeing around it. He was and is something that is very important to you and it is only natural to speak of such things.” He smiled. “We are an interesting pair are we not?”





“Misery loves company?” She smiled back.









“Then we are destined to be great companions.” He raised his glass of water and she joined him. “To partners in melancholy.” He toasted and for the first time in a year Hermione laughed.