Chapter Text
Hermione adjusted the stack of newly delivered leather bound tomes on the counter. The shop smelled of polished oak, old paper, and faint traces of dragonhide polish from a preservation experiment she'd tested the week before.
She liked the quiet little sanctum she’d carved out for herself. Half private library, half office, tucked between a dusty apothecary and Gladrags down a narrow alley most people overlooked entirely. That suited her just fine. Most of her clients came through referrals anyway. Word of mouth and discreet correspondence. Her work was varied enough to keep her interested and difficult enough to keep her challenged. Usually.
Today was supposed to be reserved for cataloging and closing old accounts. Then the bell above the shop door rang.
Hermione glanced up, mildly irritated. She didn’t have appointments scheduled today.
The man standing in the doorway made her blink. Tall, pale, and impeccably dressed in dark robes that probably cost more than her monthly inventory budget. (Which was saying something) Platinum hair caught the morning light like silver.
Lucius Malfoy.
Slightly different than she remembered. Broader, maybe even a bit colder. But not older. Time had refined him rather than worn him down. His features remained severe and aristocratically sharp, untouched by the sort of aging Muggles expected to see after decades passed.
Magic did that.
It stretched youth into something unnervingly long lived. One of the reasons magical families rarely settled among Muggles for extended periods. Eventually, people noticed when one household aged and another simply… didn’t.
He carried an effortless gravity, the sort of quiet authority that didn’t ask for recognition, it expected it. Lucius Malfoy entered spaces as though they already belonged to him.
He did not smile. Not even a polite nod. The pale wizard stepped just inside the threshold and surveyed the shop in silence, blue eyes moving across shelves, display cases, furniture with practiced efficiency. Everything cataloged and put away in his mind to be judged and weighed later. Then his gaze settled on her.
“Miss Granger, I presume.”
The voice was polished and precise, sharpened to a knife edge by years of privilege and absolute certainty. Hermione knew the type well. Men who had spent their entire lives in rooms where legacy mattered more than competence.
She stepped out from behind the counter, expression smoothing into professional neutrality.
“Lord Malfoy. Pardon my surprise. I generally see clients by appointment only.”
Translation: What the bloody hell are you doing here unannounced?
If he noticed the pointed undertone, he gave no indication of it. Instead, Lucius moved further into the shop, attention drifting briefly toward the consultation area. Low leather couches. Meticulously organized shelves. Glass cases housing fragile manuscripts and rare magical texts.
His eyes returned to her. The scrutiny was immediate and thorough. Measuring her the same way he might assess a cursed artifact before deciding whether it belonged in his collection.
“I have come regarding a unique situation,” he said. “I require a specialist.”
Hermione lifted a brow and gestured toward the couches before summoning a tea set with a flick of her wand.
“A specialist in what exactly? I have several masteries. Law? Potions? Ancient languages?”
“Creatures.” His answer came crisply.
“Specifically, a Sphinx. One that has taken up residence on my estate. The Ministry has proven singularly ineffective in persuading it to leave.”
That nearly got a reaction out of her. Her face remained schooled though it was a close thing.
Lucius handed over a dark leather folio thick with correspondence. Hermione opened it and immediately found herself staring at the sort of bureaucratic nightmare only the Ministry of Magic could produce. Stamped forms. Contradictory recommendations. Entire pages of useless procedural loops.
A familiar signature caught her eye halfway through.
Luna Lovegood. Recommending Hermione personally. That was interesting.
She leaned back slightly into the couch, flipping another page before glancing back up at him. Lucius’ mouth twitched faintly. Not quite a smile. More the suggestion that he found the Ministry every bit as exhausting as she did.
“The Ministry’s capabilities have been declining for decades,” he said dryly. “My recent interactions with them only reinforced that belief.”
Hermione hummed softly. She wasn’t inclined to disagree. One of the greatest disappointments of entering the magical world had been discovering their government was somehow even less competent than the Muggle one.
“And so you came here?”
Lucius inclined his head once.
“The matter requires discretion. You came highly recommended. Apparently you possess both the intelligence and temperament necessary to deal with a creature of this nature.”
There it was. Carefully phrased. Technically complimentary. Still carrying the faint underlying discomfort of a pureblood aristocrat forced to seek help from a Muggle-born witch.
Hermione wasn’t insulted in the slightest. Honestly, she loved this part. Nothing in the world was more satisfying than watching members of the Sacred Twenty Eight grit their teeth and come to her for help.
“And the Sphinx?” Hermione finally asked. Allowing some interest to finally show. “Where exactly is it?”
Lucius gave a faintly irritated glance, as if she had asked the wrong question.
“On the estate. At the mausoleum.” He gestured vaguely toward the sheaf of letters.
“The Ministry has been issuing forms and, well, useless recommendations.”
Hermione’s gaze lingered on one particular note that had caught her eye.
- Have you asked it nicely to leave?
She held back a sigh at the absurdity
Another note farther down read:
- Have you considered luring it out with fresh meat attached to a string?
Merlin, she couldn’t restrain the eyeroll this time. Still, despite herself, excitement stirred low in her chest.
“A Sphinx,” she mused. “Rare, intelligent, ancient. Strange to find one on this side of the world."
“Precisely,” Lucius sighed. “Of course, you will be compensated handsomely, naturally.”
Hermione barely heard him. Her mind was already moving through possibilities. Territorial behavior. Binding magic. Ancient ward structures. Riddles…
Circe, this was infinitely more interesting than cataloging.
“I assume the Ministry won’t interfere further?” she asked.
“They’ve already authorized independent assessment,” he replied after a brief pause. “You will not be hindered by unnecessary oversight.”
Translation: I made several very expensive problems disappear.
Hermione reached for her teacup and hid a small smile behind it.
“I’ll need full access to the estate and grounds, of course.”
A subtle shift crossed Lucius’ expression. Barely there. Easy to miss if one wasn’t paying attention.
“My son, Draco, will act as your primary point of contact while you remain at the Manor,” he said evenly. “You attended Hogwarts together, I believe?”
Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
As if either of them had forgotten. Lucius Malfoy had sat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors during her school years. He knew exactly who she was, and exactly how that so called rivalry for top marks with his son had ended.
Brightest Witch in a Century.
The title had followed her ever since, whether she wanted it or not. A scholastic legacy unmatched in over fifty years. The record previously held by some wizard named Riddle, who had attended Hogwarts decades before her.
As for Draco Malfoy, she hadn’t seen him in years. Not properly. Just flashes of his name in the gossip rags now and then, tied to whatever circles pureblood heirs drifted through these days.
Hermione merely nodded.
It was safer than anything else she could have said.
Lucius’ gaze drifted around the shop one final time. More thoughtful now than dismissive. His expectations had clearly been low. Equally clear was the fact she had exceeded them.
“You may arrive at the Manor this weekend,” he said at last. “Suitable arrangements have already been prepared.”
Hermione gathered the folio beneath one arm as Lucius rose to leave. His untouched tea sat cooling quietly on the table between them.
At the doorway, he paused briefly.
“Miss Granger.”
The barest tilt of his head, then he was gone, the bell chiming softly behind him.
Hermione looked down at the stack of Ministry reports in her hands, a slow smile pulling at her mouth.
Challenge accepted.