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"…Go on, then."
The words were squeezed from Malfoy's throat, a strangled whisper of surrender. The raw, primal terror he felt in Hermione's presence was, at that moment, just barely outweighed by the intoxicating, desperate allure of the spotlight. For his entire life, he had lived in Harry Potter's shadow. Now, he finally had a chance to share the stage.
He practically ran towards Lockhart, a wide, brittle smile plastered on his face. Hermione just shrugged, a look of profound pity in her eyes. "Humans," she murmured to herself. "So predictable."
A flurry of flashbulbs later, a deliriously happy Draco Malfoy returned, clutching a stack of signed books. The world, for a moment, felt right again. He was the center of attention. He even managed to give Harry a look that was almost friendly. He walked up to Hermione, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth, a difficult, unfamiliar "thank you" forming on his lips.
He was cut off by the sharp tap of a silver-topped cane on his chest.
"Draco. Behave yourself."
The voice was a low, aristocratic drawl, dripping with a cold, casual menace that sucked all the warmth from the crowded bookstore. A tall, pale man with long, white-blond hair and cold, grey eyes was standing behind him. He pushed Draco aside as if he were a piece of furniture and fixed his gaze on Harry.
Lucius Malfoy had arrived.
Draco's brief moment of joy evaporated, replaced by the familiar, chilling fear he always felt in his father's presence. I was being friendly, he screamed in his head. And now you've ruined it!
"Lucius Malfoy," the man said, extending a hand to Harry, his eyes, however, were fixed on the lightning-bolt scar. Harry shook it, and Lucius's grip was surprisingly strong, pulling him a half-step closer. With the tip of his snake-headed cane, he gently brushed Harry's fringe aside, exposing the scar.
"Your scar is legend," Lucius whispered, his voice a sibilant hiss that was meant for Harry but was loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "As is the wizard who gave it to you."
A collective gasp went through the Weasleys. The veiled praise of Lord Voldemort, spoken so openly, was a shocking and provocative act. They glared at him, their hands clenching into fists, but they were frozen, unsure how to respond to a threat that was wrapped in the guise of polite conversation.
"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy?"
Hermione's voice, bright and cheerful, cut through the tense silence. "I'm a student of recent magical history, and I found that statement fascinating. A legend, you say? Could you possibly repeat that? I'd like to get the quote right for my notes."
Lucius turned, his cold grey eyes narrowing as he took in the small, brown-haired girl. "And you must be Miss Granger," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Draco has told me… all about you."
Draco went pale. No, I haven't! Not a word! Don't you dare associate me with her!
"I heard your parents were… Muggles," Lucius continued, letting the word hang in the air like a foul smell. He was about to follow it up with a more direct insult, but Hermione pressed on, her smile unwavering.
"You haven't answered my question, sir. The legend you mentioned? I didn't quite catch the name." She was being deliberately obtuse, a cheerful, persistent child forcing him to repeat his transgression.
Lucius's jaw tightened. He was being played by a child, and a Mudblood at that, but his pride wouldn't let him back down. "As I said," he repeated, his voice cold, "the wizard who gave Mr. Potter his scar… is also a legend."
"Aha!" Hermione exclaimed, her expression shifting in an instant from childish curiosity to that of a ruthless prosecutor. She whipped out a notepad and a self-inking quill. "Everyone heard that!" she announced to the now-silent, watching crowd. She began to write, speaking her notes aloud in a clear, carrying voice. "Witness statement, Lucius Malfoy. Subject refers to the Dark Lord Voldemort, a mass-murdering terrorist, as a 'legend'."
Lucius's face, which had been pale, was now turning a blotchy red. "Now see here, you insolent little…"
"Subject has a known history as a Death Eater," Hermione continued, ignoring him completely. "Claimed to have acted under the Imperius Curse. A defense that was, conveniently, never verified by the use of Veritaserum. However, his statement today, years after the supposed curse was lifted, indicates a continued and public admiration for the Dark Lord. I believe this constitutes sufficient grounds for the Ministry of Magic to reopen his case." She looked up, her eyes burning with a righteous, legalistic fire. "I recommend a full-scale investigation and, if found guilty of perjury, a life sentence in Azkaban."
"You… you dare!" Lucius sputtered, his aristocratic composure finally shattering. The crowd was now muttering, their eyes full of a renewed suspicion and hostility.
"A Death Eater? Here?" a voice boomed. Gilderoy Lockhart, smelling an opportunity for publicity, leaped back into the fray. "Hiding in plain sight! It seems even the darkest of wizards are fans of my work! But alas!" he declared, striking a heroic pose. "As a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, I have an inviolable duty to uphold justice! Stand back, everyone! I shall apprehend him myself!"
He was beaming. This was going to be the best book signing ever.
Hermione then looked pointedly at Arthur Weasley. Mr. Weasley, who had been watching the scene with a mixture of terror and awe, understood his cue. He stepped forward, his expression now one of official, Ministry gravity. "Indeed," he said, his voice firm. "With so many witnesses, a new inquiry is certainly warranted. I will submit the application myself when I return to the Ministry."
Lucius Malfoy was trapped. He had been publicly humiliated, legally cornered, and thoroughly outmaneuvered by a twelve-year-old girl. He shot Hermione a look of pure, undiluted hatred. "We are leaving," he snarled. He grabbed Draco by the arm and practically dragged him from the store, a tidal wave of reporters and flashing cameras in their wake.
"A pity he escaped," Lockhart lamented to the press, "but do not worry, citizens! Justice will be served!"
That girl's heart is as black as coal, Harry and Arthur thought at the exact same time, a new, profound, and deeply terrified respect for Hermione dawning in their minds.
Hermione, however, was no longer paying attention to any of them. Her gaze was fixed on Ginny Weasley's cauldron, where, nestled amongst the new schoolbooks, was a small, slim, black-covered diary that hadn't been there a moment before.
So that was your move, Lucius, she thought, a cold, analytical clarity cutting through the chaos. You panicked. The Ministry raids, the fear of being caught with a dark artifact… so you passed it on. To the daughter of the very man who was investigating you. It was a cruel, desperate, and brilliant move. Unleash the monster from the Chamber of Secrets to attack Muggle-borns, and let Dumbledore take the fall for the resulting chaos.
She watched as the diary, a forgotten fragment of a Dark Lord's soul, was carried out of the shop in the hands of an innocent, unsuspecting child. The next game had already begun.
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