The Malfoy Manor cellar had been emptied of its shadows, the wards stripped, the darkness silenced.
But Lucius remained.
Bound in magical chains within the Ministry's high-security wing, awaiting trial. No wig, no cane, no mask of old pureblood pride. Just a man — thinner, older, shackled in truth.
And Hermione Granger walked into his holding cell with her head high.
She still bore the faintest trace of the scars he'd left — a thin line across her collarbone, a stiffness in her left hand — but her eyes blazed with something Lucius had never been able to extinguish.
Strength.
He looked up when the door clanged open. For a moment, something flickered across his face. Surprise… or was it something sharper?
"You came alone," he murmured.
Hermione stopped before him. "I didn't need protection."
Lucius's lip curled faintly. "Brave words, considering the last time we spoke—"
"I'm not here to trade barbs." She met his gaze, steady as iron. "I want to know why."
Lucius tilted his head, feigning indifference. "Why what?"
"Why the obsession with bloodlines." Hermione's voice didn't rise, didn't shake. "Why this hatred? Even after everything — after the war, after losing your influence, your freedom — you still tried to destroy us. Why?"
Lucius said nothing for a long moment.
She stepped closer, her voice lowering. "Because if it's about power, you lost that. If it's about your family, Draco proved he isn't yours to command. If it's about pride…" Her eyes narrowed. "What pride is there in chaining a woman to a wall?"
For the first time, Lucius looked away.
And in the silence that followed, Hermione saw something shift in him.
Not guilt.
Something older.
"I was nine years old the first time I saw my father torture a man for marrying a half-blood," Lucius said softly. "He smiled while he did it."
Hermione's breath caught.
"My grandfather did worse," Lucius continued, his eyes far away. "And so it went. A legacy of 'purity'… tied to punishment. Tied to fear. Tied to making sure we stayed on top. They beat it into us — loyalty to blood over all else. I learned that hating anything different was survival."
He turned his gaze back to her — and for the first time, it wasn't venomous. It was… hollow.
"I believed it would keep me safe. That it would keep my family safe. That if we controlled the bloodlines… nothing could touch us."
Hermione swallowed hard. "And now?"
Lucius's lips pressed into a thin, bitter line. "Now I see the irony. The very thing I fought to protect… is the thing that took everything from me."
Hermione stared at him — this man who had tortured her, hunted her, tried to break her family apart — and for a heartbeat, she saw not a monster… but a man shackled to his own past.
"Draco broke free," she said quietly. "He chose love over fear. Over blood. So did I."
Lucius gave a soft, humorless laugh. "I know." His eyes met hers with something close to… regret? "And that's why I hate you most of all."
Hermione blinked.
"Because you proved everything I was taught… was a lie."
She didn't speak. There was nothing more to say.
Lucius lowered his gaze.
And Hermione turned and walked out of the cell — leaving behind a man crushed under the weight of his own chains.