Continuing Tales


A Harry Potter Story
by MizSphinx

Part 2 of 12

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Hi, Legolas,

I'm glad that you're interested in Greek mythology as well. We really do have much in common! My name? Well, I believe Athena embodies my true spirit. I'm a firm believer in fairness, and I have great respect for wisdom, wherever it can be found and attained. There is more as to why I took this name, but maybe I will share it with you at a later date.

I, too, was amused by your name. Have you read Lord of the Rings? No doubt. Are you an elf as well? Now that would be very thrilling, indeed! Maybe you can instruct me on a bit of archery from time to time? Ha!

I also think it an incredibly thoughtful and amazing endeavour that you would create undeniably time-consuming potions, and donate them to St. Mungo's. Furthermore, I don't think you should give up on your dream. Whatever obstacles in your path preventing you from fulfilling it can be overcome if you want it made into reality bad enough. My friends and family say I'm stubborn, and I suppose I am. I believe one needs to have a certain kind of tenacity if one wants to thrive, so I refuse to see my obstinacy as a weakness. (Is that being doubly stubborn?)

And, yes, I'd like to believe I've fulfilled one of my dreams. I've always wanted to be surrounded by books, and I've finally found a job that allows me such a luxury. Still, there are many other dreams I harbour that I'd like to see come true. For instance, I'd like to visit Greece, write a bestselling suspense book, ride a horse, own at least one ridiculously expensive piece of jewellery or clothing, and do something that is completely uncharacteristic of me. I'd also like to pet a tiger, go kayaking, drink sake, learn to speak fluent German – and so many more, but I fear I'll bore you with the rest, if I haven't already.

So, what are some of the other things you've dreamt of accomplishing, Legolas?


Having run its course, winter handed the baton over to spring, and with the new weather came drier days and a bit more sunshine. Hermione's customer base began to grow, and so did her earnings. Since the opening of her bookshop, she'd been staring bleakly at the uninspiring figures in the income margin when she did her accounting, but now, thank Merlin, business was finally growing – albeit slowly.

There were many instances during the past year when she'd questioned leaving her job at the Ministry. Especially on those days when she sold, at most, two books for the day. And even though being the Assisting Head of Department for the Pest Sub-Division had been a tedious wasteland of paper-pushing, at least the pay had been decent.

Still, it had not been her dream job. After returning to Hogwarts to complete her final year, she'd had impressive dreams of rising swiftly to some position of power. With her status as War Heroine, there was no obstacle in her path to her becoming, say, the Minister for Magic. And even if that had been extraordinarily ambitious, she'd have at least settled for Head of Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. If she couldn't reform the Wizarding World to her liking, then at least she'd have an influence in the proper treatment of magical beasts and beings.

Unfortunately, her War Heroine status meant little when the desired job positions had already been filled, and so, she was stuck with the next best offer: secretarial work disguised under the prestigious title of 'Assistant Head.'

Well, not anymore, she thought with smug satisfaction as she alphabetised the Herbology section. I'm my own boss now.

Indeed. She was the proud and sole owner of Tea & Tome. A bookshop that catered to the scholarly types who also fancied a nip of tea whilst studiously (or pretending to be) absorbing the knowledge secured within each book page. Once the home of a spectacle shop, the diminutive piece of real estate had been sold to Hermione at half its value due to the seller's desperation for money.

Wedged too tightly in between a shoe shop and a bakery, and its back paralleling rows of other businesses, Hermione was unable to magically expand the building as she'd have liked. Not to mention, the Ministry's cost for a licensed expansion was criminally expensive. Therefore, she made use of every bit of space she had by shelving books all the way to the ceiling.

Granted, it entailed her climbing up a ladder to restock or rearrange the books, and even though she had a slight fear of ladders, she didn't mind. Much.

And, at least, when customers requested a book, all she had to do was cast a quick Accio spell to retrieve it. Simple.

Currently, she was perched on a twelve-rung ladder, her feet secured on the seventh rung. Beside her, four stacks of books containing ten each levitated within easy reach. She was humming 'Mary Had A Little Lamb' as she checked each book's spine before placing them in their appropriate spot. Half of her mind on the task at hand, and the other half on the last letter she'd recently sent to Legolas two days ago, she did not hear the wind chime chiming.

"You seem in high spirits, Miss Granger," said a voice down below.

Startled, Hermione's body shook, and she released a little gasp, as well as her firm hold on the ladder's handle. Both hands employed in wide, frantic helicopter arcs in a futile effort to regain her balance, off she fell from the ladder. She let out a little scream and subconsciously tightened her body, readying herself for the impact with hardwood flooring.

Instead, she collided first with flesh, and then both she and accompanying flesh tumbled gracelessly to the floor. Limbs tangled. Her elbow met with a ribcage. Strands of hair filled her mouth.

"My sincerest apologies, Miss Granger. Perhaps I should have been a bit more cautious upon approaching you."

Aghast, Hermione spat hair from her mouth, scrambled off of Lucius Malfoy's body, and rose swiftly to her feet. She stepped backwards, tripped over the fallen ladder, and then sprang to her feet yet again.

Face the reddest it had ever been in her twenty-three years of existence, she stuttered out:

"I…that's…that's okay. I mean...well…I didn't hear you come in. I usually hear when people come in. The wind chime. I hear it. When you come in. I-it chimes…"

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Lucius had risen to a sitting position. He looked strange there, sitting on the floor in his expensive robes. His ribbon had come undone, so his usually well-coiffed hair fell wild and free against his shoulders. He gazed at her for a short moment before rising to his feet. Standing tall before her, his advantage in height made her feel very small, and further embarrassed by the entire incident.

If the ground suddenly opened up and asked her to jump in, she'd do so in half of a heartbeat. She'd not care where her destination might be, so long as it scurried her away from the present.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

She stared up at him. "No." Then: "Are you?"

The left corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "Merely my pride. I'd envisioned catching you in a princely manner. Alas, my ambitious attempt was thwarted."

She dared a little smile of her own.

"Maybe next time you'll get a better gauge and catch me properly," she said, instantaneously regretting her words. Her eyes wide with renewed mortification, she stuttered out: "That…that is…if I-I fall and you're there and you – "

Oh, Merlin. Kill me now. Just do it. Do it quick.

"Perhaps," was Lucius' smirking reply before he turned away from her and commenced with his book search.


I apologise for my delayed response to your letter. Familial obligations kept me engaged.

How have you fared during the past week? Splendidly, I hope?

Am I an elf, you ask? Would you think any less (or more) of me if this proved to be true? Maybe you've a particular fancy for elves? Although, I must admit, you've very strange tastes. Regardless, to each his – or her – own.

I jest. I hope you've not already decided to cease responding to my letters.

I envy your dream fulfilment, Athena. I also envy your persisting optimism. I've never had the patience for cheerfulness, or the ability to view life through lenses I may have perceived as rose-coloured. Granted, I will never appoint myself on the other end of the spectrum and call myself a pessimist, either. Rather, I'm an…opportunist. Whatever opportunity or gain to be had in any event, I will take advantage of it. Use it to further my…not happiness, I've never known happiness...perhaps my comfortableness? My longevity?

Nevertheless, enough with this sombre tone. Perhaps I might follow in your steps and write a novel myself? A lengthy, tedious soliloquy spanning three hundred pages? I will credit you for the inspiration, my dear.

You've many thrilling and courageous dreams, Athena. I fear the ones I long for are quite dull when compared to yours. However, there is one wish I've nursed for the past few months. I am of a certainty that it will never come to be, but I'm filled with a dangerous amount of hope. I think it ludicrous that this wish has so consumed me with the need to fulfill it, as mere months before, I would have baulked at the very notion of it.

But life is filled with incredible ironies, Athena. I believe it is Fate's way to keep us dancing for her own enjoyment.



There went her fourth tea-set.

She'd already foreseen this event. Thank Merlin it had been cheap.

How she'd tripped over air was beyond her. One moment, she'd been walking with a healthy, measured stride, carrying the tray upon which the tea-set sat. However, the next moment, the same moment when Lucius Malfoy had turned to watch her, she'd somehow found herself pitching forwards, tray and tea-set arcing in the air in a competition as to which would fly highest before plummeting to a noisy crash.

Maybe she'd made a record of some sort? Instead of nicknaming her the brightest witch and all that hogwash, maybe she should be renamed: The Girl Who Fell Over Air. That would make for much more interesting dinner conversations.

She propped herself up on all fours, highly aware of Lucius' burning stare on the back of her head. Sweet Merlin she wanted to cry. Would it be so bad if she did? How much embarrassment could someone take before they were allowed to buckle under the pressure?

Raising herself further, she knelt on the floor. She was just about to push to her feet when Lucius came in front of her and extended a hand. She stared at it as if it were a foreign object. A pale hand with five long fingers; a silver ring with an emerald prominent in its centre visible on his middle finger. He didn't bite his nails, she noticed; they were even and healthy, quite unlike hers, which were bitten, raggedy edges made worse in her moments of anxiety. Just like this one.

He wiggled his fingers. She stared at them some more.

"This is odd, Miss Granger. Here I am offering my hand in assistance, yet I've a distinct feeling that you'll kiss it instead. Who knew my digits were so…enticing?"

Annoyance edged out her embarrassment. She glared up at him. He smirked down at her.

"You're not the pope. I'll not kiss your hand," she retorted, still kneeling, still glaring.

"Oh? So had I that esteemed title, you'd not have hesitated pressing your lips against my flesh?"

Within nanoseconds, Hermione's mind traversed a very dirty path. Her gaze lowered. Here she knelt before Lucius Malfoy, her head near parallel with his crotch. With shameful ease, she could envision herself unbuckling, unzipping…grabbing

No! Bad, Hermione! Very bad!

She met his gaze again, fearful he knew what perverted things she was thinking.

"O-of course not," she replied weakly before taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet.

She was standing very close to him now. So close she could distinguish the little ruby markings on his robes' dragon clasp. So close she could feel his body's heat. So close she could smell the sharp, alluring scent of his cologne, and an underlying tangy fragrance – lemon? Orange? Apricot? Something fruity.

She inhaled deeply. Would he notice if she leant in a bit further? Merlin, he smelt good.

Sounding amused, he responded, "Indeed? Then why haven't you released my hand as yet, Miss Granger? Your actions really do beg to differ."

She looked down. She was still holding on to his hand. Dear Circe, she was holding Lucius Malfoy's hand.

Dropping his hand as though it burned her, she stepped back and away from him. Mumbling a quick apology, she made a hasty retreat to the tiny storage room. There she sat on a box, her hands covering her face, fully resolving in a very dramatic manner that she'll never show her face to the light of day ever again.


A Harry Potter Story
by MizSphinx

Part 2 of 12

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