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Hungry Thirsty Crazy	By : AndreaLorraine Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 47434 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Author�s Note: I�m a sucker for these plot bunnies lately.

Hermione was in Flourish and Blotts savoring how normal it was.� The book shop had closed during the last
months of the war.� It would only have
been used as a vehicle for propaganda, anyway, so it was best that they had
boarded it up and fled.

�� It had been
eighteen months.� Hermione hadn�t come
back to Diagon Alley in all that time, unable to bear
the broken images she saw in the Daily Prophet.�
Now it was mostly reconstructed and nearly every shop was bustling like
the war had never happened.� Even Weasley�s Wizard Wheezes was going strong; George had
continued it with Lee Jordan.� They kept
Fred�s Order of Merlin in the window of the shop for inspiration, and though
the two of them felt that their products had dropped off in quality without
him, the public clearly disagreed.

�� Being here
in Flourish and Blotts was the crowning glory.� This was the ultimate return of freedom.� She could once again peruse the aisles of the
gargantuan bookshop, pick out whatever she wanted, and read without a care in
the world.

�� The store
was exploding with new books.� War was
rife with stories and as such a thousand biographies, memoirs, and novels had
come out in the time immediately afterward.�
She herself had been asked multiple times to write one.� Hermione had never felt the urge and it
seemed kind of absurd to write a memoir when she only had nineteen years under
her belt.

�� Hermione
rounded another corner and stopped.� In
the aisle in front of her no less than four people were standing completely
still.� All of them were at various
points in the same book; a slim white volume with red lettering on the cover.

�� Excuse
me,� she asked the man closest to her, who was also furthest in the book, �but
what is that you�re reading?�� He looked
up.

�� You
haven�t heard of it?�

�� Hermione
shook her head.

�� It�s
causing a lot of buzz,� he said.� �No one
knows who wrote it.�� He reached over a
short woman and plucked a copy from the shelf.�
Handing it to her, he said, �I won�t ruin it for you.�

�� Hermione
examined it as he moved past her, probably seeking a quieter place to finish
the book.� The cover was a bright shade
of white, adorned only with bold red letters that looked like they had come
from a typewriter.� FAIM, it was called.� Beneath the title, in lowercase, it said �a
memoir�.� She frowned.� Faim meant hungry
in French, didn�t it?� Yes, she
remembered that.� There was no author and
no blurb on the back of the book.� Just that stark word.�
It was genius, really�even the book was hungry.

�� She opened
the book to a random page.

�� He thought when he was young that black and
white were the same thing. �They were both nothing, equally empty.� However, he found out later that black was
the absence of all color and white was the presence of every color.� It seemed somehow unfair.

�� Why, he wondered, was presence
better than absence?� Why was everything
better than nothing?� Why did black
denote cold, evil, and depravity, where white stood for light, purity, and
goodness?� Winter was white, he sometimes
felt like screaming, and winter killed everything.� Night was black and night renewed the world,
enabled it to face itself when the sun rose again.� Black and white were
not black and white and nobody could see it but him.

�� Hm.� So far so good.� Hermione turned back about thirty pages.

�� and when the open palm met his cheek the
sound echoed off the high gothic archway.

�� Don�t say that!� she shrieked.� �Never say such a thing again!�� Her face was like that of a horse worked into
panic; wide-eyed, nostrils flaring, rearing up and away from the threat of his
words.� She was the filly and he was the
snake, the thing coiled in the grass trying to bite her and inject her with the
venom of reality.

�� Hermione chewed her lip.� Two for two.� Now it only had to pass one more check.� This was how she picked books.� If she could turn to three separate spots in
the book and find what was written interesting in each place, she usually
bought it.� She turned further toward the
back, but not far enough that it would ruin the ending.

�� It was no surprise to him that men abused
power.� He knew from experience that so
little of it was ever given that when it came, men lost their minds and their
morals.� Power was a fast woman, all dark
makeup and milky thighs, straddling you on a first date.� She let you touch her and when you felt how
hot and slick she was you wanted to own her cunt
forever.

�� Hermione coughed slightly and
looked around.� She was sure she was
blushing.� Oh, heavens, she wasn�t a
kid!� She could handle sexual metaphors
and the c-word.� She had read worse.� She forced her eyes back to the page.

�� He began his copulation with power like
anyone else; tentative, but when he found that it was good he wanted it more
and faster and harder.� She was a willing
lover and it coaxed more pleasure out of him than he would at first admit.� In fact she wrung him dry and when he was
with his wife he couldn�t make himself desire her.� Not until he realized that he could bring that
power with him to the bedroom, anyway, and that�that made his toes curl.� His wife never knew it, but from that day
forward every encounter was a m�nage a trois; him,
her, and his silent, invisible mistress.

�� Oh my.� This person certainly knew how to spin a
metaphor.� She felt mildly dirty and�yes,
that passage had made her more aware of certain regions of her body and how
neglected they were.� If one page of a
book could make her horny, it was time to get some action.� She sighed; that was easier said than done
since Ron was away at auror training.

�� She was
startled out of her thoughts by someone clearing his throat.� Unwittingly she had blocked the entire aisle,
standing right in the middle of it to read.�
The other three readers were gone; she was the rude one, obstructing the
flow of customers.

�� I�m s--�
she stopped, stunned.� It was Lucius Malfoy at the end of the
row, waiting more patiently and calmly than she would have expected.� His face, always so aristocratic, was
neutral.� His cornflower eyes flickered
to the book in her hands. �To her great
surprise, a slight smirk pulled his lips and he said,

�� Are you
reading about Mistress Power?�

�� Hermione
blushed worse than she was already blushing.�
Obviously he had read the book.�
And Jesus, was she really that obvious?� No.� He
was only trying to embarrass her.� She
wouldn�t give him the satisfaction.

�� Yes,� she
tried to recover.� �It�s an�apt metaphor.�

�� Indeed,�
he responded.� And that was all he
said.� No backhanded cruelty, no vile
names, no Slytherin rhetoric�Confused, Hermione moved
aside to let him pass.� It would surely
come now, some nasty comment about how mudbloods
ought to behave around their superiors.

�� He kept his
silence, though, and brushed past.�
However, before he turned the corner he paused and looked back.

�� If Mistress
Power makes you blush�wait until you meet Mistress Pain.�

�� And then he
was gone in a flick of pale platinum hair.�
Hermione stood there for five whole minutes, trying to process the odd
encounter.� When she realized she
couldn�t, she walked towards the counter as if hypnotized.� Her legs were rubbery as she paid for the
book.

�� She could
barely wait to get back to her flat and read it.� Once there she devoured it.� The author�s talent was undeniable; he � for
she was certain now that it was a man � wove the story in rich insights that
were often a little disturbing in their accuracy.� This was a person who understood the world
around him and a person who understood himself, but sometimes had trouble
putting the two together.

�� The book
only chronicled his life up until he was twenty-three.� Could a twenty-three-year-old really write
something like this?� Something
so�terrible in its own enlightenment?�
Some of the things that happened to him were gut-wrenching but
Hermione�s sympathy evaporated time and time again when he later did something
similarly awful to another � and knew very well that he was recreating his own
hell in someone else.� In spite of his
heartlessness, she couldn�t bring herself to dislike him.� Yes, she hated everything this protagonist
did, but she didn�t hate him.� It was
disconcerting.� By being unable to hate
him, it felt like he had somehow�won.

�� Ginny
knocked on the door a moment later.� It
was only a formality; Hermione was helping her study for NEWTs.� Ginny let herself in and made a beeline for
the couch.� The redhead collapsed onto it
with a sigh.

�� Tough day?� Hermione asked, pushing the book out of her
mind.

�� Ginny held
out a bandaged hand.� �Hagrid ran out of flesh-eating slug repellent and didn�t
tell anyone.�

�� Hermione
winced.� Poor Ginny.� She was almost done with school; Hermione had
finished about six months before.�
Hermione�s year on the run should have meant that they finished
together.� However, many students had
received abysmal grades at the Snape-run Hogwarts and
chose to repeat the year with a clean slate rather than graduate on time with
awful grades.� Ginny often voiced that
they should have been credited with straight O�s for tolerating Snape and his entourage, but there was no bite in the
insult.

�� So what
did you do today?� Ginny asked, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

�� I went to
Flourish and Blotts.�

�� Ginny�s
eyebrow went up.� �Are you going to be
able to pay your rent?�

�� Hermione
stuck her tongue out and then responded, �Of course.� I only bought one book.�

�� Only one?� I�m
impressed.�

�� I
know.�� Hermione picked up the paperback
and held it out to Ginny.� �Heard of it?�

�� Oh, yeah,�
Ginny nodded, waving her off.� �I read it
last week.�

�� Did
everyone know about this book before me?�

�� Ginny
shrugged.� �I read it because Amelia
Wentworth in Ravenclaw said it was the most
disturbing book she ever read.�

�� And?�

�� You read
it, Hermione.� You don�t need my
opinion.�

�� I know,
but I want to know�how did it make you feel?�

�� Ginny
smiled, knowing what she was getting at.�
She had been confused by her own reaction until she had talked to Amelia
and found out that she wasn�t crazy.� �If
you must know, Hermione - and I�ll only
admit it to you - it made me feel sick and horny at the same time.�

�� Oh thank
God!� I thought I was the only one,�
Hermione exclaimed.� At several points in
the book she had had to close it and take a few deep breaths.� She had the feeling this author could make anything dirty.� Even certain things that were horrible held
an erotic undercurrent that made her feel ashamed for responding to it.� He was really freaking talented and probably
knew it.

�� Do you
think it�s really a memoir?� Ginny asked.�
�I�m not so sure.�

�� Hermione
considered.� It was written in the third
person; wouldn�t most people write their memoir in their own voice?� �There
was also a certain vagueness about the way he
described things.� He told you enough to
understand what was happening, but left you to imagine exactly how.� And there was not a single name or proper
noun in the entire book.� She could
understand that.� If it was real a lot of
people could get in trouble, because many of the he�s and she�s in the tale had
done terrible things...

�� Me
either.�� She frowned as an odd feeling
settled in her stomach.� �God, I hope
not.�

�� A month
passed and Hermione forgot all about the book and the odd encounter that had
come with it.� She was leaving the
Ministry after an interview, one that had gone quite well.� Most people had expected her to go straight
to University after graduation, but the war had shifted her priorities and her
ideas.� Now she wasn�t at all sure what
she really wanted to do.� There were so
many options, healing, potions, charms, and advanced transfiguration among
them.� How was she supposed to choose?

�� Mr. Weasley had gotten her an interview in his department.� Being a muggleborn
was an immense perk, of course.� She was
fairly certain she�d gotten the position.�
If she had it would be perfect; she�d gain good experience, make money
so that she could pay for her own university fees and her flat, and have enough
time to really think about what she wanted to go to university for.�

�� As she left
through the visitor�s entrance her stomach rumbled.� She had skipped breakfast, worried that her
nerves might give her a shifty stomach.�
Now she was bordering on ravenous.�
Well, there were enough little cafes on her walk back to King�s Cross
that she was sure to find something to eat.

�� Ten minutes
later she ducked into a small, cozy tea shop.�
She had about forty minutes before her train.� She had decided to go see her parents,
feeling like she hadn�t in a while, instead of going back to her flat.� Walking up to the counter she ordered a muffin
and a cup of tea.� That would hold her
over until whatever ridiculously large dinner her mother insisted on cooking.

�� A few
minutes later, tea and muffin in hand, she turned and had to decide where to
sit.� The caf� wasn�t crowded but it
wasn�t empty.� People were interspersed
typically, each putting proper space between themselves
until it got too crowded to do so.� Wait
just a bleeding minute�

�� There he
was again.� Lucius Malfoy.� Again!� In a muggle
caf�!� He was at a table with another man
and both were, shockingly, in muggle clothing.� Though Malfoy�s
robe was draped over his chair; he probably wouldn�t be caught dead without it.

�� He looked
different in muggle clothing.� The pair of reading glasses perched on his
nose added to the strange vision.� He was
talking animatedly with the other man, gesturing now and again at a stack of
parchment that was between them on the table.�
Hermione moved back towards the counter, which would partially obstruct
her should he suddenly look over.

�� Hey,�
Hermione said to the girl, �that blond man � have you ever seen him before?�

�� The girl
leaned over to look and nodded.� �Yeah,
this is the third day he�s been here.��
She smiled.� �Not bad to look at,
is he?�

�� Do you
know the man that�s with him?� she asked, ignoring the other comment.

�� No, first
time I�ve seen him.� Looks like some kind
of meeting.�

�� Thanks,�
Hermione said, nodding, and moved away.�
If she sat in the booth that was furthest back, she could watch Malfoy and his friend without them being able to see her.

�� She drank
her tea slowly, barely tasting it.� She
was riveted on Malfoy. �Why would he meet someone here, in muggle London?� Why would he try to blend in, to look
ordinary?� That was something the Malfoys simply didn�t do.�
Who was his companion and what on earth were
they discussing?

�� She was
halfway through her blueberry muffin when Malfoy
reached out, took the stack of parchment, and tucked it into his robe.� Then�yes, this was the part she�d been
waiting for.� Money changed hands � Malfoy to his visitor � and the deal was made.� She would bet her left arm that it was
something suspicious.� A damn good thing
she�d seen him; the git was still up to his old
tricks, manipulating and tricking and behaving like a foul bigoted creep.� Well, this time he wouldn�t get away with it.

�� Hermione
wolfed down the last of her muffin, unable to tear her eyes from him as his
guest got up and left.� Thankfully Malfoy loitered a bit longer, finishing his tea and giving
her time to manage the last gargantuan bite.�
As she wiped the crumbs from her face, he stood up and gathered his robe
from the back of the chair.� At the last
second he dug in his pocket and left some change on the table � muggle money!� Never
in a million years would she have expected that
small kindness.� No wonder the counter
girl liked him.

�� He was
leaving.� Now was the time.� Hermione stood and followed him.� He was a good block ahead of her, walking
quickly.� Odd; he was heading towards
King�s Cross, as well.� Good.� Maybe in the process of foiling his plans she
might not miss her train.

�� Five
minutes went by before opportunity presented itself.� There was an alleyway coming up ahead.� Hermione sped up and as he passed the
alleyway, she pounced.� He let out a muffled
curse as he was propelled into the dark, narrow space and groped for his wand,
which she had already ripped from his pocket.�
Recognition flashed in his eyes, along with a few other things, and she
braced herself for whatever bile he would spew.

�� Are you
mad?� he whispered harshly.� �A muggle could see us!�

�� Hermione
got right to the point.� �I saw you in
the caf� making your little deal.� Give
me the papers or get ready for me to call the Aurors.�

�� For a long
minute he didn�t answer.� Then, �This is
a mistake, Granger.� It isn�t what you
think.�

�� Then there
shouldn�t be any problem with giving me the papers,� she said forcefully.

�� I can�t.�

�� Yeah,
because they�ve got something horribly incriminating on them, don�t they?�
Hermione spat.� �Fine.� I�ll let the Aurors
take them from you, Malfoy.�� She raised her wand to call them.

�� No!� he
said sharply, raising his hand in a gesture of supplication.� �No.�
That isn�t necessary.�� She had
been right to play the Auror card.� If there was one thing Lucius
Malfoy didn�t want, it was to become embroiled in
more legal trouble or go to Azkaban.�
�But I�m telling you,� he went on, �it�s not at all what you think.�

�� Let me see
them!�

�� His eyes
told her well enough how he felt about her ordering him around.� If looks could kill, she�d be a pile of
dust.� But slowly, driven by the fact
that there was no other alternative, he reached into his robes.� His hand emerged with the stack of parchment.

�� You cannot
tell anyone of what you see, Granger,� he cautioned.� He seemed�worried?� Of course he was worried,
he�d been caught in the act!

�� She plucked
the parchment from his hand.� Keeping her
wand carefully trained on him, she unfolded the healthy stack and found the
first page.� It was handwritten in black
ink.

Soif, it said at the top in sloping letters.� French for �thirsty�.� Some kind of code word?� She read on.�
Three paragraphs in, she realized it was a story.� Four paragraphs in she realized it was a sequel.�
Oh God in heaven � it was a continuation of that book that had unsettled
her so much a month ago.� Faim.

Hungry.� Thirsty.

She almost dropped the papers.� He noticed it and reacted quickly, one hand
clasping the side of the stack.

�I swear, if you drop those�!�

Hermione was in shock.� �It�s you!�

�� He rolled
his eyes.� �Yes, that should be obvious.�

�� You wrote that book!� Oh my�� Hermione�s jaw fell as memories of the
book returned to her.� The things those
words had done to her!� Lucius Malfoy�s words!

�� He ignored
her epiphany.� �Are you happy now, Miss
Granger?� he asked, infuriated.

�� I�happy?�

�� With your paranoia?�

�� I�m
sorry,� she apologized quickly, though Lord knew he didn�t deserve it.� �I�how on earth did you get it published
anonymously?�

�� It�s very
simple.� I found a publisher, made an
agreement with him that made him rich, and for that he keeps my identity a
secret and publishes the book.� The sales
and royalties go to an untraceable account in Switzerland.�

�� She shook
her head, overwhelmed.� He had just given
her a blueprint of pure cleverness in five sentences or less.� The thought of the number jolted her back to
reality.

�� Shit, my
train!�

�� She
practically threw the stack of parchment back at him.� She was not going to miss her mother�s
cooking, not even for the prospect of interrogating this utterly mystifying
man.� It was better not to know.� That was what she told herself as she
ran.� With a Malfoy,
it was better not to know� ��

��

��

��
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Hungry Thirsty Crazy