Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Hungry Thirsty Crazy	By : AndreaLorraine Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 47438 -:- 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
- 9
- 10
- 11
Author�s Note:� It�s
been a while since I was able to give you more than one chapter in a relatively
short period of time.� What can I say, the thunderstorms this weekend inspired me!� I think you guys will like this chapter. ;)� Oh, and thanks for the well-wishes, I am
happy to report that I am injury and illness free!

ShilohDarke � This chapter should
give you some hope.

NutsAboutHarry � Yes, they will,
all in good time. (just hold out a couple more
chapters!)

LaBib � I know,
I�m thankful there wasn�t tendon damage either.�
I�m actually studying to possibly become a hand therapist, so I was
joking the whole time that I nearly landed myself in my own textbooks.� I would at least have known how to splint and
rehab myself�hehe.�
And damn that stupid succubus comment, I thought I had fixed it before I
posted but evidently not.� Thanks for
watching out for me.

Hermione woke when Jo-Jo apparated into the room with a bang.� She nearly fell out of bed in her fright; the
house elf looked frantically apologetic and it took her nearly fifteen minutes
to convince the little thing not to punish herself.� It was after noon, anyhow; she should get out
of bed.

�So sorry, Miss Granger,� Jo-Jo
apologized for the twenty-third time.�
�The healer, Mr. Smythe, is here to see you.�

�Oh,� Hermione said, a little
surprised.� �I�tell him I�ll be right
out.�� The elf nodded and made to disapparate when a thought hit Hermione and she spoke
again.� �Jo-Jo?�

�Yes?� the elf squeaked.

�I don�t suggest you wake Master Lucius like that.� He
may hex you before he knows what he�s doing.�

�Yes, Miss Granger,� Jo-Jo bowed.

When the house elf was gone,
Hermione looked for some pants.� She had
succumbed to sleep in the same thing Lucius had
spelled her into and although Smythe had seen her
completely nude, it still wasn�t proper to greet him in her underwear.� She pulled on a pair of sweatpants, spared a
second to tame her hair, and emerged.

�You are looking much improved,�
the healer said, smiling, when she found him.�
He was a handsome man with dark hair that grayed at the temples and
bespectacled blue eyes.� His skin bore a
warm tone and some aging that meant he probably spent too much time in the
sun.� Fortunately, he was one of those
men who could manage to look distinguished and not merely old.� His words were accented � Canadian, or
perhaps American.

�Yes,� she nodded, �I feel much
better.�

�We haven�t been formally
introduced.� Tiresias
Smythe.�� He
held out a hand, enveloping hers in a handshake that compressed the bones that
ran beneath her palm.� Hermione had
always secretly suspected that doctors and healers shook hands this way on
purpose, in order to increase their business.�
Hiding a wince, she said,

�Hermione Granger.�

He was definitely not from Europe, because he gave no indication that he recognized
her name.� If he had, he would have found
it extremely strange that she was staying with Lucius
Malfoy.� She
wondered what he knew about Lucius; it was more than
many, but less than many, as well.

�This is only a formality,� he
said, slipping into doctor mode.� �I want
to make sure that you are recovered and that you know what to do so that you
are not affected by heat stroke again.�
Please, sit.�� He gestured at a
chair like it was his own house.� Smiling
slightly, she lowered herself into the chair.�
She could see why Lucius liked him; he was a
kindred spirit.� A little bit arrogant, a
little bit intimidating, but smart and flattering enough that people couldn�t
dislike him outright.�

�� I want to
thank you,� Hermione said.� �I�m sure you
were very busy.� I really appreciate your
help.�

�� Honestly,
Miss Granger, I didn�t do much.� Lucius took fine care of you by himself.� He only called me because your temperature
would not go down in spite of his best efforts.�� Smythe took a chair
across from her and stretched out his legs.�
�You are rather lucky.� Lucius said his son had a case of heat stroke when he was a
boy.� Without that experience, he might
not have known what to do for you.� I
needn�t tell you that this could have ended badly.�

�� She
nodded.� �Normally I�m very careful.� I was�upset over something, not thinking
straight, and ended up spending all day outside without much food or water.�

�� Smythe contemplated her shrewdly.� �Were you upset over him?�

�� Hermione
blinked, unsure whether she�d heard him correctly.� �Excuse me?�

�� Lucius.� Were you upset over Lucius?�

�� I would
appreciate it if you wouldn�t presume, Mr. Smythe,�
she said, coloring slightly.

�� I�m
not.�� He lifted a hand and pointed; she
followed the outstretched digit to the desk.�
She hadn�t noticed last night, but he had left his medication bottles out.� �If you didn�t know of his condition, he
wouldn�t leave those out.� Clearly, you
are aware that he has HIV.�

�� I�yes,�
Hermione conceded.

�� Then the
only presumption I am guilty of is one in which you worry for him.�

�� I do,� she
said, a bit stiffly, unused to the admission.

�� Smythe sighed.� �It
is honorable of you to care for him so strongly, but not at the cost of your
own health.� Please be more careful.�

�� Hermione
nodded, chastened.� Care for him so strongly��
Did she, really?� She chewed her
lip.� She cared, yes, but not the way Smythe thought.� It
was compassion and nothing more.�
Compassion that he probably didn�t deserve, but it made her the better
person because she gave it to him anyway.

�� Be sure to
drink plenty of water.�� He reached into
his pocket and procured something, which he promptly spelled back to its normal
size.� It was a six pack of muggle sports drinks.�
�And all of these, to replace your electrolytes.� I strongly suggest that you to stay home and
recover today and ease back into things at your own discretion.� Nothing too strenuous for the next 48 hours,
though.�

�� She nodded,
accepting the sports drinks and placing them on the table.� �Thank you again.�

�� No need to
thank me, Miss Granger,� he smiled genuinely.�
�It is my job, after all. �Speaking of which�where is Lucius?�

�� Still
asleep, I think.�

�� The healer
looked slightly annoyed.� �Did he stay up
all night watching over you?�

�� Hermione
blushed again.� Smythe
had a way of insinuating things with his wording and tone; he obviously thought
that she was more than just Lucius�s companion.� She would have protested but she strongly
suspected that he was the kind of man who couldn�t be dissuaded once he made up
his mind.

�� I may as
well check him while I�m here,� Smythe said,
standing.� �Get to work on those sports
drinks.� Tell the house elf to make you a
good lunch � fruit has high water content, especially melon�� he trailed off,
lost in his thoughts as he moved toward Lucius�s
room.

�� Hermione
shook her head, but ended up doing exactly what he suggested.� Jo-Jo brought her a plate of honeydew and
watermelon with an English muffin.� At
the sight of it hunger ambushed her and before she knew it the plate was clean.� She then examined the sports drinks.� She was halfway through one of the plastic
bottles when he emerged.

�� Wore
himself out,� Smythe murmured, more to himself than
to her.� �Probably sleep all day�� He looked up and offered a smile when he saw
that she was draining the sports drink.�
�Good work.�

�� She
nodded.� Strangely, Smythe
did not seem to be in a hurry to leave.�
He reclaimed the chair he had sat in earlier and appeared lost in
thought for several minutes.

�� Would you
like some lunch, Mr. Smythe?� Hermione asked
tentatively, unsure why he was delaying his departure.

�� Oh, no,
thank you, Miss Granger, I couldn�t impose.��
And then he lapsed back into his pensive silence.

�� She was
perplexed.� Yesterday he had been eager
to return to his practice.� Today he was
content to sit in Lucius�s villa and do nothing.� She had a feeling that he wanted to say
something to her; perhaps it was something that violated healer-patient
privilege and he was debating whether or not he should reveal it?� Hermione waited patiently.

�� It paid
off.� A few minutes later, Smythe sat up suddenly, his spine straightening with
resolve.

�� Miss
Granger, what exactly are you and Lucius doing here?�

�� Not what you think! she
wanted to shout.� Yet she controlled
herself and tried to think of an explanation that wouldn�t get her killed.

�� He�s
working on a project,� she said at last.�
�I�m just here helping him.�

�� He nodded
slowly and drummed his fingers on the table.�
�Well, whatever it is that you�re doing, keep doing it.�

�� Why?�
Hermione asked, her curiosity igniting like a spark in a cloud of gas.

�� Because I
just did some quick tests and his viral load is the lowest it�s been, well,
since I started seeing him nearly three years ago.�

�� Her eyes
widened.� Hope bloomed inside her.� Maybe his body was fighting it off!

�� Do not get
overexcited,� Smythe censured.� �It could be temporary and it may mean
nothing in the long run.�

�� She knew
that he had to say that; a look into his eyes proved that he did not believe
it.� He was hoping, too.� She found herself liking Tiresias
Smythe more and more, and not just because he had
delivered the first decent news since this whole mess began.� He cared about Lucius.� He wanted him to live and it wasn�t for the
prestige that would come from curing the only living magical victim of HIV.

�� At last he
stood up and offered her a raw smile.� �I
know that I am leaving him in good hands.��
As an afterthought, he added, �Make sure he eats, and if he is not up by
8 o�clock this evening, wake him.� He
needs to take those pills.�

�� Hermione
nodded and accompanied him to the fireplace.�
�Thank you, Healer Smythe.�

�� Any time
you need me, just call my name into the floo.� It will alert me,� he held up what looked to
be a slightly modified muggle pager, �and I�ll get to
you as soon as possible.�� With that, he
took a handful of powder, called out an address, and was gone in a whirl of
green heatless flame.

�� She didn�t
have to wake him; Lucius dragged himself out of bed a
few hours later.� Hermione was on the
couch reading.� He spared her a glance
and then collapsed into his desk chair, looking as if he wanted nothing more
than to just go back to sleep.� After a
few minutes had passed, he spoke without looking at her.

�� Did Smythe come to check on you?�

�� Yes.�

�� He nodded,
now turning a sardonic eye on her.�
�You�re going to live?�

�� Yes.�

�� Hm,� he said, �that makes one of us.�

�� She warred
with herself.� He might not take kindly
to knowing that Smythe had discussed him with her,
but if he knew that his viral count was improving, maybe it would give him some
hope.� He had very little of that and
sometimes hope made all the difference.

�� He checked
you, too,� she dared.� �He said you�re
doing better than you have since he started seeing you.�

�� It is
charming that he felt it necessary to discuss my health with you.�

�� She
frowned.� Nothing � he had no reaction to the good news at all.� �Did you hear what I said?� You�re improving!�

�� Today,
Miss Granger,� he said wearily.� �But what about tomorrow?�

�� What about it?� she demanded, aware that her voice was gaining
volume as she shot to her feet.�
She rubbed her temples and paced a small oval, agitated.� �You of all
people, Lucius, should be aware of how strong the
mind-body connection is.� If you had any
kind of optimism at all, it might help you recover!�

�� From what
I have heard, there is no recovery from this,� he replied, infuriatingly
calm.� �Just because you are willing to
fill yourself with false hope does not mean that I am.�

�� You�re a
wizard, a pure-blood, as you so often like to point out!� The rules are not the same as they are for muggles,� she argued.

�� The other
one was a pure-blood wizard, too, and he is dead.�� Lucius sighed.� �I think I like you better when you are
avoiding me.�

�� Hermione
stamped her foot.� �I think I liked you
better when you had the gall to hope for something, even if it was the
extermination of my kind!�

�� You do not mean that.

�� She slumped
back onto the couch, knowing that he was right.�
Resting a hand over her eyes, she spoke quietly.

�� I don�t
understand, Lucius.�
You have more money than God and you could be pumping it into finding a
cure.� Instead you�re taking muggle drugs and waiting to die.� You want
to die.�

�� There is a
difference between making peace with your fate and wanting it.�

�� There is
also a difference between making peace and giving up.�

�� He
chuckled.� �I am no Gryffindor, Miss
Granger, programmed so that I must perseverate everything ad nauseum.� A Slytherin has no qualms about giving up; it must happen
when things become disadvantageous.�
There is no shame in it.�

�� For some
reason, his rhetoric incensed her.�
Before she knew what she was doing, she had launched her book at
him.� He ducked it, wearing an expression
of muted shock, but her outburst had only just started.� She was on her feet and towering over him, as
much as she could, anyhow, with every fiber of her five foot four being.

�� This is how you talk about your life?�
she shouted, feeling blood pound in her ears.�
�As something that�s disadvantageous?� I will tell you what�s disadvantageous, Malfoy!� Being DEAD!�
Especially to you, because if Hell is real, you�re
going to it!�

�� His eyes
narrowed and his temper rose suddenly.�
She saw it swirl into his azure eyes like a maelstrom.� He rose from his seat, uncomfortably close
because of how brazenly she had advanced, and he seized her upper arms before
she could evade him.

�� Going to
it?� he hissed, giving her a shake.� �Going to it?� Foolish girl, I am already there!� I have been there most of my life!�� His face contorted in a combination of rage
and despair.� �The devil is no stranger�be he in the mirror or the shadow��

�� His voice
had gone flat and his eyes were distant.�
Hermione stayed very still, aware that his hands were clenching too
tightly to be comfortable and that there would probably be bruises.� His words, as they had proven to do so many
times already, transfixed her, running through her head again and again.

�� be he in the mirror�

�� Slowly, his fingers loosened.

�� or the shadow�

�� He returned
to himself, fighting off his dark nostalgia.�
Then he pushed her gently to arm�s length and let go.

�� I did not
bring you here so that you could concern yourself with my welfare.� It is a burden I don�t expect you to take on,
especially since I haven�t bothered to myself, and frankly I have no
understanding of why you would want to.�
I brought you here because�� he looked like he was in pain as he trailed
off.

�� Because?� she asked in a tiny voice.

�� After a few
more tense seconds, he straightened up and met her eyes.� �Because.�

�� And she got
no more out of him, verbally or otherwise; he stepped around her and strode
away.

��

��

�� His retreat
didn�t last long.� Hermione marveled at
it when he returned to the common space and sat at his desk, freshly bathed and
a little more awake.� She was realizing
now the depth of the changes within him.

�� There were
three tiers to consider.� At the bottom
there was Lucius Malfoy as
she had known him in school: only a hair�s breadth from evil, a walking
broadcast of foul propaganda.� In the
middle there was Lucius as she had seen him in the
final battle.� There the walls had been
chipped away, boiling him down to what he was � a man trying to save his
family, a father desperate to save his son.�
He was remorseful then, but perhaps only that he had put his family in
danger.� Still, he had tried to make a
few amends by donating a hefty sum to the repair and reconstruction of Hogwarts
and by testifying against other Death Eaters.�
That had earned him a lot of scorn, but it was all whispers; people were
still afraid of him and probably always would be.

�� At the top
there was this new Lucius, the man she was coming to
know layer by layer.� There were parts of
him that were still odious and that might never change, but there were parts of
her that were odious, too.� She knew she
could be terribly bossy and that she had been called a know-it-all for a reason.� Lucius, in
comparison, had a penchant for nettling her and for overstepping boundaries,
but those things were so benign considering his previous predilections.

�� He had a
temper, yet it was more controlled than she had ever expected.� He was capable of humor and kindness.� He was introspective, pragmatic, and
dangerously intelligent.� She was
becoming more and more certain that this was the real Lucius Malfoy.� He had no reason to hide from her; she
already knew several of his darkest secrets and she was bound by the Vow.� Whatever transpired here would exist only
between them.� In the past that had
frightened her, but�as she contemplated the way his left hand idly fiddled with
a strand of his hair while he wrote, she realized that it didn�t frighten her
anymore.

�� Her stomach
growled.� It reminded her of Smythe�s request that she make sure Lucius
ate.� With only a very slight degree of
apprehension, she set her book aside and cleared her throat.

�� What do
you want for dinner?�

�� I�m not
hungry,� he murmured.� �Do what you
like.�

�� You have
to eat.�

�� He
turned.� �Has Smythe
recruited you for his campaign of terror?�

�� She had to
smile.� �That�s a bit dramatic, isn�t
it?�

�� Has anyone
ever forced you to eat?�

�� Hermione
shook her head, but she knew that some visits to the Burrow bordered on
forcible feeding.� �It�s irrelevant,
anyway.� You need to keep your strength
up and you know it.�� He opened his mouth
to retort and she plowed on, precluding whatever he had been about to say.� �I�m well aware that you don�t care, but if
you waste away you�ll never finish the book.�

�� He made an
unappreciative face at her.� Then,
resolutely and perhaps a bit stubbornly, he repeated, �Do what you like.�

�� She stared
at him in amazement.� Not two hours
before he�d been in a rage and raised finger shaped bruises on her arms; now he
seemed to be in good humor, if a little obstinate.� It reminded her of when they had gone into
the town.� Merlin, had that been only a
few days ago?� She had been pleasantly
shocked by his patience with Paolo, his indulgence of the dirty old woman (she
had since figured out what she said about Lucius),
and his relative ability to behave like a normal human being � at least until
he�d had his little fit of sadistic humor and she ended up pinned to the ground
by an assailant who didn�t touch her.

�� His moods
were quite labile, apparently, and about as predictable as a traffic
accident.� She supposed he was allowed;
she might be moody, too, if she were him, and copious amounts of medication
probably didn�t help.� Shaking her head,
she gave up and went off to find Jo-Jo.�
She would ask the house elf to prepare whatever struck her fancy and
then try again with His Highness Lucius the Anorexic.

�� She found
the elf in the kitchen scouring a set of ancient pots and pans; they looked
like real, hand-shaped copper.� Hermione
was impressed.

�� Is Miss
Granger hungry?� Jo-Jo asked, immediately abandoning the cookery.

�� Yes,� she
nodded.� �Please prepare dinner for
Master Lucius and me.�

�� What would
you like?�� The elf looked positively
ecstatic at having something to do.

�� That was
the part she hadn�t figured out yet.� She
was in one of those moods where she was hungry but had no idea what she wanted
to eat.� Thoughtfully she touched her
mind to Lucius�s.�
It surprised her that he was receptive in spite of the fact that he
didn�t say anything.� She merely felt a
sensation that let her know that he was listening.

�� Is there anything you don�t like to eat?� She posed the question and wondered if he
would even deign to respond, given his prior dismissal.� With her luck she would ask the house elf to
make something he hated and she�d have even more of a struggle on her
hands.� It fit, since he was acting
rather like a petulant child.� She�d take
that over some of his darker moods, though�

�� I detest eggplant.� With that quiet admission, his mind slammed
shut.� She didn�t mind the shunning; he
had ceded the battle to her, to her,
Hermione Granger.� Yes, it was a
meaningless clash and one he would always lose, sooner or later, as hunger was
an unavoidable constant in life�but that didn�t diminish the way the victory
made her feel.

�� She
wondered, as she told Jo-Jo to make the first thing that came into her head
(vegetable lasagna, no eggplant), about the strange
way he made her feel.� Lucius made her hot
and cold, passionate and apathetic, angry and relaxed�he was a whirlwind of
contradictions and she responded in kind.�
Two years ago she had nearly died in his home without a squeak of
protest from him and yesterday he had climbed into a tub of icy water to ensure
that she stayed alive.� Two hours ago he had told her not to bother
with being concerned over him and now he had caved to those very concerns.� There really were two men in that pretty head
of his.

�� He had halved
her, as well.� One part of her continued
to rail at all that had happened, though it grew less powerful with each
day.� The other part felt too comfortable
in his presence, was too accustomed to it, and would�miss him?� Yes.�
If he left�when he left, that
confused half would miss him.

�� Hermione
shook her head.� It was this, the isolation, the connection, and
his task � the dismantling of his soul while she watched � that made it
possible.� To see him struggle with his
own life was humanizing.� The fact that
he didn�t treat her like dirt anymore certainly helped.� She did realize that it might only be because
he now viewed himself as dirt and
dirt could mingle with dirt.� She might
be hoping in vain that he had really learned his lesson when it came to blood
purity.� Somehow, though, she didn�t
think she was wrong about him.

�� She waited
in the kitchen for Jo-Jo to finish cooking, to the point that the elf became
anxious.� Hermione had to assure her
several times that she was not evaluating her work; she merely needed time to
think away from the man of the house. �Jo-Jo nodded with wide eyes and resumed her
cooking.

�� She had ten
more days with him.� Ten.� Confusion and a fair amount of trepidation
coiled in her gut.� If they had come this
far in four days, where would they be in fourteen?� Hermione swallowed.� She had no bloody idea, and that was a very
uncomfortable feeling.

�� People were
bound to reach higher levels of intimacy when isolated with one another.� It was just human nature.� They were both the bearers of inquiring minds
and wanted very strongly to understand the other.� Curiosity wasn�t unhealthy�

�� Until it was.

�� Would Miss
Granger like dinner in the dining room?� Jo-Jo asked, interrupting her
thoughts.

�� No.� Just let me have the plates, I�ll bring them
up.�

�� As she
ascended from the bowels of the villa, a roaring sound reached her.� What on earth was that?� She frowned, walking a little quicker, the
levitated plates floating behind her.�
Just then, a loud, low rumble filled the room and she relaxed.� That was thunder, and the roar was the sound
of heavy rain; the basement was so well insulated that she had not heard the
storm begin.

�� She found Lucius actually sitting on the desk, Indian-style, watching
the storm through open windows like a muggle would
watch a television.� He had put up some
kind of shield charm; the rain dissipated when it hit, giving the impression of
a window where there was none.� His
papers were nowhere to be seen.

�� She handed
him the plate without a word.� He took it
in similar fashion.� She could not
comprehend what was so interesting about the thunderstorm; he picked at the
food slowly and absently, resembling a person who was reading a book and eating
at the same time.� She knew that behavior
very well.� At last she couldn�t stand it
anymore and asked,

�� What are
you doing?�

�� I�m not
going to answer that.�

�� She sighed,
piqued by his tone.� She was even more
piqued when he set his plate down.� He
had eaten a quarter of it, if she rounded up generously.� She was more than halfway through hers and
his dainty appetite made her feel like a cow.�

�� You should
eat more,� she said shortly.� �It�s
really very good.�

�� I don�t
dispute that,� he responded.� �However,
you only requested that I eat.� You never
specified how much.�

�� It�s not a
bloody contract negotiation!� she seethed before she realized that he was baiting
her on purpose.� Hermione tamped down on
her irritation, determined not to give him what he wanted.

�� Have you
ever watched a storm?� he asked, as if the previous exchange hadn�t occurred.

�� No.�

�� Lightning
flashed, bleaching the room, and a roll of thunder growled with enough force to
rattle his fork against the plate.� With
a flick of his wand he banished the food.�
She was about to protest when he shifted himself to the left and
gestured to her.

�� Come, then.�

�� Loathe as
she was to follow any command of his, she went.�
Hesitantly she took her spot next to him on the desk.� There was enough space, but it was hard to
avoid having her knee touch his.�
Thankfully, he didn�t seem to notice her maneuvering, because if he had,
he would definitely have had a comment.

The large window filled her vision,
making it seem like they were actually outside.�
She had never liked thunderstorms.�
She wasn�t afraid of lightning, per se, but very wary of it because she
knew what it was capable of.� It was
unpredictable and could travel long miles, striking out of a clear sky.� And if it hit you, Merlin, she could only
imagine.

The world outside raged.� The trees bowed over in the wind, desperately
clinging to their leaves.� Rain fell in
fat torrential drops faster than the earth could drink up.� She jumped as a jagged bolt of lightning
flashed between the villa and the town and hit the ground with a sizzle.� Its afterimage was burned into her eyes,
forking endlessly like a fractal made of pure energy.

She reached for his consciousness,
wondering if this would be a contradiction like all else.� The storm outside wouldn�t mirror his state
of mind; she was sure of it.� His mind
locked to hers and she gave a slight start.�
That had felt almost like a caress.� It felt like�endorphins, or a breath of
dental-grade nitrous oxide.� Had he�could
he�did this connection enable them to affect control over neurotransmitters, or
was it just coincidence?

She found his mind placid and
blank.� The storm calmed him.� He was so strange�yet it made her feel an
unwieldy affection.� With a slight frown,
she pressed against the parameters of his mind, trying to do to him what he had
done to her.� How would one�

The dip of his eyelashes and the
quiet intake of breath told her that she�d managed it.� It was a willful flex of her mind, a grasp
for some ill-defined part of his.� It
couldn�t be explained, really, because all the words that existed were concrete
and this was completely intangible.� A
look at him told her that he didn�t realize she had done it on purpose; perhaps
he hadn�t, either.� How far could this
connection go?� What could they do to one another?

She couldn�t suppress a shudder,
which he mistook for distaste.� Thank
Merlin.

�The storm does not impress you?�

�Impress isn�t the right word,� she
said quietly.

They sat in silence for a few more
moments and the storm began to taper off.�
There was another one in the distance, flashing sporadically between
clouds rendered invisible by night.� His
candle had gone out; they were bathed in darkness save for the occasional
strobe of the lighting across their bodies.

�Why do you like it?� she
whispered.� �The storm, I mean.�

It was a long time before he
answered.

Sometimes
it is good to be reminded of what true power is.

Hermione turned her eyes back to
the preamble of the second storm.� He was
right.� This was real power; none of
man�s petty foibles and delusions of grandeur could hold a candle to it.

He shifted and the knee she had
tried so hard to avoid brushed against hers.�
The contact was like its own lightning strike, sending ripples of
electricity scattering beneath her skin.�
She stifled her reactivity, hoping that he wouldn�t sense it.� He shouldn�t impact her like that.� He shouldn�t�

And his hand, cautiously placed on
her thigh just above the knee, should not impact her, either.� It should not drive wicked things into her
imagination.� The languid movement of his
body as he twisted�the knowledge of what his face looked like even though she
couldn�t see it�the creak of the old desk as his other hand found stability,
and�oh, the gentle graze of his lips as they found the corner of hers definitely shouldn�t have done anything
to her.�

But he did, and the pulse of
pleasure in her brain could have been hers or his or both.� The tremor of his breath as he hesitated,
millimeters from her lips, destroyed the last of her resistance.� That shaky exhalation conveyed everything.

She kissed him.� He responded instantly with lips that knew
how to please.� Lips
that wanted to please.� Given permission, there was no more
diffidence; he kissed her for the first time like he had already kissed her a
million times and knew exactly what to do.�
His tongue touched the crux of her upper lip and she was helpless to
resist him.� The need to taste him, to
meet him in this duel, was overwhelming.�
And he fought well, his tongue sparring hers between soft caresses of
lips and teeth.� His kisses were like all
of him: fraught with paradox.� He was
tender, gentle, but also demanding; it woke an urge inside her that she didn�t
even know she had.� She slid her fingers
into his hair and sought to capture him.

And he let her.� He let her commandeer his hot mouth, let her kiss him instead of the other way
around.� The storm began to thrash beyond
the windows and for every ounce of tranquility he found in it, there was an
ounce of unrest blistering in her mind, even as she braved a gentle tug at his
hair to turn his neck to a better angle.�

She should not be doing this.� She knew it peripherally, but there was no
logic in the dark room.� Not when his
hand inched along her thigh in a light yet scorching stroke and certainly not
when he was giving her the best snog she�d ever had.

How was that possible?� How was it�?�
Her thoughts were curtailed when his lips left hers and trailed to her
neck.� She released his hair and had to
put her palms onto the desk for fear of tipping over.� His mouth made her want to lean back and arch
her body for greater contact.� All she
could hear was the soft, quickened rustle of his breath as he let his mouth
work.� Oh, please, God, let him put his
tongue in her ear again.� Even the
thought of it made her so aroused that it hurt.

His teeth scraped lightly at her
pulse, followed by his tongue tasting its ferrous rush through the skin.� She was beginning to lose her mind.� He was, too, his mind but never his control;
his hand was restless on her leg, yearning to touch.� Somehow he held it at bay.� Somehow�and she wished he wouldn�t.

He returned to her lips and now
passion invaded their kiss.� It was ardor
fanned by need, want, desperation, confusion, everything, flowing from his mind
to hers and back.� She didn�t know which
emotions were hers and which were his.�
It didn�t matter.� Together they
were more.� Together they were taking a
sledgehammer to those walls and a flamethrower to those old identities.

Everything else was fading
away.� It was a storm in a teacup outside
and a hurricane inside.� God�if he would�she would�they�words were not working
any more.� She tried for that strange
mental touch again.

The hitched gasp that pried his
lips from hers told her she had been successful.� She went for his neck, finding the pleasant
texture of stubble above the pounding of his carotid.� The river of his compromised blood was
beneath her lips and she wanted to siphon it from him, boil those little bits
of retrovirus until they were nothing more than lysed
fragments of amino acids�she wanted to force him back to purity through sheer
willpower.� She wanted him to want that�

The vengeful desire to osculate
some fight into him would have gone unchecked if not for the sudden presence of
light and the trill of the house elf�s voice.�

�� Jo-Jo has brought dess--�
she stopped, aghast, and then squeaked the last syllable, �ert.�

�� They came
out of it slowly, eyes squinting against the light as sense trickled in.� It seemed to take him longer to escape the
fog and even when Hermione drew away, his eyes were a
bit glazed.� She managed to turn to the
house elf, fighting embarrassment, horror, and a very incongruous sense of disappointment.

�� Jo-Jo
looked as though she wanted to cry.�
�Jo-Jo is so sorry!� Jo-Jo did not
mean to interrupt!�

�� Hermione
unfolded her legs from the desk and slid down.�
Lucius was still in a daze.

�� It�s all
right, Jo-Jo,� she heard herself say.�
�I�ll take those.�

�� The elf
handed her the bowls � chocolate mousse by the look of it � and shrank
away.� �Jo-Jo will go punish herself now,
Miss.�

�� Hermione
opened her mouth to speak but Lucius beat her to
it.�

�No, Jo-Jo.� I forbid it.�

�� Y-yes,
Master,� the elf stammered, and then disapparated.

�� Hermione put
the bowls down mechanically where she had been sitting a minute before.� The feeling of surrealism was beginning to
transform into panic.� She stared at him
with a clenching feeling in her chest and churning in her gut.� He had his head in his hands like someone
with a bad headache, and a probe of his mind showed her that the roar of desire
inside him had not gone down.

�� It had all
but gone extinct in her.� Terror
overwhelmed her defenses, casting white spots over her vision.� She had just�and liked it�and might have�

�� Go,� he
said quietly, �if you must.��

�� Blood
swished in her ears, ebbing and flowing, as she packed.� Her movements were jerky and panicked.� She didn�t know exactly what it was that
terrified her about what had just happened.�
He hadn�t forced her to do it.� In
fact, it had been downright enjoyable.�
It must be that it was�

�� Him.

�� Hermione
choked back tears.� This wasn�t supposed
to happen.� She was supposed to hate him,
barely tolerate him!� Yes, she�d
entertained the thought of this because there was an obvious attraction between
them (and she did like a bad boy, not that she�d ever admit it), but never in a million years did she think it would
actually result in anything!� The man
equated her with pond scum and she felt much the same about him.

�� The black
lacy knickers at the bottom of her bag mocked her.� She was insane.� Insane.� This was Lucius Malfoy.� There was no good in him.� This was all manipulation, clever scheming to
take advantage of the situation.� It made
perfect sense.� While he had to deal with
her, why not try to enjoy all that she offered?

�� You�re wrong, her mind whispered.� That
was what he would have done in the past.�
He isn�t the same person.

�� She knew
that small voice of reason was right.�
Those had not been manipulative kisses or touches.� Nor was it an attempt to gain any kind of
power; he had given her power,
letting her set her own pace and exploring his mouth as she pleased.� He just�genuinely desired her.

�� That didn�t
ease her fear.� He was sick and dying,
and even if he hadn�t been, the rot of darkness inside him would have caught up
eventually.� There was no use in getting
into this.� There was not enough left of
him to love.

�� A tear slid
down her cheek.� She knew it was a
lie.� There were indications everywhere. �The absence of bigotry, the kitten, her rent,
his behavior when she was ill,� the
letter of explanation, the way he would allow himself to be nagged into doing
things,� his refusal to allow the house
elf to punish herself, and the fact that he desired a witch of �questionable�
blood at all�

�� The man was
turning a corner.� And, as frightening as
it was, she knew that she held a very great amount of sway over whether he
continued onto a new boulevard or reverted back from whence he had come.� Hermione sighed heavily.� Her conscience wouldn�t allow her to be
responsible for halting his progress.� He
needed this.

�� Not
necessarily her compliance with his hormones.�
No, that wasn�t what she meant.�
He needed her counterbalance�and she needed to have her faith in something
other than books restored.� She needed to
see that change was possible, that his inside could match his outside, beauty
for beauty, and�that she could save him.�
It was perfectly ridiculous, she knew, one of those romantic bursts of
idealism that most people would laugh at.�
Yet every clich� existed for a reason.�
If a man had never been saved by the love and patience of one good woman,
the stories wouldn�t abound.

�� Whoever
thought Harry Potter had a hero complex had never met her on a bad day.� Thankfully, Lucius
didn�t seem to be as hopeless a cause as SPEW.�
Now, if only she could get him
to see that�

�� With a deep
breath, Hermione stood up.� She didn�t
know what she was going to say to him or if she would have to say anything at
all.� But she had made up her mind: she
wasn�t going anywhere. ��
- 9
- 10
- 11
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Hungry Thirsty Crazy