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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
- 11
- 12
- 13
Author�s Note:� Thanks
everyone for your excellent and thoughtful reviews.� Ambrosia to my muse!� There are a couple of things I want to talk
about, but this chapter is so long that I think I�ll just leave them for the
next author�s note.� One small warning:
from this point forward, the story will contain flashbacks and references to SeriouslyEvilandFuckedUp!Voldemort.� It won�t be in every chapter, but I just
wanted to give you a heads-up so you�re not caught off guard.

Hermione�s mind exploded in panic.� Where was he going?� What was he�?�
Jesus Christ, he knew where her parents lived!� What the hell was making him behave this
way?� What
the hell was he going to do?

�� She leaned
over, attempting to control her hyperventilation.� So this
was what a panic attack felt like.� She
had to find him.� He was going to lash
out at somebody and it didn�t matter if it was a stranger or himself.� She had to stop him.� She knew what he was capable of when he was
incoherent with rage�

�� There was
the small problem of there being NO BLOODY WAY to actually locate him.� Trifling, really.� She paced, her hands
in her hair, ready to rip it out.� She
had lived through thirty-six hours of this already.� She couldn�t take any more, especially now
that she had seen the state he was in.

�� Who or what
had pushed him to this?� She refused to
take the blame for this one.� It was not
her panic after the kiss.� He seemed like
he had expected that.� There had to be
something else!� If she figured it out,
maybe it would shed some light on where he�d gone or what she could do to calm
him.� Unfortunately, the only clues she
had were that he wanted to burn the fruit of his literary labors to ashes and
that some unidentified �she� had read his book and that infuriated him.

�� She was
drawing a blank.� Of all the times for
her brain to fail her!� Tears prickled at
her eyes.� For all she knew, he could
be�no, she wouldn�t believe it.� He
wasn�t that irrational�was he?�
Impulsively, she picked up his inkpot and threw it against the wall.� It shattered satisfyingly and black ink
exploded against the stones like blood spatter.

�� Hermione
would never know why breaking things had a calming affect, nor why looking at
the slick drips of ink as they traveled down to the floor put order to her thoughts.� Cause later, intervention now.� That was what needed to happen.� She would need help�

�� Jo-Jo!�
she shouted for the elf and the little thing appeared so quickly that the sound
of the last �o� was still echoing against the ceiling.

�� Ten minutes
later she had her tag-team.� It consisted
of herself, Jo-Jo, and Tiresias Smythe,
who had been rousted from lunch and was actually still wearing a lobster bib �
until she reminded him of it and he discarded it.� If he was irritated he didn�t show it.� In fact, he appeared ready to do battle.

�� You know
I�m not a psychiatrist or a mind healer, right?� Smythe
asked, frowning.

�� As long as
you�ve got something that can calm him down, we�ll be all right.� We can worry about the rest later.�

�� The healer
shook his head.� �It�s an incredibly
stressful situation he�s in, but Lucius always seemed
to have it together.�

�� He seems
to have a lot of things,� she muttered under her breath.� She wasn�t sure if Smythe
heard it or not, and frankly she didn�t care.�
Lucius had played his cards well with his healer, that much was obvious.

�� You said
yourself you don�t know where to find him.�
What�s the strategy?�

�� Jo-Jo has
already checked his home.� He�s not
there.� She�s in the process of finding
out the locations of all his other properties that the elves know of.�

�� And if
he�s not in any of those other properties?�

�� Hermione
ran her hands through her hair.� �I don�t
know.�

�� So we wait
for the elf?�

�� She
nodded.� It wasn�t the best plan, but it
was a plan.� Having a plan made her feel
like she had some semblance of control.�
It didn�t sit well with Smythe, either,
apparently, for he stalked over to the window and leaned on the frame
impatiently.

�� She
paced.� It seemed like Jo-Jo was taking a
long time.

�� Miss
Granger?�� Smythe�s
voice cut through her chaotic thoughts.

�� What?�

�� We may not
have to look too far, after all.�� He was
pointing out the window.� She practically
ran to him and leaned out, straining to find what he was indicating.� It wasn�t difficult.� Down the path, amidst the field of
sunflowers, there was�well, the best way to describe it was a disturbance.� She knew without question that it was
him.� She could feel it from here.

Before Smythe
could say or do anything else, she apparated.� She hit the dusty road at a run and plunged
into the sunflowers, remembering what it was like to chase little boys through
them.� This had an entirely different
feeling.

�� She knew
when she was close.� The brown and yellow
faces of the flowers were bowed down, shriveling towards the ground.� The air felt heavy and charged.� Gooseflesh ravaged her skin and her heart
rate picked up.� This was the feeling of
dark magic.� She had felt it before,
nearly drowned in it when Bellatrix tortured her�

�� Hermione
pushed the clustered, brittle stems apart cautiously.� It was like parting the foliage in a deep,
dark jungle and peering upon something unknown.�
Lucius stood there among the dying sunflowers;
even in their rapidly dessicating state, they were
still taller than him.� His head was
down, his hands fisted at his side, and his chest moving with great, heaving
breaths that seemed like they weren�t enough.

�� The black
chaos of his mind hit her.� It hurt.�
Her hands went to her head as she tried in vain to find some way to
block the sensation.� But there was no
way now; she was too close and he was too out of control.� All she could do was try to fight it.

�� It was
incredibly difficult to focus.� Her mind
felt like it was being ripped apart.� She
knew without question that it was a tenth of what he felt.� His brain was a storm, a festering monster
ready to drop its funnel clouds of ruin.

�� She took a
wobbly step toward him.� Her heels sunk
into the still-sodden ground; she left them behind, impaled in the soil.� One foot in front of the other�she could do
that�she had to�and she could force
her lips to form his name�

�� Lucius.�� Her voice was tight with pain but fortified
with determination.

�� His pale
crown jerked up.� Those light, ever-shifting
eyes fixed on her.� Now, in addition to
the agony, hate, and rage, they were glassy with unshed tears.� He sucked in a gasping breath.

�� You
must�go!� he half-shouted, half-growled.

�� I won�t!�
she half-shouted, half-growled back at him.

�� His fingers
unwound jerkily.� His hands began to
tremble.� Then he closed his eyes as if
he was experiencing a very great pain; a tear leaked from one of them and she
followed it all the way to his neck, where it disappeared into the collar of
his shirt.

�� A strand of
coherent thought punched through the haze, desperate and impassioned.

�� Just let me be�

�� And now she
felt like she was in the middle of a
tornado with wind howling all around her, but really it was just the rush of
his power coalescing.� It screamed and
clawed and even the patchy weeds beneath her feet were withering.� Her skin began to feel hot and raw, like she
had sunburn again.

�� Please!�
he cried, falling to his knees before her.�
His hands went about her wrists, clutching tightly enough to
bruise.� Those crystalline eyes were at
the point where she wondered how the tears were managing to cling stubbornly to
his eyelashes and escape the pull of gravity.�
And then she could have sworn that the tears evaporated right out of
them.� The blue irises flared with
something inhuman�

�� It was at
that moment that Tiresias Smythe
burst through the curtain of flowers.� He
stopped short, his mouth falling open and his eyes widening.� Hermione had begun to struggle against Lucius�s hold but the pain in her head worsened; she
collapsed to her knees, simultaneously fighting against the wizard�s grip and
relying on it.� She heard Smythe�s voice.

��I can�t let you do this.� I�m sorry, Lucius.�� And then, �Stupefy!�

�� The jet of
red light hit him in the chest.� His body
jerked once and he fell, taking Hermione with him.� She landed sprawled on top of his still
figure and couldn�t move until the atmosphere of blackness began to
dissipate.� Even then she was
disoriented.�

Smythe
was wrapping an arm around her and the other around Lucius.� He apparated
the back to the villa.� She was
placed on the couch and she fuzzily saw Smythe
struggling with the blond wizard�s limp form.�
Then her eyes closed on their own.

�� She
couldn�t say how much time had passed when Smythe
woke her.� It was still light out.� Her head was clearer, but throbbed
insistently.� All she could manage was,

�� What the
hell was that?�

�� Smythe sat heavily, looking weary and shaken.� �That,� he said, sighing, �is how your own
magic and emotions, in the wrong combination, can kill you.�

�� She shot to
her feet too fast.� �He�s not--!�

�� The healer
steadied her and guided her back to the couch.�
�No, he�s asleep.� Drugged.�

�� Hermione
relaxed, but only minutely.� She had
never heard of this.� �What do you mean
his magic can kill him?�

�� Secondary to emotions.�
In a very fervent state of�rage or self-hate, it is possible to
wordlessly and wandlessly propel your own magic to
destroy you.� It manifests as elemental
magic.� In Lucius�s case, fire.�� Smythe reached for
her hand, holding it between his.� Her
eyes widened as she took in the hand-shaped marks that decorated her wrist and
forearm.� They weren�t bruises.� They were burns!� It was a little shocking; she hadn�t felt it
when it happened.

�� I�ve heard
of patients who created floods and drowned.�
Lit themselves on fire.� Removed the oxygen from their room�sometimes
it�s on purpose, sometimes it�s not��

�� Please
stop,� she said shakily.

�� He
blinked.� �I�m sorry.� If you�ll�if you�ll just hold still, I�ll
heal you.�

�� Hermione nodded,
trying to digest all that had happened.�
Something had set Lucius off.� The gunpowder and the spark had finally come
too close and this was the result.� Sweet
hell, he could have spontaneously combusted himself.� The power she had felt could have destroyed
that entire field of sunflowers, her and Smythe
included.�

�� It�s
rare,� he spoke up suddenly.� �A person
has to be�nearly insane to get to that point.�
I didn�t�� he trailed off, shaking his head.

�� Just then,
Jo-Jo reappeared with a loud pop.� They
both started slightly and Smythe accidentally poked
her with his wand.� Hermione bit back a
sound of pain and he apologized profusely, immediately healing the damage.�

After spinning in a circle to
locate them, the house elf began to speak immediately.� �Master Lucius is
not at any of his vacation homes, Miss Granger!�

�We found him, Jo-Jo.�� Hermione smiled at the panicked little
elf.� She nearly fell over in relief.

�Oh, Jo-Jo was so worried!�

�Us, too,� Hermione said with a
weary smile.

�Jo-Jo did find this at the Manor,�
the elf spoke up, extracting a rumpled piece of parchment from her
pillowcase.� �The Master must have left
it there.�

�Thank you, Jo-Jo.� You should rest now.�

With a nod the elf blinked out of
sight.� Hermione smoothed out the paper,
not expecting it to be anything of importance.�
However, she was proven very, very wrong in the space of a few
handwritten sentences.

Mr. Malfoy,

It is with deepest
sorrow and regret that I inform you that your mother has passed on.�� You are her next of kin so it is expected
that you will make the necessary arrangements.�
If this is not possible, please let me know and we will make other
provisions.� Again, I am truly sorry for
your loss and I await your correspondence.

Yours,

Hiram T. Callowhill, Esq.

�� Oh�everything
slid into place.� A part of Lucius had loved his mother, but that part was constantly
at odds with the sheer hatred her betrayal had bred.� Hermione didn�t know what it was like to love
and hate someone at the same time; no one like that had ever been part of her
life.

�� But that
was not the problem.� If she guessed
correctly, Lucius had steeled himself and gone.� He�d traveled to wherever his mother lived
and gone through the motions of arranging a funeral, settling the will, and whatever else needed doing.� She knew how well he wore a mask.� He could have done it all without one ounce
of turmoil breaking through.� And no one
would expect any great emotional outbursts from him; purebloods were quite
reserved and anyone with half a brain would have figured out that ten years of
wintry or nonexistent relations meant he and his mother were not on the best of
terms.� It would seem completely normal
to the outside world.

�� He might
have made it, too, if not for the presence of his book in his mother�s library.�
What a terrible mockery that would be.�
Had she recognized herself in the prose?�
Did she still believe it to be fiction?�
Did the woman feel any remorse at all for what she had done?� Now Lucius would
never know.

�� She folded
the paper.� Tiresias
was looking at her expectantly, but she shook her head.� He went on healing her until her arms
appeared completely unscathed.� He really
was good at what he did.� He released her
and sat back, looking very tired.

�� I don�t
want to leave you here alone with him,� he said softly.� �If he�s not stable, he could seriously
injure you or even kill you.� He nearly
has already.�

�� He warned
me.� He tried to get away from me.� I�m the one who followed.� I put myself in danger.�

�� It doesn�t
matter.�� He sighed.� �Miss Granger, I would feel best if he were
in a hospital.� What you saw was an acute
psychosis.� He needs doctors, medication,
and therapy, in that order.�

�� You�re a
doctor.� He�s already drugged.� And I can tell you right now, he won�t
consent to therapy.�

�� Smythe shook his head.�
�He isn�t going to wake up and miraculously be better.� People don�t get to this point unless there
is something seriously wrong.�� He
frowned.� �And I have a feeling that you
know what it is.�

�� I might,�
Hermione said, �but I have no right to tell.�
If you want to know, ask him.�

�� I will�if
you will consent to me staying the night.�
I really don�t want you to be alone when he wakes.�

�� Hermione
contemplated him.� There was nothing more
than concern in his eyes, for both Lucius and
her.� Goodness, Lucius
had really lucked out with this man.�
There were very few magical healers who even knew about muggle diseases, let alone accepted patients who had
them.� Or patients who
had the first documented case of one�Smythe was very
courageous, and a nice man, to boot.�
A Gryffindor, perhaps.� She couldn�t say.�

�� All right.� You can
stay.� Jo-Jo will make up a room for
you.�

��

�� She wasn�t
surprised when Smythe ended up falling asleep in a
chaise in Lucius�s room.� She had curled herself in the chair Lucius had occupied after she�d been sick, the one near the
fireplace.� A strange sensation gripped
her; history was repeating itself with their roles reversed.

�� He slept
very soundly.� He didn�t move in his
sleep, not once, and if not for his slow, rhythmic breathing, she might have
worried that he was permanently asleep.�
Listening to it made her tired.�
She fought the tide of sleep; if both she and Smythe
were unconscious, they would never know if and when Lucius
awoke.� It defeated the purpose of Smythe staying at all.

�� It was
extremely difficult to stay awake.� She
hadn�t slept well the night before and she was beyond tired.� But some unknown reserve of willpower kept
her alert and stable.� Four hours later,
to the soundtrack of Smythe�s light snoring, she was
rewarded with the slow raise of Lucius�s eyelashes.

�� It seemed
like he didn�t have the energy to do anything else.� His eyes fixed on her, but his mouth remained
slack, his breathing even, and his position exactly the same.� She thought he was probably still drugged;
those eyes were a bit too dull for him to be completely with it.

�� Hermione?� He blinked and the fingers of his
outstretched hand twitched.

�� She went to
him without thought, sliding from the chair and into his bed.�

I�m
here.

His hand curled into hers but could
barely hold on.� There was no strength in
him.� Whatever Smythe
had given him was strong.� Maybe a little too strong.

I
hurt.� His eyes closed and his breath
came a little faster now; maybe she had been wrong in her assessment of the
drug.� Perhaps it was not strong enough �
or perhaps he had been given a sedative when really, he needed to be
anesthetized.

I
can wake Healer Smythe.� He can give you something for the pain.

A very slight rise and fall of his
head indicated his agreement.� She turned
to call Smythe�s name and found that he was already
awake and watching intently.� He, like
many healers, probably had the ability to wake and sleep on demand, as well as
ears tuned to the smallest change.

�He says he�s in pain,� she
reported, her thumb unconsciously stroking across Lucius�s
knuckles.� Smythe�s
eyebrow rose slightly.

�Does he?�

In the space of the question,
Hermione knew she had made a mistake.� Lucius hadn�t said
anything � not out loud, anyway.� Smythe didn�t miss the slip.� She could see the way he took in that piece
of information and filed it away for later.�
He was very, very perceptive.� She
would have to remember that.

He let it slide without
comment.� Rising from the chaise, he went
to rifle through his bag of tricks.� He
returned with a small vial of clear orange potion.

�Lucius,
can you sit up to take this?�

The blond wizard shook his
head.� Hermione frowned.� What on earth had Smythe
given him?� It rendered him nearly
catatonic, and now he was going to give him something for pain, as well?� Was that really a good idea?

�All right, I�ll help you.�� Smythe slipped onto
the other side of the bed and worked an arm beneath Lucius�s
shoulder.� �Miss Granger, would you mind
assisting me?�

She mirrored his actions on the
opposite side.� �Are you sure it�s a good
idea to give him that on top of the other potion?� she whispered, although she
was sure Lucius could hear.� Even drugged out of his mind, he wouldn�t
miss much.

Together they lifted Lucius into a sitting position.� He winced and tensed; she could feel it in
expanse of his side that she supported.�
She had no idea where his pain came from but she didn�t doubt for a
second that it was there.

�The other one is nearly worn
off.� It�s the�� Smythe
faltered, but recovered when he found a word that wasn�t loaded, �the
reaction.�

She nodded and didn�t press the
healer.� He knew more about it than she
did, obviously.� She had more questions
for him, but they could wait until Lucius was asleep
again.� Smythe
held the vial to his lips and Lucius managed to take
the potion without incident.� The healer
was ready to lower him back down when his voice echoed in her mind.

Water.

She was more careful this
time.� If she formed it like a question,
like she had thought of it, Smythe wouldn�t be
suspicious of how she knew Lucius�s wishes.� Hermione spoke up, �Shouldn�t we give him
some water?� Just to make sure he stays
hydrated?��

�Ah,� Smythe
said, �good idea.� I see I may have
impressed the importance of hydration upon you��

�You might have,� she agreed with a
small smile.� �I�ll go get a pitcher and
a glass from the kitchen.�

The handsome healer didn�t ask her
why she didn�t just have the house elf do it, and she liked that about
him.� He seemed to know that everyone had
their coping mechanisms; hers was to keep herself busy and not let her mind
conjecture itself into a frenzy.� She let her feet guide her to the kitchen,
trying not to think about how helpless Lucius seemed
and how wrong it was to see him like this.�
She was especially trying to drown out that part of her mind that knew
that this was how his final days would be, if and when the disease took him.

Jo-Jo was still asleep in her
little den that she�d made in an old, disconnected wood-burning stove.� The poor thing probably hadn�t slept any
better than her.� Hermione got the water
and the glass quietly and tiptoed back to the main level of the villa.

She and Smythe
gave a glass and a half to Lucius, which he drank
like a man who had been lost in the desert.�
Then Hermione fluffed his pillows fussily, prompting an amused eye roll
from Smythe, and they lowered their rapidly fatiguing
patient back down.� He fell asleep almost
instantly.

Hermione couldn�t help
herself.� She touched him, the planes of
his face, the stray strands of his hair, his dry lips.� Some part of her brain needed to make sure he
was actually there and not just a ghost.�
She would have kissed those dry lips if Tiresias
Smythe hadn�t been in the room.

�Miss Granger?�

She tore her eyes from the sleeping
face of Lucius Malfoy.� �Yes?�

�We need to talk a bit more and
then you should get some sleep.�

Hermione nodded and followed him
out to the sitting room.� He seemed a bit
restless now, pacing while she sat patiently on the couch.

�I need to do some more research,�
he said at last (a man after her own heart), �but what I do know is that what�s
taken place is incredibly draining.� He
probably feels like he�s been run over by a stampede of hippogriffs.� It�s not just his body, though.� His magic will be depleted.� He may not be able to levitate so much as a
feather for a day or two.�� Smythe chewed his lip.�
�Lucius could probably sleep for three days
straight.� And with almost any other
patient, I would allow that.� But he has
to be up and doing things � within reason � by Thursday morning.�

She frowned.� �What if he can�t?� He can barely lift a finger right now.�

�The physical effects will
abate.� He�ll definitely be exhausted and
weak, but it�s important that he doesn�t just lie in that bed.�

�And I suppose I�m going to have to
be the one to cajole him out of it?� she asked, quirking a brow at the healer.

�Well, yes.� I am going to stay a bit longer, but after
that I can no longer neglect my personal business.� My mind will not be far from here, and I�ll
check in via the floo every few hours.� He will know that you�re bothering him on my
orders, not because you�re trying to torment him.�

Hermione still felt a bit of
uncertainty.� �What if the thing he
really needs is just to lie in bed for three days?� she asked.

�Miss Granger, how much do you know
about his disease?�

�A fair amount, I suppose��

�Then you know how prone he will be
to illness.� One of the easiest ways to
get sick is to be idle in bed.� Most
people wouldn�t have any lasting problems from lying around for a few days, but
I�m not willing to take chances with him.�
Especially not when he�s missed his medication and his viral load has
risen from the last check.�� Smythe�s face softened as he regarded her.� �I know I�m asking a lot of you.� Mentally, he may really need to do nothing
while he recovers.� But physically, he
can�t afford it; you need to be the one that cares, because I�m not sure he
does.�

She absorbed that and then
nodded.� �You�re not afraid that he�ll
hurt me anymore?�

A thoughtful expression passed over
his tanned face.� �No.� I do want to ask you again, though�what
exactly are you two doing here?�

Hermione sighed.� �I�ll let you know when I figure it out.�

Smythe
had left her with a healthy handful of potion vials and a few muggle pills and instructed her on what to give him
when.� It was a lot to remember, but
thankfully she was quite good at such things.�
He�d also told her to put Lucius�s wand in a
safe place where he might not find it for a few days, to keep her own close,
and that he fully expected her to floo if there were
any problems.� He seemed a bit nervous to
leave her.� She supposed it was his
prerogative, because she was not a healer and he really did care about Lucius�s welfare.

She was more or less dead on her
feet.� Climbing into bed with Lucius, who had not moved an inch, seemed like the natural
thing to do.� She wouldn�t be able to
sleep in her room, far away and wondering.�
Being curled next to him was a whole different story.� She hadn�t Smythe�s
skill of sleeping and being aware of what was going on around him at the same
time, but she would know if Lucius made any major
movements or got out of bed.� She could
program her mind to pay attention to that.

She couldn�t really explain her
desire to wrap her arms around his warm body.�
Or maybe she could; she wanted to squeeze the pain out of him.� Unfortunately, she didn�t think he was a
sponge to be twisted and drained.� All
these emotions wouldn�t leave him so easily.�
They hadn�t gotten there easily, so logic followed that the leaving
would be no better.

Hermione had no idea what to
expect.� She had her share of bad days
and she�d seen a few people, namely Harry, at their worst, but neither compared
to Lucius.� Not
for the first time, she wished for a time-turner.� She wasn�t exactly sure what she would do
with it; preventing his rape would be too great a change and one never knew if
the altered future would be better or worse.�
She hated the feeling that his journey to this point had been
inevitable.� It didn�t seem fair.

Throwing caution to the wind,
Hermione snuggled up against his side.�
Her cheek rested against his chest, listening to the reassuring rhythm
of his heartbeat.� Why could she only be
so bold when he was asleep?� She didn�t
know.� She dozed against him, her hand
along the smooth, muscled plane of his stomach.

Hours later, in the dark depth of
night, she awoke when he shifted.� But
she quickly realized there was no cause for alarm.� All he did was turn slightly, wrap his arms
around her, and drop back into the abyss.�
She did the same after a minute; she was too tired to contemplate the
way his embrace made her feel, and in all likelihood, he had just done it out
of sleepy reflex.

She woke to a gaze that was much
more lucid than it had been the evening before.�
He was on his stomach, his cheek resting against the back of his
hand.� And he was staring right at her;
he probably had been for some time.�
Hermione forced herself not to squirm or feel self-conscious.� She also ruled out awkwardness, worry, and
panic.� She was going to wait for him to
make his move and determine her response from there.

Good
morning.

Well, that was civil.� Hermione offered him a small smile.� Good
morning.

Silence reigned.� He looked at her and she looked at him.� She didn�t want to back down,
although she wasn�t really sure it was any kind of competition.� The ambiguous staring match lasted a long, long
time.� It might have been a half hour.

Then, with slow and deliberate
care, he sat up.� He couldn�t keep the
grimace off his face as he did so.� He
was moving toward the edge of the bed.

�Where are you going?� she asked.

�Loo,� he
ground out.

Ah.�
Yes, he would need to do that.�
What if he was so weak that he�required help?� He would probably never ask for it, but the
last thing he needed was for his legs to give out on the way there or
while�God, she hadn�t thought about this.

He seemed all right, though.� She could see that his body hurt, and quite
acutely at that, but his balance was sure.�
Nonetheless�

�If you�if you need help, just
yell,� she said as he hobbled out of the room.�
She got no response and she hadn�t really expected one.� It seemed like she wouldn�t have to worry; a
few minutes later he limped back into the room and collapsed onto the bed.� This time he was not facing her.

She waited him out.� She knew that if she was patient enough, he
would start talking.� It might be an hour
or it might be two days, but he would talk.�
He had to talk.� She would make him talk.

What
the hell happened to me?

Her head jerked toward him.� He was still turned the in the other
direction; maybe it was easier that way.

You
don�t remember?

I
remember�coming here, wanting to burn the manuscript�you stopped me�I was so
angry�then just disjointed images�sunflowers and red flashes...

She swallowed.� She hadn�t expected this, either.� Honesty was the best policy, right?

You�lost
control.� Your elemental magic took
over.� You nearly killed yourself.

At that he turned to face her, back
in the same position as before.� His eyes
were troubled.

I
didn�t hurt you, did I?

No.� Hermione smiled and lied to him.� What had taken place wasn�t his fault.� There had been no intent in the burns.� Accidents didn�t count, but he might not see
it the same way; this was best, for now.

You
and Smythe stopped me?

Yes.� He stunned you and we brought you back
here.� You�ve been sedated.

His eyes slipped shut.

Are
you in pain? she asked, recognizing the tension in
his face.

His lips twitched.� What
kind of pain?

Any kind.

Oh, hell.� His lips were not twitching so much as
quivering.� And when he opened his eyes,
they filled with tears.

I
am in every kind of pain...�

He turned away, ashamed of his
emotion but unable to escape the moment.�
She could feel it; it bombarded her mind, filling it with his
frustration and mortification at not being able to control it.� He hated that he even had to experience
it.� He laid there, his back to her, one
hand pressed to his face.� The poor man
couldn�t even cry without it making him feel worse.� His upbringing had
really done a number on him, though he certainly wasn�t the only man in the
world who had been taught that emotion was weakness.

Talk
to me, Lucius.

No.� It was punctuated by a ragged, uneven
breath.� He was well and truly crying and
he despised it.� She was powerfully
reminded of psychology texts she had read, of the studies on learned
helplessness that had haunted her with their cruelty.� Lucius was one of
those animals with electrodes in the floor of his cage, and no matter what he
did he could not escape; now he just stayed still and endured the shocks
because he had been conditioned to believe there was no way out.� This sudden outbreak of humiliating emotion
was just another electric shock.

�Please,� she said softly.� �Just
talk.� It doesn�t have to make any
sense.� You don�t have to censor
yourself.� I won�t say anything back to
you.� I�ll just�listen.��

He said nothing, mentally or
verbally.� Determined, she slid closer to
him and spooned against his back.� She
felt his skin leap at the contact.� His
muscles were bunched beneath her fingers.

Lucius, please.� You
need to do this.

�I need to die,� he said, his voice
rough and choked.� �I just need to
die.�� He nearly moaned it the second
time.� And then his chest hitched
violently and a sob escaped him.

Oh
God oh God ohgodohgodohgodohgod�!� His mind railed, incapable of anything
else, but that was all he needed.� The
desperation, the fear, the confusion, the hatred � all of it was hitting him at
once.� She knew the echoes in her mind
were a fraction of his pain.� It brought
tears to her eyes.

She wrapped her arms around him and
held him tightly as he shook and trembled and raged.� Soon enough, she was crying almost as hard as
him, because she knew�she knew that he simultaneously loved her and hated her
for witnessing this.� And, as she was
increasingly discovering, ambivalence was not a good thing in his world.

It was strange to think it, but Lucius Malfoy had quite literally
cried himself to sleep.� She didn�t dare
wake him.� Emotion was exhausting and he
needed the rest.� She needed the break�and time to plan.� He had to talk.� It was time to impress upon him that he could
no longer soldier through life with everything bottled up.� It would kill him, and she was not nearly as
convinced as he was that that was going to happen anyway.

If the disease did take him, there
was no use in living his last months or years in misery.� This was a chance for him to start over, to
right wrongs, to really live instead
of whatever he�d been doing before.�
Didn�t he see that?� Or was he so
blinded by everything that happened that death was the
only solution?

Well, that wouldn�t fly with her,
thank you very much!� She had told
herself from the start that there was no to be no easy out for Lucius.� There was
something to be salvaged and no matter how he kicked and screamed, she was
going to salvage it.� He would thank her
later, or maybe he wouldn�t; at this point it didn�t matter.� Her conscience would be clear either way.

She risked a bath in his attached bathroom.� The odds of him waking were low, but she left
the door open a crack and kept an eye on his still form anyway.� The hot water felt good, and maybe the scent
of apples would be comforting to him�

The thought of food made her
realize that she was starved.� What had
she done with all the food she bought yesterday?� It was probably still lying on the floor in
the bag where she�d dropped it.� She
didn�t even remember what she bought.�
That reminded her, she had to bring back the
bag she�d vanished, filled with the pages of Soif and
one of her new dresses.� She was going to
wear the dresses here because she would be too embarrassed to do so once she
returned to London
for reasons that she didn�t really understand.�
It was just�different here.

She set Jo-Jo to making something
with the mess of ingredients she�d purchased.�
Then she dug through her bag for a new book.� She had just settled on the chaise Smythe had occupied the day before when Jo-Jo
appeared.� Bless the little thing, she�d made an absolutely mouthwatering breakfast
quiche.� She�d brought some for Lucius, as well, and put it on the bureau under a warming
spell.� Hermione would force food on him
later under the guise of Smythe�s orders.� The stubborn fool was going to eat.

She smiled to herself, recognizing
her own streak of belligerent determination.�
She would have to be careful.�
With Ron and Harry she could get away with being an absolute, bitchy
terror.� She didn�t think Lucius would take as kindly to that, not in this
state.� He required a more delicate, but
no less heavy-handed, approach.

An hour later she was deeply
involved in her book when his breathing began to pick up.� She glanced over top of the pages.� Shit, she ought to have given him Dreamless
Sleep.� The last thing he needed right
now was a nightmare, and she knew he had plenty to choose from.� She wondered if it would be wise to wake him
from it.

He turned over very suddenly,
making her jump.� Maybe it was just a
very lively dream and not a nightmare.�
With his guard down, perhaps she could slip into his mind and check�

�� She barely
had to concentrate.� He was so unguarded
in his sleep that it reminded her of how it felt to pull open a door you had
anticipated being much heavier and nearly clock yourself in the face with it.� It made her wonder; how many times had Voldemort done this, dipped into his mind when he was
asleep to find just the things he needed?

�� She
shivered, bothered by the sheer predatory genius of it.� Lucius was
certainly an Occlumens, but one couldn�t control the
mind when asleep.� How had Snape never been found out, then?� Hm.� Harry had said that
before each Occlumency lesson, Snape
emptied his mind of the memories he didn�t want seen.� Maybe that was how he�d done it; each night,
he�d surrendered anything that could be incriminating to a pensieve.� That way the Dark Lord could rifle all he
wanted and he�d only find things he wanted to see.

�� Perhaps,
over time, Lucius had learned to apply such tactics,
too.� But in the beginning�he hadn�t
known.� Voldemort
had invaded his mind and seen all of Lucius, and she
would bet that he had used the young, scarred Slytherin�s
vulnerabilities to trap him, to mold him�what a sick son of a bitch.� She was spitefully glad that he was dead.

�� A light
sweat had broken out on Lucius�s forehead.� He was breathing rapidly.� Hermione chewed her lip.� She probably didn�t want to see whatever he
was experiencing.� Most of all, she
didn�t want to be like him, taking
advantage of a person�s exposure in sleep.�
But his mind was cocooning around hers, pulling her in, as if it
welcomed the intrusion or was so accustomed to it that it would not fight�

�� She was hit
with the powerful smell of grass.� Oh,
dear, she hadn�t been privy to one of these dreams in a while.� A surge of pain hit her as she became
aware.� She was with Lucius,
inside him, seeing as he had seen.� A
dark night sky stretched above, sprinkled with stars
and a distant half-moon.� She was on her
back in long, dewy grasses, moisture soaking through a shirt against a broad
back that was not her own.

�� The
panorama of the stars was broken and she started inside him; the real Lucius had no reaction, but for a small, leaping anxiety
that was quickly squelched.� Voldemort loomed over them.�
He still had some of his more human features; his nose was not so
flattened, his skin not quite as pale, but those eyes were already a hellish
red and they sparked with a greed she had never seen before.� That greed made her nervous - more nervous
than the ricochets of pain that were moving through Lucius�s
body and his obvious helplessness.

�� Does it
hurt, Lucius?�

�� Y-yes, my
Lord,� he rasped.� She realized that his
voice was hoarse from screaming.� He was
being tortured.� Voldemort�s
next question gave her chills.

�� Could it
hurt more?�� His voice was soft, cloying,
as if he were offering a child candy.�
She could feel the dark surge of fear and hopelessness that rose in Lucius�s chest.

�� Yes.�� The answer was barely a whisper.

�� Then why
do you scream so, Lucius?� You know there are things worse than the Cruciatus.�

�� I cannot
help it, my Lord.�

�� You can,
and you will.� If you scream I will be
forced to give you something to scream about.�
Are you ready?�

�� To her
great shock, Lucius nodded.� A spear of rage shot through her.� He had been given an impossible task; she
could attest that it was almost entirely out of your control whether you
screamed under the effects of the Cruciatus or
not.� When it had been done to her,
sounds she didn�t even know she could make had come from her throat.� If Lucius managed
not to scream, she would be equal parts impressed and disturbed.

�� Four very
long bouts of Cruciatus later, he had nearly bitten
through his lip.� She could feel the
cries as they bubbled up inside him and somehow he crushed them.� But the fifth, cast mere seconds after the
end of the fourth, when he was still trying to drag air into his body, proved
to be his undoing.� The scream ripped out
of him, shattering the night�s precarious silence.� Voldemort looked
grimly satisfied.

�� Lucius lay very still as the curse faded.� He knew his failure; it filled him with
shame.� What was wrong with him?� Didn�t he
know that what he�d been asked to do was impossible, not to mention
sadistic?� Why wasn�t he fighting this?

�� You asked
me to help you with this, Lucius.� Did you mean it?�

�� Yes, my
Lord.� Yes!�

�� To lose
your fear, pain must become meaningless.�
You must know every kind of horror, Lucius,
experience it and make it into something else, and then the things which cause
you pain and fear will lose their power.�
But you cannot even handle a little Cruciatus�perhaps
I was wrong to take you on��

�� Lucius groped to his knees.�
The Dark Lord�s pseudo-dismissal panicked him.� Hermione wished she could take the blond�s large, strong hands and snap Voldemort�s
neck.� She was beginning to see how Lucius had become what he was.� It was a clever alignment of circumstance and
manipulation; Voldemort had seen an opening, a crack
in the volatile pureblood�s armor, and exploited it for all it was worth.

�� You were
not wrong!� the pureblood in question shouted.�
�I can do this!� I will do this!�

�� Voldemort�s crimson eyes narrowed and that greed flooded
into them again.� �Then remember, Lucius, always remember that you asked it of me.� I am only giving you what you want��

�� A cold hand
touched his forehead and images flashed, rapid-fire, through Lucius�s mind.� One
of them was of the man that had raped him.�
And when he opened his eyes, it was that man before him.� Hermione knew that it was Voldemort
under a glamour, and so did a small, rational part of Lucius,
but it was easily overruled by primal fear.

�� He tried to
get away.� His body was not quite right
from the Cruciatus, though, and he couldn�t make it
to his feet.� Then, as quickly as the
debilitating fear had come, Lucius remembered that he
was a grown man.� Irrational rage took
over and he lunged for his tormentor.�
Those strong hands of his went for the neck � snap it, Lucius, snap it! she mentally beseeched him, though she knew it would do no
good � and she wondered if the Dark Lord had anticipated this.

�� It didn�t
matter.� Lucius
was repelled first with a spell and then with a thunderous crack to the
head.� The blow hadn�t been necessary and
Hermione knew with a nauseating certainty that Voldemort
had done it to mimic the childhood event.�
The sick fuck!� He was going to�

�� Oh,
no.� No, she would not allow him to live through this again.� She seized to Lucius�s
consciousness with ruthless fingers.� If
she could tear herself out of his dreams, she could take him with her.� She would
take him with her.� The Dark Lord�s voice
washed over her, distant now:� �It�s what
you want, Lucius.�
Remember that you asked for it��

She pulled and pulled and pulled,
and then, like the sensation of winning a tug of war, fell backwards into
reality.� She had actually been pulling
on him.� Her fingers had bruised his
arms.� His eyes shot open, hunted and
confused, and he reacted instinctively.�
Hermione found herself on her back, his solid weight on top of her.� His hand was raised to strike her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and
lifted her arms to protect herself.� His
chest heaved.� She could feel the cool
slickness of his terror-sweat.� What she
didn�t feel was his fist coming down upon her.

Hermione dared to open her
eyes.� His left hand was planted next to
her head and his right was slowly dropping to his side.� He was straddling her, his weight resting on
her middle, trapping her.� Suddenly he
took hold of her shoulders and shook her, once, very hard.

�Why do you stay?� Why?�
Don�t you see what I�ll do to you?�

�You were having a nightmare,� she
said evenly, taking hold of his wrists.�
�It wasn�t your fault.� You
promised you wouldn�t hurt me, and I believe you.�

�Promises are a fool�s contract,�
he snarled.� His
father�s words.

�Then from one fool to another, try
to honor it.� Get off me, Lucius, you�re heavy.�

He looked at her like she had grown
an extra head.� Then, with an arduous
sigh, he rolled off her and onto his back.�
Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye for long minutes.� When his breathing had slowed to a normal
pace, she spoke up.

�What was your nightmare
about?�� She knew exactly what it had
been about and it still sickened her, but this would tell her whether or not he
was aware that she had been there with him.�
He wouldn�t hesitate to call her on it.

�Nothing worth mentioning,� he
said, and that was it.� He was shut.� His shields were raised and attenuated to any
possibility of invasion.� Well, that was
too bad for him.

In a quick move, she assumed the
same position on top of him that he�d been in minutes before.� She didn�t weigh nearly as much as him, of
course, and if he wanted to be rid of her he could certainly toss her aside, but
she didn�t think he would.

�What are you�?�

�You�re going to talk to me.�

�There is nothing to talk about.�

�Well, then I hope you�re not
hungry or thirsty or in need of the loo.� Because I�m going to sit right here until you
talk.�

His lips twitched, and this time it
was in mirth.� �You think sitting on me
is an effective interrogation tactic?�
You weigh about as much as a Pomeranian.�

She crossed her arms over her chest
and willed herself to ignore the comparison to a small, annoying dog.� It was a good sign that he felt well enough
to needle her, especially after that dream.�
She had pushed it to the back of her mind for now; she was sure it would
return to haunt her later.�

�Well, the other option is for me
to slip you Veritaserum.� Smythe left some
for me, you know.� �That was an
outrageous lie, but she was feeling outrageous, and desperate times called for
desperate measures.� �At least this way,
you would have some control over what you told me.�

The humor drained out of his
face.� �You have been around me too long
already.�

�Or not long enough, since I didn�t
just skip this and spike your tea.�

His eyes narrowed slightly.� �You don�t have any Veritaserum.�

She tilted her head.� �Are you sure?�

�Are you sure that I don�t just want you to sit on me?�

�You�re disgusting.�

He actually smiled.� �Likewise.�� Lucius propped
himself up on his elbows, eyes filling with mischief.� �If you scoot just a little bit lower and
lift up your dress, I�ll tell you anything you want.�

Hermione resisted the urge to slap
him.� It was just that defense mechanism
at work.� He was trying to scare her away
with crude sexuality.� It might have
worked a week ago, but not anymore.� Time to call his bluff.

She shifted lower on his body and
settled over the parts he had indicated.�
He jerked in surprise.� She was
pulling the soft fabric of the purple dress up her thighs when his hands shot
out to stop her.

�Merlin!� I was just kidding!�� The stirring in his groin indicated that he
was not kidding as much as either of them would like to believe, but she had
proved her point.� �Get off me before you
get yourself in trouble,� he growled.

�Are you going to talk?�

He heaved a sigh.� �I�ll�I�ll need a bottle of firewhiskey��

She had never been so happy or so
relieved to enable someone�s misuse of alcohol.

Until, several hours later, by the
light of the fireplace, he confessed that his mother died of alcohol
poisoning.� She had learned a lot about
the woman; she remarried in haste after his father�s death, moved to Australia,
and after that the only correspondence had been birthday and Christmas presents
for Draco.� Lucius had received the letter from her lawyer, Hiram Callowhill, the night of the storms while Hermione was
�indisposed� � his diplomatic way of saying �irrationally panicking in her
room�.� There really was no one else to
settle things; her second husband was dead, also, and she had no other
family.� So he�d gone all the way to Australia.

He figured the least he could do in
light of her leaving him and Draco everything she
had, in addition to much of her second husband�s holdings, was give her a
decent funeral.� A few dozen older
witches and wizards showed up to pay their respects and not one recognized him;
apparently most of them hadn�t even known she had a son.� Talk about denial�

And then he�d gone to her house to
see if there was anything worth bringing back.�
He�d been working on a sort of autopilot and didn�t really think when he
entered the library.� He lost his words
when he tried to describe the feeling of finding his book among her things.� He did manage to say that the copy of Faim was dog-eared and some of the pages rippled with water
damage.� So there was a distinct
possibility that she had figured it out, known that it was Lucius
� and said and done nothing.

It reminded Hermione of the article
in the Critiquill magazine.� However, that was an issue for another
day.� She wasn�t going to interrupt Lucius�s flow.� Most
of the talking had been done through the Vow�s bond and the insight into his
mother�s death was no exception.� Not
surprisingly, his monologue bore a lot of resemblance to the way he wrote.

They
said it was an overdose, but it wouldn�t have mattered.� Her liver was failing.� It was a habit, apparently�

How he could take another long swig
of whiskey immediately after that was beyond her.� This was patently ridiculous; she was propped
up in bed with him, his right arm around her shoulders and his left holding the
half-empty bottle.� Pretty soon she would be in need of a drink.

And
then I thought to myself, maybe she was drinking even when I was a boy.� She slept a lot.� I saw the house elves more than I saw her,
and when I did it was like she was trying to make up for something.� Maybe I tried to tell her about the�when she
was drunk.� Maybe she didn�t remember
when she sobered up.

Hermione frowned.� She seriously doubted that.� More likely the woman had been depressed and
drinking all along, but set to it in earnest after she realized what she had
done to her son.� Guilt was a powerful
thing.� She wouldn�t say anything,
though; for the most part, she�d been allowing him to speak uninterrupted.� It had been slow going at first, but now he
was picking up speed.�

And
maybe I shouldn�t hate her.� Maybe I
should have sympathy for her.� But I�

He was quiet for a long time.� She could feel his fingers worrying the
sleeve of her dress.� At last it came
out.

All
I ever wanted was an apology, or just an acknowledgement.� I don�t know that I would have forgiven her,
but it would have been something.� A step in the right direction.

She
was afraid, Lucius.

Of what?

She
was afraid that acknowledging it or apologizing would make it real.� It would make her failure as a mother real.

He was silent.� He took another drink.� She might have to confiscate that from him;
he was inebriated enough to talk freely.�
Alcoholism was genetic, wasn�t it?�
At least partially?

I
think I would rather acknowledge my failure than pretend it never
happened.� I am not so proud that I would
sacrifice my child to protect my own ego.

She
wasn�t as strong as you.

He snorted.� �Strong.� Right.�

�I�m serious.� I don�t think you understand how strong you
are.�

�Strength and the ability to cling
to a shred of sanity among the dregs of your hideous life are
not the same thing.�

What she�d give to be so eloquent
(if a bit dramatic) when she was drunk.�
Though to be fair, he was not yet falling over and slurring.� She wasn�t going to let him get to that
point.

�Coping is strength, Lucius.�

�I coped myself right into
prison.� I coped
my son into the hands of a madman.� I
nearly coped my family into extinction.� You still want to call that strength?�

�Well, the alternative was St. Mungo�s or death.�

�Either of which might have been
more productive.�

�Listen, I�m not saying that I
approve of what you did.� I�m just
telling you that you were doing what you could with what you knew.�

He lapsed into moody silence.� After a few minutes, he held the bottle out
to her.� She took it with every intention
of not giving it back.� However, that
wouldn�t stop her from having a little nip.�
She drank some and coughed daintily, grimacing as it burned down her
esophagus.� She�d only had firewhiskey straight once before, and only then because it
was a toast to those who had died in the final battle.� She put the bottle on the nightstand, out of
his reach.

�You are too forgiving, Hermione,�
he said quietly.

She looked up at him,
surprised.� He�d said her name without
hesitation and without being asked.� He
wasn�t so drunk that he wouldn�t realize what he was doing.� Lucius had given
her what she wanted.� Bugger�now she
supposed she could no longer sneak looks at Soif, if
he chose to continue it.� She took a deep
breath as a sudden surge of emotion tightened in her chest.

�I don�t think so,� she replied,
just as quietly.� �I could hold a lot of
grudges, but does that make much sense after a war that was all about grudges?�

He didn�t answer.� But he did sigh, unwind his arm from her
shoulder, and slide down to rest his head on her thigh.� She didn�t try to suppress the urge to stroke
his flaxen hair.� Thankfully, he issued
no complaint as she settled into a slow rhythm, running her fingers along the
soft strands.� Soon he fell into the
sleep of the whiskey-soused.� Hermione
smiled, summoned her book, and settled in for the evening.

A/N 2:� So our heroes
are making some definite breakthroughs, but Lucius
may still be a bit sore about Hermione dismissing him after that kiss�
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