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The Xeoforce Equation	By : Esequell Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 5632 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I'm not making any money from this.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
A/N - Lots more lined up yet. Let me know what you think! Reviews are like chocolate to me, so go crazy with that lil' button and I'll love you forever :)

2. The Cobra's Strike
Hermione's lashes fluttered like a pair of undecided moths as she woke to the sound of birdsong. Someone had charmed a flock of paper sparrows to flutter around the light fixtures. She was so distressingly weak that she could hardly lift a hand. There was a vase of fresh yellow daisies on the bedside table that reminded her of miniature sunflowers.
Hermione recognised the uniform of the St Mungo's healer, whose short grey hair was drawn up into a tight knot. A long shift had liberated wispy little strands to tickle her face. She made a habit of brushing them back ineffectually.
She began casting spells. Hermione recognised the first few - pain, dehydration, relaxation. The rest were obscure. The healer poured two potions into her mouth and Hermione swallowed. They made her feel queasy. Half her body was swathed in thick, white bandages and her skin felt as dry as crinkly brown paper.
'Awake at last. I'm Lena, Hermione,' she leaned on the railings of Hermione's bed with her wand held lightly between her fingers. 'I'm your healer. Do you know where you are?'
Hermione managed a nod that pulled the skin on her neck tight.
'How are you feeling?' Lena's rich brown eyes carried a hint of real compassion.
'My head...hurts,' She felt like her lungs had been scoured with oven cleaner. 'Water?'
Lena offered her a straw. Hermione had never been so glad to see a glass of water, and never felt such pain drinking one, either.
'What...happened?' Hermione whispered.
Lena gazed down calmly with the air of a woman who'd seen it all before. Hermione found her comforting. She seemed to be the kind of person wholly at peace with herself.
'There was a fire,' Lena's brows furrowed lightly. 'How much do you remember?'
She remembered pain.
'Am I scarred?' Hermione whispered.
'It's too early to say,' Lena shrugged lightly. 'If you are, we'll probably be able to lessen the scarring over time. Your head is a bit more of a worry. You took a falling beam.'
'G-Gillian?' Hermione whispered.
Lena laid a warming hand on an unbandaged bit of arm and rubbed a rhythm established by long years of practise.
'I'm sorry, Hermione.'
Fat, diamond tears shivered from under half closed lids and wet the pristine white pillowcase.
'I know it's small consolation, but she was gone long before the fire.'
'N-No,' Hermione managed to shake her head. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. 'No.'
Lena stroked Hermione's fringe back gently.
'The funeral is Saturday. I expect you'll want to go. We can have you up and about in no time. Grief takes longer to fix, I'm afraid. I haven't got a potion for that.'
'I know,' Hermione whispered.
'Rest,' Lena advised her. 'You'll need your strength.'

oOo
The ward doors swung open.
'Harry!' Hermione cried.
Hermione managed to sit up briefly but her strength soon failed her. The bandages made moving about very awkward. Harry bent over to kiss her temple.
'How are you?' he smiled.
Crap, she wanted to say. Tired, dry, prickly and bored.
'I hate hospitals, Harry.'
'Bad memories?' he smirked boyishly. She knew he was thinking of tails, whiskers and Polyjuice potion. The doors parted again with a soft hiss.
'Harry, I'm so worried about Crookshanks, nobody's been home in days-'
'Are you nuts?' a familiar voice asked her.
Hermione whipped her head around so fast it hurt.
'Gin?' she squeaked.
Ginny fell on her, a bear hug that rivalled one of Molly's.
'You really think I'd leave him to starve? Oh shit-' Ginny let go quickly. 'Did that hurt?'
'No. I think somebody stuck an anaesthetic in my neck,' Hermione grinned. 'It's so good to see you.'
Ginny gave her another hug just to be sure but then she stood back with her hands on her hips. Hermione could see the Molly-esque rant coming on. She cringed, especially vulnerable because she couldn't simply get out of bed and hide in the loo.
'You're a bloody idiot,' Ginny said. 'Why didn't you just call for help?'
Hermione opened her mouth but Ginny cut her off; 'You scared us half to death!'
'I didn't have time,' Hermione pointed out. 'I Floo'd in. Somebody must've been watching me, to figure out my routine. The lab was already in pieces when I got there. It just happened so fast.'
Ginny deflated a fraction.
'The case came straight to my department,' Harry admitted. 'The Minister wants me to head it personally. He's worried. It's only been two years. Not nearly enough time to round up every Deatheater and sympathiser. It's probably a revenge attack.'
'Those were the strongest wards we could cast , Harry! It took six wands-'
'I know,' he said. 'They still weren't strong enough.'
'Then whoever did this is a very accomplished wizard,' Hermione said. 'Honestly. It's been two years. You'd think by now they'd have the decency to leave us alone!'
'They won't,' Ginny said matter-of-factly. 'People like that don't know what decency is.'
'We'll find them,' Harry promised, honesty glittered alongside anger in his eyes. Hermione believed him. 'I promise.'
'What're you going to do for work?' Ginny asked her quietly.
'I'm not giving up,' Hermione said emphatically. 'I'm so close. It'll take time, but I think I can rebuild the equation.'
'I never understood Arithmancy,' Ginny said. 'How can you tell if a cure works just with numbers?'
Hermione shrugged.
'Well...if you had a big enough blackboard-' she began.
'And maybe a big enough brain,' Harry interrupted with a smirk. Hermione ignored him.
'-Just about anything can be predicted by numbers. It's the safest way to discover a cure, and it's saved us a lot of lives so far. We'd have to test on rats for everything otherwise, and I hate doing that.'
'Does Malfoy actually talk to you?' Ginny asked suddenly, as though the very idea was distasteful.
'He's actually pretty hard to shut up,' Hermione smirked. 'Not to mention he's a complete bastard!'
Ginny burst out laughing.
'Like Father like Son,' she cackled.
The ward filled with the sound of barely repressed giggles.

oOo
Hermione woke to the crack of sudden apparition.
'Misty?' she said sleepily.
The elf clambered onto the bedside chair and gazed at Hermione.
'Miss is alive!' she breathed. 'Misty was so worried! Is Miss feeling better?'
'Much better.'
'Misty so sorry for Miss' friend,' Misty laid a tiny, warm hand on the back of Hermione's gently. 'Misty understand.'
Hermione found some natural strength in that simple gesture. It'd been such a long time since anyone but Harry or Ginny had really cared. It also further confirmed her convictions that the Elves were as sentient as wizards and should be treated as such.
'Thank you,' Hermione whispered.
Misty twiddled with the corner of her pillowcase. She'd sewn a pocket into the front out of it, from the remains of an old tea-towel. Her stitching was perfect. Hermione could see it had once been blue and white with pictures of teacups and spoons on it. It was filthy now.
'Misty so grateful that you help when Master Lucius get angry,' the elf said.
'Did he hurt you?' Hermione asked quickly. 'After I left that first day? I've never had chance to ask.'
Misty's smile fell away. She shook her head quickly but it wasn't a 'no.' Her lip wobbled and her eyes darted to and fro.
'It's OK,' Hermione said quickly, when she realised Misty was on the verge of distress and probably, self punishment.
'Master Lucius is...ill,' Misty said, with an air of genuine sadness. She fidgeted, then glancing over her shoulder to check the man in question wasn't breathing down her neck, she whispered;
'When Mistress leave, he get sad. He drink, Miss! Misty try. But...elf can't help. Not with this. His heart is hurt. Master Draco keep little Grandson, Scorpius, away,' the elf confided.
'Oh. I thought-' Hermione shrugged lightly. 'I didn't know that.'
'Misty must go,' the elf hopped down so quickly that she almost upset the chair. 'If Master knew Misty had come-'
'I won't say a word, I promise.'
'Will Miss be coming back to the Manor?' Misty asked apprehensively.
'Yes,' Hermione nodded.
Misty smiled and disapparated with a crack. Hermione watched the spot where she'd stood. Then she pulled her hand back into the warmth of the covers with a smile.

oOo
Hermione picked up Crookshanks from Harry's and went home. Her apartment was still and so quiet that even the kettle sounded too loud. Hermione flicked her wand at the Hi-Fi and made a cup of Earl Grey to Vivaldi. A lance of late afternoon sunlight shone through the half pulled drapes. Crookshanks went to sniff about and reacquaint himself with the furniture.
A glance in the hall mirror revealed the damage. It didn't hurt any more but her nerves felt jangled and confused. Memory restoration spells hadn't done much to return the lost minutes of the fire to her but her body was a map of the events. Her forearms had taken the brunt of the explosion. They were hairless and decorated with fine, crinkled lines like delicate, pink tattoos to the elbow. There'd been some talk of using replicated skin from a cadaver but Hermione was uncomfortable wearing someone else. She promised to give it some thought but never intended to.
A single pinkened stripe, the width of a ceiling beam ran from the back of her neck to her hip.
The miniature explosions of overheated testing bottles had left her with cling film lines on her throat. A sparse few tangled across her left cheek like the arms of a confused squid. Lena promised they'd fade with outpatient treatment. Charms could conceal them but they'd probably always pull tight when she smiled.
She sat by the window to watch the sun sink behind the bare, late Autumn trees.
Crookshanks took the cat-flap route outside as though he sensed miaowing at the door wouldn't do any good today. His mistress was in no mood for his tendency to wilfulness. Off he went with his bushy tail crooked like orange question mark. He waddled down the terrace and jumped into the tree he used to get into the next door neighbour's garden.
Hermione had seen pictures of the lab since the fire. It was nothing but a charred box, samples and papers gone, the animals asphyxiated in the smoke. Insurance would cover the building but it'd never be enough to restart the project. Besides, she had no researcher now.
She chose the softest sheets from the airing cupboard to minimise irritation to her super-sensitive skin. She was asleep before her hair settled on the pillow, sinking into a private land where unpredictable memories masqueraded as dreams.
She woke up crying. Ron's absence from the hospital hadn't gone unnoticed, neither had Molly's. It was a hurt she wasn't going to forget easily, not unless she took another bump to the head, anyway.
Hermione apparated to the crematorium in her best work robes and stood behind Gillian's family, unwilling to intrude and wearing enough glamours that her scars no longer showed. The building was a light and breezy affair, almost new and purpose built on the site of an old, decommissioned factory. Its glassy walls let in plenty of sunshine. The radiators blazed but Hermione was still cold. A wicker coffin was borne in by Gillian's Dad and five men Hermione had never met. She fiddled with the hem of her robe, willing her tears down. She didn't want to draw attention to herself by making a scene.
Guilt gnawed under her breastbone. If I'd been five minutes sooner, would I be dead, or would she be alive?
'We're gathered to celebrate the life and mourn the passing of Gillian Arkwright, Daughter, Sister, Mother-' began the celebrant. His pinstripe suit was a nice mix of mournful but elegant, lacking the association with hopelessness of plain black. Hermione thoroughly approved.
Obscured by the brim of a wide, dark blue hat in the corner stood none other than Rita Skeeter. Hermione's hand closed around her wand, deep in her pocket. Fury bubbled up her throat with her tears.
'-Her lively sense of fair play and her boundless compassion for those less fortunate-' he continued, from the front of the packed out hall.
Skeeter raised her chin. Their eyes locked. Hermione could feel her scrutiny. Skeeters made a face of sympathy but Hermione could tell it was ingenuine. It was all about getting an article. Hermione's eyes filled with tears.
'-Through her endless love for her sons, Charlie and David-' continued the celebrant.
Hermione's hand tightened. She couldn't hear, couldn't think as the curtain pulled gently closed around the coffin.
'-Always loved, never forgotten.'
Hermione turned for the door. She'd never give Skeeter the satisfaction of seeing her break but before she could escape past the elegant, modern fountain and the line-up of funerary flowers and messages from family and friends, Skeeter caught her by the elbow and tugged her away from the crowd. Hermione whipped her wand out of her pocket before Skeeter could speak and hissed, her voice thick with tears;
'Get away from me. I have nothing to say to you and you've got no business even being here!'
Skeeter pouted and for a moment, Hermione almost believed her false compassion. She noded once as her Quick Quotes Quill scribbled away. Hermione pocketed her wand and fled.

oOo
With no lab and no job, Hermione went back to Malfoy Manor on Monday morning, intending to rebuild the Xeoforce equation.
Lucius was in the library, one leg crossed over the other. Hermione could see his expensive calf-skin shoes. His cane was propped against the overstuffed red leather arm. He was reading a thick, leatherbound book about the size of a personal journal. He arched an eyebrow.
'Well, well, Miss Granger,' he drawled, as he turned the page with a whisper soft sound, 'Still standing, I see.'
His gaze flicked up to her. His lips lifted in a sarcastic little smile. 'Then again, I suppose it takes more than a bump to the head and a few burns to keep you down.'
'Still standing, Mr Malfoy,' she agreed lightly.
'I must say, considering the reports in the Daily Prophet, I was expecting gross disfigurement at least.'
'I haven't read it,' Hermione said. 'It's just a bunch of lies.'
'Yes,' he conceded, 'But it can be useful to see which lies are being told and when.'
She set her book bag down by the desk and went to fetch the book. When she returned, Lucius offered her a copy of the Daily Prophet. She unfolded it warily.
While four wizards battled the flames, an Auror dragged a charred, bloodied body out of the lab by her wrists. As she was obscured by medics, the picture cycled again. The paper was dated almost two weeks ago.
The recent fire at the research lab of Hermione Granger was apparently treated as an opportunity for the Golden Girl to show her Gryffindor colours once again. Granger allegedly ran into the building to pursue a burglar, but for once she didn't glean a seamless victory from her hands-on approach and Harry Potter certainly wasn't around to save the day. Granger is currently in intensive care at St Mungo's, having suffered second degree burns to arms and back, severe smoke inhalation and concussion in the fire that claimed her research into a cure for Squibbery. The jury is out on whether she will be able to restart her project, which received little to no Ministry funding and has relied so far on private donations. Suggestions by Ministry officials in favour of support for Granger have so far fallen on deaf ears; it seems that gold is no longer flowing to these low-priority projects.
Hermione's mouth dropped open.
'That complete...witch! Low priority! The woman is absolutely intolerable!'
Lucius arched an eyebrow but said nothing. He was thinking of the scandal over his wife which had been made and then kept public by none other than Rita Skeeter. Hermione went on;
'She made up these ridiculous lies about me and Harry. And...me and Viktor Krum. And...actually, me and just about everyone else! Even Ron, and I actually dated him! She was at Gillian's funeral on Saturday and I swear...I almost hexed her.'
'Wolves will be wolves,' Lucius observed. 'Foolish to expect anything more of them.'
Hermione gestured to the page.
'This isn't even what happened! I Floo'd in and Gillian-' she closed her eyes tightly at the memory and gave up trying to say it out loud. 'There certainly weren't any heroics.'
'It must be a novelty for you, Miss Granger,' Lucius smiled coolly. 'To lose the fight for once.'
'I've lost plenty of fights, Mr Malfoy,' she said darkly. 'Just not the important ones.'
'If...I remember correctly...you once broke Draco's nose?'
She folded the paper and regarded him levelly. He looked amused.
'He deserved it. He treated me horribly. His favourite term for me was something most civilised people don't even think.'
'Yes,' his eyes fell pointedly to her forearm, 'I expect you still wear the memory.'
'I'm going to be wearing a lot of memories from now on,' Hermione said bitterly.
'We all bear scars, Miss Granger. Some are easier to smooth than others.'
'I'm sure they have something for tattoo's you no longer want,' she made it sound innocent.
His eyebrow went up.
'Indeed,' he nodded. 'Do you really think I'm referring to a bit of ink? Really, Miss Granger. I was often reminded of your intelligence. Now I wonder how you managed to best my son in every class.'
'Maybe he spent too much time looking up insults in the dictionary?' she suggested.
Lucius smirked. This time there was an edge of real amusement in there.
'I see you intend to continue your research,' he said softly. 'Perhaps not the wisest move, is it? Clearly, someone wants you silenced.'
'Well, I'm not the sort of person who shuts up just because other people don't like what I have to say.'
'Tenacious species, aren't you?' he quirked a smirk.
His brows creased softly. His feigned sympathy irritated her.
'What would your parents think?' he tutted gently. 'Endangering yourself for mere...scientific curiosity?'
She bit her cheek to keep from saying everything she wanted to.
'They'd be proud that I'm trying to help someone!'
'How noble.'
'I don't care if it's noble or not,' she sighed. 'It's what's right.'
He stood, an eyebrow rising with his movements.
'Naivete suits you, Miss Granger.'
'Thank you,' she faked a smile.
He turned on his heel, scooped up his book and left her. She was grateful. She closed the library doors when she was sure he was gone and retreated to the book. She drew parchment, quill and ink out of her bag, all freshly purchased that morning, since most of her supplies had been incinerated. She enlarged her own Arithmancy text from the depths of her beaded bag and set to work.
She began plotting the outline variables, those things which couldn't be changed by magic, those which could only be disguised. She worked up from there, trying to recall exactly what the Xeoforce equation had looked like before the fire. Her quill stopped scritching when she realised she couldn't remember. It was gone. Her knowledge of Arithmancy was fresh as ever but a vital ingredient was missing.
She spent the rest of the morning combing Malfoy's Arithmancy section, trying to find what she'd forgotten.

oOo
By breakfast the next day, Hermione had come to realise that she was, in fact, missing chunks of memory, all from within a short time span; a few months of research. Even if she could acquire funding, there was no way she could complete the research until she found the exact trail she'd taken to her original conclusion. Her feelings told her that the cure was possible, she had to trust that. The evidence was missing from her mind. Before she set off for the Manor, she shrank and packed all the relevant books from her own collection, plus the few photocopies of borrowed research she'd had the good sense to store at home and cast a Weightlessness charm over her trusty beaded bag.
A job offer arrived by Ministry owl. It was a rather sleek but stupid bird. It nearly dropped the envelope in her breakfast cereal and only just managed to make it out of the window without breaking feathers. Hermione incinerated the letter with a savage flick as soon as she read it. What a cheek, she thought. In truth she was worried.
She didn't want a boring Ministry desk job, neither did she want to be coerced into Auror training. It should have been obvious that Lackwit would try to recruit her when she was at her lowest but that just made her all the more determined to resist him and to prove that the Xeoforce curse could be cured.

oOo
Hermione trod the deep-pile crimson carpet of the second floor hallway. The pale, stone-skinned bust of Rigel Malfoy turned on its base to watch her go by. He looked as though he was smelling something unpleasant. Long before she reached Lucius' office, she could hear the scritching of his quill on fine parchment. She passed the open door. A fire blazed in the broad hearth. Lucius sat behind a pile of neatly stacked paperwork in his shirtsleeves. His jacket hung on the back of the chair. He blew on a signature and flicked his wand to fold the letter into an envelope.
There were reams of paper witness statements and transcribed interrogations. He looked tired. A half empty glass of Brandy was six inches from his fingertips and the decanter itself was nearly empty.
Surely he hasn't drunk all that, she thought.
'How I despise these insults to my intelligence, Miss Granger,' he snapped. Hermione jumped. She hadn't realised he was aware of her. His cold eyes travelled up her legs, over her work robes to settle on her face.
'I-I didn't think you had a job-' she clamped down on her runaway tongue.
'I'm amazed that you find it so surprising. This isn't exactly work. More like blackmail.'
In a fit of temper he snatched a paper off the desk, crumpled it and threw it at the wastepaper bin. A flick of his wand set the contents alight. He sat back, arms folded, seemingly content to let it burn. The firelight danced on his waistcoat buttons and highlighted the silvery thread in his waistcoat.
'Honestly,' Hermione took a quick step inside and flicked her wand at the bin. 'Aquamente! You'll burn the whole house down!'
He eyed the wet carpet and sighed in annoyance.
'Perhaps a charm that doesn't soak the carpet?' he said coldly.
'Or maybe you could shred them like everyone else,' she folded her arms. 'Have you even slept?'
'No,' his mouth twisted in annoyance. 'Sleep is for the free man. The Minister...believes...that my services in an advisory capacity to a criminal investigation simply cannot wait until morning.'
He arched a brow and threw another paper at the bin.
'It's morning now,' she said despairingly.
'So it is,' he agreed.
Before she'd spied his pink eyes and obvious exhaustion, she'd have said it was poetic justice, forcing him to participate in investigations against other Deatheaters to prove his loyalty. Something inside her went pang though as he brought his glass to his lips. It upsets him.
'I think, on the grounds of human rights alone, you're allowed to sleep,' she said.
He made a derisive noise.
'Do you need some help?' she asked softly.
'Feeling sorry for me, Miss Granger?' he asked, his eyes cold. His lips turned upwards.
'It's called being nice,' she said. 'You obviously don't know how. Besides. You've helped me enough recently. It's only fair.'
He pulled a collection of photos out of an envelope and spread them over the desk.
'Oh my God-' she leaned over. 'That's...cruel! They can't make you look at these. You have to make a complaint. They've obviously never heard of PTSD.'
Lucius exhaled a slow breath. He rose abruptly to seek a refill of his drink. The morning sun caught his hair like a halo. For a second he looked almost ethereal, before he stepped back into the shadows.
'You have to tell someone,' she insisted.
'Who would I tell?' he asked coolly. 'Do you really think the Minister would care if poor, traumatised Lucius Malfoy cried himself to sleep on his...admittedly...very expensive silk pillows?'
'No,' she admitted.
'No indeed,' he nodded.
'But...it obviously isn't doing you any good. Brandy at half past nine in the morning isn't healthy-'
'Please, Miss Granger, spare me. You sound just like Draco.'
'It's why you drink,' she said suddenly. 'This upsets you.'
He arched an eyebrow and slid back into his chair.
'Such an insightful girl,' he set the glass down. 'Believe me, my dear, if I wanted a counsellor, I'd pay for one. Now get out.'
'Of my office!' he clarified. The relief on her face almost dragged a smile out of him. Almost. 'With a whole library to bother, you come and bother me.'
He flicked his wand at the door. It shut in her face with a click.

oOo
Hermione gave up reading when a headache morphed into blinding pain behind her eye. Lena had warned her about migraines and cluster headaches but had neglected to mention what they might feel like.
Lights flickered on, persisted a second or two then died in the periphery of her vision. She tried to blink them away but they were unresponsive to even the most vigorous rubbing.
She started to feel sick and cold. She knew by instinct that this wasn't a good sign. The idea of apparating anywhere made her stomach roll over and beg for mercy. The second time she ran to the loo to throw up she sank beside the bowl, too dizzy to move. The pain spread around the right side of her skull until every heartbeat thrust searing pain into her head. It felt like someone was inflating a balloon in her skull. It hurt so much she trembled uncontrollably and practically hugged the toilet for support.
'Misty!' she managed to call.
The house elf apparated with a crack that made Hermione groan in pain. Misty jumped up and down in panic.
'Miss is ill! Misty will fetch Master Lucius right away!'
'No-' she whispered. 'Just a pain draught, please.'
'Miss have head injury! It dangerous. Misty will fetch Master!' The elf nodded enthusiastically.
Hermione gave up fighting. It took a few minutes. Footsteps halted outside the bathroom door. Hermione leaned her damp forehead on her arm, her eyes squeezed tight against the fabric.
'Miss is inside, Master!'
'Miss Granger?' Lucius leaned into the door.
Hermione wiped her mouth on some toilet paper. She wouldn't be caught dribbling in to the toilet, not for pain, not for the contents of the Malfoy family vault.
'Are you ill?'
'A headache,' Hermione lied. She was fairly sure it was no ordinary headache.
'She must go to hospital' Misty insisted. Her squeaky voice hurt Hermione's head. 'The healer say so...if she have pain in her head, she must go back!'
'Fetch a healer, Misty. Are you decent, Miss Granger? Do you need me to come in?'
'That really isn't necessary,' Hermione said quickly, even though she had her doubts.
'I'll be the judge of that, shall I?' he pushed the door. The unmistakeable smell of vomit and bile rose to greet him. He barely wrinkled his nose at all. Hermione flushed pink in embarassment. His lips quirked up.
'That isn't a mere headache, Miss Granger,' he bent to look at her. 'Are you done?'
'I think so,' she nodded carefully.
'I don't think leaving you here will give a very good impression,' he arched an apologetic eyebrow at her. 'Put your arms around my neck.'
'What're you doing?' she mumbled.
'Time is wasting,' he said gently.
She did as he asked.
'Shall we?' he enquired, as he carried her out of the toilet. He was so warm. He smelled like fresh laundry and musky, wonderful cologne.
'Hmm,' he mused, as they neared the study. 'Perhaps a few less Butterbeers in future, Miss Granger? You're certainly no featherweight.'
She closed her eyes tightly as they passed the windows.
'God, you're so charming,' she muttered.
She didn't see him smirk. She made a pained little noise when he set her down on the sofa.
'Yes, I know it hurts,' he nodded. There was an edge of genuine sympathy in his voice that surprised her. 'As it happens I have some direct experience with this particular condition. The cruciatus has its side effects.'
He produced a pillow and slid it expertly under her head.
'Do try not to expire,' he said drily. 'At least...until you're off the property.'
'Did you get your work done?' she asked softly.
His mask faltered. He answered in a tone devoid of malice or sarcasm.
'How kind of you to enquire. Yes, actually.'
The fireplace flared green. A be-spectacled St Mungo's emergency response medic stepped out, a trainee in tow.

oOo
The healer provided a complex explanation of migraine which narrowed down in her mind to; these will recur. He gave her a quill written, wand-copied pamphlet on food and drinks to be avoided and told her to keep a migraine diary. He equipped her with a handful of phials and sent her home to bed. She left St Mungo's feeling shaky and ill despite the cocktail of painkillers rolling around in her belly. The light was far too bright. She felt like she'd wasted their time.
She apparated home even though it made her want to throw up. Crookshanks purred like a diesel train and rubbed so vigorously against her calves that he almost upset her balance. She crawled into bed, her nose buried in his wild orange fur and tried to sleep.
She didn't wake until the sun came up the next morning. She rose like a zombie and regarded her sallow looking skin and purplish eyes. Only when she'd put a decent breakfast in her belly and swallowed an array of painkillers to fight the remains of the pain did she apparate to the Manor. The glass phials clinked in her bottomless bag. She'd cast a protective charm over them to prevent breaking but she was going to have to find a better way to store them or she'd never walk quietly again.
The aftermath of her migraine hung around her eyes, reminding her with sudden little headache twinges that she wasn't a hundred percent yet.
The gate misted to let her through. She was half way up the drive when a dark figure strolled over the flattened grass. Lucius wore a pair of expensive looking walking boots and a fur-lined cloak. His loose hair was ruffled. His cheeks were pinkened by the chill.
'Still standing, Miss Granger,' he quirked a small smirk as he approached her. 'My, but you are tenacious.'
'Still standing,' she agreed with a smile that was almost genuine.
'I trust you're recovered now?'
'I'm OK,' she nodded. 'I didn't know migraines hurt that much.'
'I find they get a little easier with...experience. Or perhaps one simply becomes accustomed to their unique brand of suffering.'
Hermione shoved her hands into her pockets. His eyes were the same colour as the Winter sky behind him, misted with low, thin clouds as it was.
'Thank you,' she said finally. 'For helping me.'
'You're welcome.'
She smiled a bit uncomfortably. Anxiously, she fingered the opening of her beaded bag. Then considering failure to present her offering to be a sign of weakness unbefitting a Gryffindor, she drew a rather expensive bottle of wine out and offered it to him.
He arched an eyebrow, clearly amused but he took it all the same, his long fingers wrapping gently around the neck.
'A thank you note, is it? I suppose whatever concoction St Mungo's has you taking now would prevent you from enjoying it yourself.'
He turned it so he could see the label. He made a face of approval. A spark of amusement went right through her chest. Trust him to know his wine, she thought.
'Very nice,' he nodded. 'You are rather observant, if I'm not mistaken. I happen to have a few bottles of this in my cellar, for dinner parties and such.'
'I noticed you like it. I figured, if the Minister is going to make you look at any more of those horrible photos, you might need it.'
His lips lifted lightly, a little smirk that for once, wasn't entirely cold. The morning sun filtered through his hair, almost igniting it. She was so busy looking at the curve of his mouth that she missed what he said next.
'Sorry?' she asked, suddenly ruffled.
He repeated himself with clean, concise patience as though he hadn't noticed. 'I said, I wanted to be certain we wouldn't have another recurrence. Having a house elf watch you isn't necessary, is it?'
His eyebrow arched elegantly. 'I'm sure Misty would be only too happy.'
Hermione laughed without meaning to.
'Er...yes. I think she would. I really don't understand why you dislike her. She's very sweet.'
'I don't dislike her, Miss Granger.'
'Oh,' Hermione shrugged lightly. 'You just equate not beating her with liking her. I see.'
'She's wilful,' he said, by way of explanation.
'I'd be wilful too if I was in her shoes!' Hermione calmed her tone deliberately. She was still too sick for an argument. 'Or lack thereof.'
'You'd have me present my elves with clothes?' he said snappishly.
She chewed her lip.
'You don't have to free them, Mr Malfoy. I don't think anyone is expecting miracles. Can't you at least get them something warm to wear? I mean, an old curtain would do it! It's just horrible to watch them living like this.'
Lucius rolled his eyes.
'You have a very soft heart, Miss Granger.'
'I'm quite proud of that, actually.'
He arched an eyebrow and left her there to return to his study via the patio door. Her breath fogged in the cold.

oOo
Hermione guiltily perused the silent library. She ran her fingers along the titles. She was supposed to be working but the call of all these books was just too intense a temptation to resist. Thick carpet muffled her footsteps. There wasn't a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. Perhaps the books were charmed to repel dirt and grime. If there was such a spell, Hermione would have happily paid for it for the sake of her own collection.
Under the mezzanine floor, hidden in the dark of a quiet corner was a lonely book shelf devoted to works on Pureblood tradition. The Nobility of Pureblood Lineage. History of the House Malfoy. Customs of the Elevens Vow. The Bridal Vow and its Safe Use.
She picked up the first. She passed her wand over it cautiously, half expecting it to be cursed. Her diagnostic spell returned no trace of harmful magic so she opened it. It smelled so old. It was her favourite smell in the whole world. She took it to the red leather sofa and began to read. The fire crackled behind her.
The author had a gift for words. Hermione was soon hooked. He described, almost poetically, the romantic and ancient traditions of the most common Pureblood houses and the lore and reasons for each. Hermione had no experience of this world. The few snippets she'd gleaned from Ron were nothing next to this storehouse of information.
In the next couple of hours she learned more about Pureblood customs and their unique and extensive code for behaviour, courtship and business than seven years at Hogwarts had taught her.
'Well, well,' drawled Lucius from the door, his eyebrow arched when he saw her choice of reading material.
Hermione started like a guilty first year caught in the restricted section. Lucius plucked the book from her unresisting hands.
'The purpose of the Elevens Vow?' he queried. 'My, my. I was unaware of your interest in Pureblood customs,' he said mildly.
Hermione sat up.
'I was curious,' she admitted.
'Clearly,' he nodded. 'Have you finally found a subject about which you know nothing, Miss Granger? I can only imagine what a novelty that must be for you.'
She took his jibe and said nothing.
'Cat got your tongue?' he enquired innocently.
'No,' she said quietly.
'I must say, I imagined your professors would cover such...basic information...at school?'
'I don't think Hogwarts considered this sort of thing to be a vital part of our education. School was more about passing our exams.'
'Information is power, Miss Granger.'
'I wasn't reading it for that reason,' she said uncomfortably.
'No?' his eyebrow arched. 'Are you sure?'
Hermione shook her head.
'I'm not a Slytherin, Mr Malfoy. I don't spend all my time trying to get the upper hand.'
'There's more than enough information in this room to facilitate that, nonetheless,' his pale grey eyes flickered to his collection. He offered her a tight smile.
'Curiosity is hardly a sin,' he added. 'But do remember what happened to cat, won't you?'
He offered her the open book. She took it.

oOo
A quiet street waited for Hermione at quarter to Midnight that night. Dinner with Harry and Ginny was a welcome change from the norm and she was celebrating a small fading of her scars, too, following a treatment on her face and neck. When she'd kissed them both goodbye, she walked through backstreet shops and past the odd, glowing restaurant with her coat clutched close. she was more or less alone. It wasn't like Muggle London. The wizarding population was lower and nobody wanted to shop - or work - at such an unholy hour of the night.
An amorous couple passed Hermione by, holding hands. Their giggles and light conversation were snatched away by the wind.
The cobbles upset her balance. Hermione had never been great in heels. She wasn't sure why she'd chosen them for tonight, except that reading that book and spending so much time had made her wonder what it must be like for women like Narcissa. The Nobility of Pureblood Lineage expounded at length the virtues most prized in Pureblood girls. Hermione was sure she had none of them. What constituted a proper lady? She was sure elegant black pencil skirts, tights and heels did, as did charity functions and hair as perfect as magic could make it.
That book's gotten under your skin, she thought.
Had Lucius and Narcissa married for love, or money? Was it really heartbreak that had turned Lucius into a bitter, sarcastic drunk, or just crushing disappointment? Hermione could sympathise. Sometimes she still caught herself missing Ron. It'd all been so perfect at first. They'd both taken a late Elevens Vow, which he'd explained was just a promise to stay a virgin until marriage. Now Hermione could see it was more of a magical contract. She resented him all the more for keeping that from her.
Then came the snap. I can't take you any more Why don't you act like you love me? Well if you were more loveable...
She missed contact. She missed kissing. It felt so good to have a warm, willing body to hold. Somebody who cared, who'd wait for her to come from work and always be pleased to see her. Sometimes she wondered if she should marry a bottle of Jack Daniels, but she didn't want to end up like Lucius.
Ron never even bothered to write to her or pursue the friendship he'd been so adamant he would after their breakup. That just cut all the more deeply.
Hermione heard a soft footfall from the dark mouth of an alley. The skin of her nape sensitized in warning. She sensed the shadow lunge and pulled her wand in time to spin and stun the grubby little man. He was only a bit taller than she, an ugly little weasel with a goatee and a sparse comb-over. His nearly black eyes were the only part of him that could still move. Hermione backed into the halo cast by a gas lamp streetlight and erected a shield with a flick of her wand.
A twofold hex caught her unaware. The first hex took her shield, the second stunned the feeling from her right leg. She caught her weight on a postbox as she struggled to stay on her feet. A pair of black shoes stepped out of the dark. The leather was dull black, roughened and a little frayed. They hadn't seen a lick of polish in years.
Hermione had worked long and hard to master wordless magic. She'd read that a short leap lay between wordless and wandless incantations and she wanted to master both. The lopsided, burly man with the bad shoes probably expected her to speak in order to cast but she caught him offguard with a hex to the groin before he could stun her. She stunned him as he squirmed on the cobbles like one of her lab rats. A much bigger man grabbed her roughly by the hood of her padded coat and dragged her into the dark space between the shops. Hermione drove her heel into the back of his knee as hard as she could and forced herself upright despite the pain all over her body, to shove her wand into his privates.
Petrificus Totalus, she willed.
'Dangerous little shit, aren't you Granger?'
Hermione twisted. The grubby worm stood haloed in street-lamp light, his comb-over a mess.
'Get away from me,' she hissed.
She'd skinned her knees, and probably her backside too, judging by the stinging pain. The feeling came back to her leg.
'Imperi-' he breathed, his voice roughened by her last hex.
Hermione closed her eyes and apparated. The world swirled away but before she could get far she realised there was too much drag. A pair of hands squeezed her throat.
He's trying to strangle me, he must be mad. We'll both splinch.
Trying to visualise her destination, she thought of the Ministry but at this time of night, it was unlikely that anyone would be around to help. She thought of her flat reflexively but she knew better than to reveal her address. Then her thoughts fell on Malfoy Manor. The world swirled about as the magic re-directed them.
She staggered as she hit the gravel outside the gate and caught herself on the curving hedgerow. She was just feet from the warding. Hermione heard a gasp and spun. The grubby man staggered to his feet, a broad hand clenched over his splinched thigh.
'Who are you!' she levelled her wand at him.
He raised his wand.

TBC
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The Xeoforce Equation