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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
- 21
- 22
- 23
Author�s Note:� So, I�m
sick with an evil sinus infection right now and just about the only good thing
about that is that I have no motivation to do anything other than sit in my
comfy chair and write during the rare stretches of time when my head doesn�t
feel like it�s going to explode.� Leave
me some love�reviews are almost as good as antibiotics. :-D

P.S. � I got so many great reviews for the last
chapter.� Thank you so much,
everyone.� Normally I try to respond to
each one individually but I�m just not feeling up to it right now.� I swear I will continue my responses with the
next chapter.� Also, I finished Tassana Burrfoot�s gift fic that she received for winning the kitten naming contest
a while back.� It�s here: http://hp.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600021468.� Congrats again to Tassana.

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Another Saturday brought another
therapy session.� Lucius
had begun to dread them.� He knew it
helped Draco but he wasn�t entirely sure it helped
him.� He always returned home feeling
worse than he had when he left.

He�d said something to that effect to
the mind healer last weekend.� Newbery
recommended that he speak to someone else alone; the group process was
different, and really, Lucius was only an accessory
to Draco�s therapy.�
While he was glad to be there for his son, he probably did need the individual
attention that could be afforded by his own therapist.� Newbery had offered to schedule him in but Lucius declined.� If
he was going to take that step, he didn�t want it to be with someone who would
no doubt be thinking about his son and their collective dysfunction as he
spoke.� He needed it to be about him and
him alone.

He was considering it.� Lucius knew that he
sometimes needed a little time to warm to new or risky ideas.� Perhaps in another week he�d grow to like the
possibility and he�d seek out someone to attend to his needs.

Until then, he was here.� He wanted to be, but didn�t want to be, and
the conflict was making him cross.� He
could tell from one look that his son was also cross, though he couldn�t begin
to guess his reasons.

Draco shifted
in the chair and reached into his pocket.�
He extracted a piece of parchment that was folded four ways and appeared
battered and creased.� He had been
carrying it around for a long time.� It
was his question sheet.

That first day, he had discovered
that Draco had created a list of questions he wanted
to ask.� Each session, they tried to
address at least one.� Most of them had
been simple and easily answered.�
Nonetheless, some of them rankled Lucius; they were things that should have been
obvious.� Of course he loved his son, of course he was proud of him, and of
course he would support him in whatever path he chose to take.� He supposed he hadn�t done a very good job of
expressing those things if Draco had to ask.� What rubbish he was as a father.

He didn�t know how long the list of
questions was, but he had the feeling that the further down they got, the worse
the questions would be.� They would get
harder and harder and Lucius prayed to whatever power
existed that he would be able to answer them satisfactorily.� As many points as he got for attending with Draco, he knew that much still hinged on the way the next
few months went�and how he answered those questions.

He had made up his mind that first
day not to lie.� It was a skill and a
tactic that was best saved for when one really needed it.� Hermione would argue that he never needed to
lie, or at least she might have once; he knew she would find the flaw in her
own argument soon.� Potter and Weasley, once they became bored enough to wonder where she
was or what she was doing, would ask questions and she would have to lie to
them.� She feared losing them too much to
tell the truth.� He didn�t look forward
to that day.� As for him, well, if Draco asked him if he was seeing someone new, he would say
yes�and pray that he asked no more.

�� Across from
him, Draco unfolded the sheet and nervously smoothed
it.� A powerful, jolting memory hit Lucius then, of a nine year old Draco
who had written a poem.� The boy had
harassed him and Narcissa all day, wanting desperately
to read it to them, and when the time finally came after dinner and he had his
parents� devoted attention, he had suddenly turned bashful.� The face he was making right now was
identical in spite of the extra eleven years that had grown upon it.� As he had said then, Lucius
prompted gently,

�� Well, go
on.�

�� Draco took a steadying breath.� He looked down at the paper and didn�t look
back up when he spoke next.�

�Did you cheat on Mum?�

�� Lucius noticed that as intently as Draco
was looking away from him, Healer Newbery was looking at him.� He really did not
enjoy being watched like that.

�� No,� he
said anyway.� �I was never unfaithful to
her.�

�� How do I
know you�re telling the truth?�

�� I suppose
you don�t, short of me taking Veritaserum.� Though you have believed my answers to the
other questions without proof�why not this one?�

�� This one�s
not about me.�

�� Of course
it is.��

�No, it isn�t,� Draco
huffed.� �How am I supposed to believe
that there wasn�t someone else?� You
would disappear for hours, sometimes days.�
Mum said you lost all interest in her.�
It broke her heart, you know!�

Lucius
took a deep breath and willed himself to be calm.� �There was no one else.�

�That�s almost worse!� Draco snapped.� �I
could understand if�if�there was some other person and you fell in love, or
something, or�I don�t know�but you just stopped caring!�

�I didn�t stop caring.� Your mother�I will always care about her.�

�You have a funny way of showing
it.�

�Until you have been married for
twenty-five years to someone who was chosen for you, not by you, I don�t expect
you to understand.�� Lucius
narrowed his eyes slightly.� �It doesn�t
matter what I say, anyhow.� You want a
reason to hate me, and you�re running out of reasons.�

�� Mr. Malfoy--� the healer began.

�� Don�t think
I don�t know,� Lucius interrupted him.� �Don�t for a moment think that I don�t know
how to justify hatred.�

�� I�m not--�
Draco protested, his face flushing with anger.

�� You are,
and let me tell you, it�s stupid.� If you
need to dig for a reason, you don�t really hate whatever it is you think you
hate.�� Lucius
closed his eyes.� �Hate is visceral.� Uncontrollable.� A petty transgression is never enough to
generate it, and neither is an idea.�

�� Oh, you�re
this fountain of wisdom now, are you?� Draco shot
back coldly.

�� Lucius sighed.� �All
I am saying is that you should save your hate for someone who really deserves
it.�

�� You think
you don�t?�

�� I made
mistakes.� The last thing I ever wanted
was for you to be hurt.� If I could go
back and somehow keep you from ever being involved in any of this, I
would.�� He fixed Draco
in a powerful gaze, one he knew the young man would be cowed by simply because
he was his father.� �Is my regret not
enough for you?� Because
if that is the case, we should stop right now.�

�� Silence
filled the room.� It was thick, charged,
and filled with unbearable tension.

�� We�ve gone
off topic,� Healer Newbery said quietly.�
�Draco, you�re obviously bothered by your
parents� divorce.�

�� Damn right
I am,� he said, glaring daggers at his father.�
�She suffered for you.� She
withstood all the shame and mocking when you went to prison.� She stood by you even though she thought you
were an imbecile for going back to the Dark Lord.� She dealt with all those Death Eaters in her house, same as you.� Through everything, she never once wavered in
her support.� She might even have saved
your cowardly ass that final day of the war.��
His voice was rising steadily.�
�This is how you thank her?� By
ignoring her?� By
leaving her?�

�� Lucius tried to control the tremble of rage that wanted to
shake his body.� �Do not call me a coward.�

�� Why not?� You were
sitting safe and cozy in Azkaban most of the time, weren�t you?�

�� Safe and cozy?� Lucius
thundered.� �Do you think it was some
kind of vacation?� You have no idea what
was done to me in that prison.� You don�t
know how powerful the temptation was to end my own life.� That
would have been cowardly.�� His nostrils
flared and his chin lifted in a familiar movement.� �And you, Draco,
are you so inspiring in your bravery?�
Half the reason you are here is because you can�t stand the knowledge
that you didn�t have the courage to fight him.�

�� If I had
done anything, he would have killed you and Mum!�

�� And if I
had done anything, it would have had the same result!� Don�t try to make yourself out to be
different.� Your fear is not better than mine!�

�� Gentlemen!� Healer Newbery barked.� �I think it�s time for a break.� Draco, count to
ten.� Lucius, please step out and
do the same.�

�� He could
have counted to a billion and it wouldn�t have made a difference.� He was angry in a way that he hadn�t been in
months.� The last time he�d been this
upset, it had been right after he found his book in his dead mother�s
library.� Lucius
willed himself to breathe.

�� He leaned
forward, elbows on knees, and tried to calm himself.� His hands were trembling where they hung in
the air.� How could he make Draco understand anything?�
It wasn�t possible without revealing things he could barely speak of out
loud to himself, let alone his son.

�� The door
opened and Healer Newbery beckoned.�
Ignoring the alarm klaxons in his head, Lucius
stood and stiffly walked back into the room.�
Draco was still in the same chair, his arms
crossed over his chest and his face tense with controlled anger.� Lucius supposed
they were very much alike, for his posture was often the same when he was in a
mood.

�� He sat,
consciously trying to prevent his body from curling in on itself.� It wanted to with a force that was difficult
to resist.� Gripping the chair arms
afforded him some way to disguise the tremor that still wracked his hands.

�� The healer
looked back and forth between them.� �Are
we ready to proceed?�

�� Lucius gave a curt nod even though he would rather be
anywhere else.� An interminable minute
later, Draco also nodded.

�� Then we�ll
have some ground rules.� You two
obviously have a lot to say to each other, but let�s try to do it without
insults or yelling.� Try to talk about
how the other has made you feel, rather than what they are.� Agreed?�

�� Both men
nodded once more.

�� All right.� Is there
anything more that either of you would like to say in relation to Draco�s question, and only
that question?�

�� Draco was silent.� Lucius contemplated him.�
His eyes had gone steely and flat and his posture was closed; he was
entirely removed.� Things couldn�t end
like this.� He couldn�t let his son slip
away because of his parents� failed marriage.�
That was far from Lucius�s greatest downfall
and he refused to lose something so important because of it.� If he was going to lose Draco,
it would be because of the truly awful and stupid things he had done, not
because he and Narcissa had grown apart.� His only option was the truth, or some
version of it.

�� If you
truly want to know why I left, you�ll have to accept some more bad news,� Lucius said softly.

�� What?� his
son bit off.� �You�ve discovered that
you�re gay?�

�� I wish it
was that simple.�

�� Well, what
is it then?� he demanded.

�� Lucius took a breath.�
He was really going to do this.�
�When I was in Azkaban�I was��
Well, many things happened to him in Azkaban.� But the one that Draco
needed to know was best phrased in a way he could understand.� �I was cursed.�

�� Cursed,� Draco repeated.

�� Yes.� Fatally.�

�� His son�s
arms unwound.� �What?�

�� I was
cursed by Mulciber and your Aunt Bellatrix.�

�� Now Draco had moved so close to the edge of his chair that he
was in danger of falling off.�
�What?� But why�I don�t��

�� You
shouldn�t need me to tell you that your aunt was insane.� For many years, she believed that we were in
competition for the Dark Lord�s affections.�
She was paranoid that he liked me better.� I know that he didn�t care for or about
either of us, beyond what use we could be to him, but she couldn�t understand
that.� She thought he loved her.� Any time he showed favor to me, it was like a
slight against her.� After I fell out of
favor after the Department of Mysteries incident, she wanted to eliminate her
competition entirely.�

�� And that
was the truth. �Mulciber
had gleefully monologued to him in his cell after
subduing him via head trauma and tying him to his cot.� Bellatrix had
wanted to dishonor and kill him, and her twisted mind had come up with
something quite fitting.� He didn�t know
where she had read or heard of HIV but it must have seemed perfect to her.� It was the disease of filthy muggles in her eyes, one that sullied the blood and would
shame a pureblood wizard to the extreme.�
She had procured a blood sample that contained the virus and then passed
it on to Mulciber with the promise that she would
break him out when the time was right.�
The hulking Death Eater was only supposed to corner him and inject the
diseased blood.� However, Mulciber had taken it upon himself to convey the virus by
other means.� Namely, by injecting himself, waiting for the disease to
develop, and transferring it to Lucius by the more
common route.

�� He directed
his mind away from the memories of what had taken place after Mulciber finished his monologue.� Draco didn�t need
to know details.� However, Lucius could be grimly satisfied that Mulciber
had never made it out of prison; the disease had claimed him with a furor and a
virulence that killed him in a manner of months.

�� That was,
in part, what had caused Lucius to expect a quick
death.� He�d been well on his way until
he was broken out of prison.� Then he had
finally had the ability to seek help.�
The wizard healers didn�t know what was wrong with him and he ended up
with a slew of antibiotics, vitamins, and immune boosters.� They kept him alive until the end of the war,
though he couldn�t ever remember having more colds, sore throats, and general
malaise as he did then.� Most had just
believed the poor health was leftover from the chill and malnutrition of
Azkaban; ironically, Rodolphus Lestrange
(oblivious to his wife�s bitter hatred) had given him the recipe for a
variation of Pepper-Up that made it possible for him to function in spite of
the almost continuous illness.�

After the war he had finally been
able to make a trip into the muggle world to find out
in more detail what HIV was.� The
understanding he�d gotten from Mulciber�s
long-windedness was basic at best; if Mulciber had
truly comprehended what he was dealing with, he might not have been so eager to
inject himself.

�� Why didn�t
you tell us?�� Draco�s
voice was quietly stunned.

�� I didn�t
want to add to anyone�s troubles.� At the
time, I didn�t fully understand it.� And
how could I tell your mother�it was her sister?�
She was a loon but your mother still loved her.�

�� Draco was struggling.�
�She was in the house�all the time.�
Every day.�
Right there.�

�� Yes.�

�� His son
rubbed his hands over his face.� He
obviously understood why Lucius couldn�t do anything;
Bellatrix had been the favorite that last year, and
to do anything against the Dark Lord�s favorite (especially when you were
already in disgrace) was a one-way ticket to torture and possibly even
death.� That, combined with the fact that
she was his wife�s sister, meant he could only sit there, hands tied, and let
her gloat.

�� He would be
lying if he said that hadn�t been a powerful motivator in his survival.� He was sure he could have rolled over and
given up; death would have claimed him if he let it.� But each day he had to face Bellatrix was another day he needed to get through simply
to spite her.� His life had become a dual
project: save his family and stay alive long enough to see Bellatrix
die.

�� How much
longer have you got?� Draco asked.

�� I don�t
know.� I found a healer who was able to
create a treatment and it seems to be working for the time being.�� Lucius looked down
at his hands.� �All the time I was away,
I was at the healer.� I wasn�t purposely
ignoring your mother.� You have to
understand, Draco, that I was afraid I might pass the
curse on to her somehow.� The healer told
me it was possible.� By the time I began
treatment, she was already accusing me of cheating and wouldn�t believe my
denials, and you wouldn�t even look at me.�
I figured it was best that I just�stepped out of your lives after ensuring
that you both had whatever you needed.��

�� Draco was chewing the inside of his lower lip.� Lucius recognized
that behavior; he�d seen it a thousand times while lecturing Draco about something or other.� He was trying to hold his tongue.� It didn�t usually work.

�� Draco gave up.� He
turned to Healer Newbery and said, �Can I hit him?�

�� I don�t
think that�s the most constructive--�

�� But it was
too late.� Draco
had already crossed the small space and smartly backhanded him.� It stung, but that was mostly because he
hadn�t expected it.� Aside from that, he
had taken worse hits in his time and knew it probably wouldn�t leave much of a
mark.� He didn�t feel any urge to return
the favor because his logic sounded foolish even to him at the moment.

�� Since when are you some kind of martyr?� Draco shouted.� �Idiot!�

�� Don�t hit
him again.�� Healer Newbery�s wand was in
his hand, the meaning clear.� �And no name-calling.��
He sighed resignedly.� �Feelings,
not insults, remember?�

�� Fine!� You make me feel
like you�re an idiot!� Draco rephrased.

�� Lucius looked up at his son in wonder.� The life had come back into his eyes; they
were sparking, hot and angry, but somehow familiar.� His pale cheeks were rosy with color, his
lips pressed together in a snarling pout.�
It mattered.� He mattered.� Gone was the
cold shield of false indifference that Draco had been
holding up for so long.� This was
real.� Draco
was angry at him and for him instead of just the former.

In the wake of his son�s sarcastic
ire, he did a paradoxical thing.� He
smiled, and then he laughed until his sides hurt.

Draco
collapsed back into his chair.� By the
time Lucius�s laughter tapered off, he was hiding a
small, tired smile behind his hand.�
Healer Newbery looked like he had a headache.

�I think that�s enough for today.�

�Where did she put that damned
bruise poultice?� Draco muttered to himself.� The clink of bottles could be heard as he
shuffled them about in the cupboard.

�It�s
fine, I really don�t need it.�

�Yes, you do.� It�s bruising.� I didn�t think I hit you that hard.�

�You didn�t.�

Lucius
examined his distorted reflection in one of the many antique mirrors Narcissa had felt the need to place along the mantel.� He would not say what he thought in regards
to her placing mirrors everywhere; it required no explanation.� The old, smoke-dulled glass showed him a
purple bruise blooming along his right cheek.�
Lucius frowned.

�� It must be
the potions I�m on.� Perhaps they cause
me to bruise easily.�� He had wondered
why the knock on his elbow had spawned a bruise that contained every color of
the rainbow and then some.

�� Yes, I�m
sure that�s it,� Draco responded with a roll of his
eyes.� �I found it.�� He placed the small jar in his father�s hand
and made a face as he examined the bruise he�d wrought.� �I�m glad I didn�t punch you.� Imagine what you�d look like then.�

�� Lucius shrugged and unscrewed the jar to the poultice.� He wasn�t a fan of it; it smelled
overpoweringly of menthol.� It could be
worse, and the cooling sensation did feel good on bruises, but it stung the
nose fiercely and served as a reminder of other times he had needed it smeared
all over him.� Gingerly, he applied it to
his cheek.� Bloody hell!� Apparently the fumes stung more than the
nose; his eyes teared up immediately and he squeezed
them shut.

�� Fortunately,
the poultice only took a few minutes to work.�
Then he was able to wipe the excess away with a cloth Draco offered and the sting was gone.� So was the bruise, as if it had never even
been there.

�� There,� Draco said.�
�Evidence destroyed.�

�� I shall
find other ways to build my case for elder abuse.�

�� The corner
of Draco�s lips quirked up.� �You�re in a good mood for a dying man.�

�� I told
you, the treatment is working for now.�
It�s only delaying the inevitable, but what use is there in being
miserable about it?�

�� Draco disappeared in the cupboard once more to return the
bruise poultice.� When he emerged, his
face was thoughtful.

�� If Mum
knew,� he started, �don�t you think she�d take you back?�

�� Ah.� He knew that question was coming.� Lucius smiled
sadly.� �Draco,
I know you love your mother, but I don�t think you understand her very well.�

�� What�s
that supposed to mean?�

�� Lucius straightened one of the mirrors that had begun to
tilt.� It was a pretty thing, with Celtic
knot work engraved around the glass.

�� The next
time you see her, Draco, tell her about Healer
Newbery.� Tell her you�ve been seeing him
and that you want her to come with you.�
See what she says.�

�� She�d say
yes.� She�d say the same thing you did.�

�� Lucius nodded, knowing it wasn�t true.� Then he reached for his coat.� �I should go.�

�� Draco was quietly mystified as he moved towards the floo.� �Next week?�
he said at last.

�� Next
week.�

�� Draco dined with his mother that evening.� His father�s words had been rolling around in
his head all day.� Of course his mother
would come to therapy with him.� She
wouldn�t think he was weak or be ashamed of him.� Would she?

�� You�re
very quiet,� she said, breaking through his distracted haze.

�� Sorry,� he
replied. �Draco
frowned as he looked up at her.� She was
as dainty as ever, taking small bites of her dessert with an ornately rendered
silver spoon.� His own dessert was
untouched, a sure sign of discomposure as he had a hell of a sweet tooth.� �Can I ask you something, Mum?�

�� Of course.�� She set
her spoon down and looked at him attentively.

�� All right.� Well,
I�ve been going to see a mind healer��

�� A mind
healer?� she repeated, a slight edge to her voice.

�� Yes.� You know, to�talk about things.�

�� Oh, Draco, darling.�

�� He wasn�t
quite sure what she meant by that but he plowed on anyway.� �I was wondering if you would accompany me
one day.�

�� Narcissa looked uncomfortable.� She fidgeted with the spoon.

�� Draco, dear, do you really need to do that?� Everyone knows mind healers are quacks.� And if the media got hold of it�if they knew
you were going to one, my goodness, there would be all these stories about how
you were crazy, and I can only imagine how much time and effort it would take
to salvage your reputation.�

�� Going to a
mind healer doesn�t mean I�m crazy,� he replied, shocked by her words.� �And he�s not a quack.�

�� Of course
not, honey, but if you�re feeling down, why not just get some potions?� Healer Fuchs would write some prescriptions
for you, I�m sure, and it would be more discreet.�

�� It�s not
something I can just throw potions at.�� Draco picked up his spoon and stabbed at his dessert.� �Forget I said anything, Mum.�

�� Narcissa sat across from him, bewildered.� She really couldn�t figure out what she had
done to anger him.� Draco
focused on his dessert, but the taste of the cr�me brulee
barely registered.

�� I know you love your mother, but I don�t
think you understand her very well.

�� He understood now.� His mother was still more concerned about
what others thought than living her own life.�
She would rather save face than deal with things that weren�t easy or
might reflect poorly on her.� A mortally
cursed ex-husband who she�d publicly accused of cheating on her and a son in
therapy, both former Death Eaters,
were neither easy nor favorable for her appearance.� Even if she had loved Lucius
(and now Draco had his doubts), she wouldn�t get back
together with him, just like she wouldn�t be caught dead going to a mind healer
even if her only son begged her.

�� Draco sighed.� It was
all too clear that he and his father had changed.� And his mother�well, she had stayed exactly
the same, and that saddened him.�

�� Hermione
was folded into Harry�s enthusiastic arms and she smiled.� It felt good to see him after so long.� Ron she could do without; she still didn�t
miss him, not after his exceptionally poor and hurtful handling of their
breakup.� Harry was a different story.

�� Wow,
Hermione, you look great!� Harry smiled.

�� So do
you!� That Auror
training has made you very strapping,� she laughed.� It had; Harry had always been fairly muscular
but his biceps were nearly the size of her head now.

�� Yeah, they
really whipped us into shape,� Harry agreed as he pulled her chair out.� �You�re so tan.� You�re glowing.�

�� It�s faded
a bit,� she shrugged, �and it�s mostly freckles!�

�� I like
freckles.� They suit you.�� He fell into the chair across from her and
gave her a roguish smile.

�� Thank
you.� How�s Ginny doing?�

�� Well.� She was so upset that she couldn�t be
here.� But, you know, Bill and Fleur�s baby should be coming any time now and Molly would
have a fit if Ginny wasn�t with the family.�

�� I can�t
believe they�re on number two already.� I
wonder if Victoire will be jealous.�

�� Harry
chuckled.� �We�ll find out.� Do you want some wine?�

�� Please.�

�� He filled
her glass and his own.� Their chatter was
continuous, fluid, and easy; it was one of the things Hermione loved about the
man Harry had become.� They talked all
through their salads, main courses, many glasses of wine, and even
dessert.� Then, at last, when they were
both so full that they could hardly move, Harry began asking the questions
she�d worried about.

�� So,
Hermione, where on earth have you been getting all that sun?�

�� Italy,�
she replied, sculpting her melting ice cream into a cube.

�� He
contemplated her.� �Still?� You must like it there.�

�� It�s
wonderful.�

�� Everyone
was really surprised when you quit your job at the Ministry.� What are you doing out there?�

�� Going to university to become a healer.�

�� That
sounds like the Hermione I know,� he said with a smile.� �I�ve come by your flat a few times and
you�re never there.� Do you have a place
in Italy?�

�� Slowly, she
nodded.

�� On your
own?� he asked quietly.� �Or do you have
a roommate?�

�� The
question was innocuous enough.� However,
she knew what kind of information he was fishing for.� He wanted to know if she had a roommate of
the male variety.

�� As a
matter of fact, I do have a roommate.� Do
you have a problem with that?� Or should
I say, does Ron have a problem with that?�

�� Easy,
Hermione,� Harry laughed.� �I�m not
asking because I�m bothered by it.�
Whoever he is, he must be treating you well, because I�ve never seen you
look so happy or so relaxed.�� He fiddled
with his napkin.� �As your best friend and
the brother you never had, I�m accustomed to getting to approve these men, you
know.�

�� You
approved Ron,� she said dryly.

�� He
winced.� �Point taken.� I still want to meet this bloke, though.�

�� Hermione
breathed.� Before her, two paths
stretched.� On the left, she could tell
Harry that her paramour was Lucius Malfoy, and Harry would laugh and think it was a joke.� Then, when he realized it wasn�t, he�d either
hex her or try to commit her to St. Mungo�s.� On the right, she could lie and everyone
would be kept happy�except her conscience.

�� Harry was
watching her intently, his green eyes warm and open.� A spasm of pain flared in her chest.� She didn�t think she could bear it if he ever
looked upon her with scorn, hate, or disappointment.� Quite simply, that would shatter her.� This dinner had served to remind her how much
she cared for Harry and how much he meant to her.� He really was her best friend, strange as it
was.

�� The thing
is�� she started carefully, �he�s��

�� He�s
what?�

�� She said
the first thing that came to mind.� �A muggle.�

�� Understanding
dawned on Harry�s face.� �Ah.� He doesn�t know you�re a witch?�

�� Exactly.�� Thank God
for Harry�s ability to jump to conclusions.�
Bolstered by his absolute trust, the story filled itself in easily in her
mind.� �I haven�t figured out how to tell
him yet, or if I even want to.� After
Ron, I don�t want to jump into things, you know?�

�� Harry
nodded.� �I understand.� I�ll still want to meet him someday, though.�

�� You will,�
she said, plastering a fake smile onto her face, �when the time is right.�

He grinned and let the conversation
move on to other things.� Hermione
distractedly kept up with it.� She felt
strange and wicked.� She had just lied to
her best friend for the first time.

�� She hated
it.

�� Lucius found her sitting morosely in the bath, knees
against her chest and her chin resting on them.�
He took in her expression and instantly knew that something was
bothering her.� Without a word, he
stripped down and lowered himself into the bath across from her.� He mimicked her pose, staring at her.� When she didn�t speak, Lucius
took it upon himself to make her smile.

�� Musca brought me a present today.�

�� Oh?� she
murmured, brushing a stray curl out of her eyes.

�� Yes.� It was a dead, half-rotted mouse.� He left it right in my shoe.�

�� That did
the trick.� Hermione smiled.� �That�s true love for a cat.�

�� If you say so.�

�� She tilted
her head slightly.� �What did you do with
it?�

�� Gave it and the shoes an honorable cremation.�

�� She smiled
again, but it faded a moment later.� �I
lied today.�

�� Ah.� So that was the issue.� �So did I,� he
admitted.

�� What was
your lie?�

�� I told Draco that I was cursed to avoid having to explain HIV.�

�� That isn�t
so bad,� she sighed.� �Not that far from
the truth.�

�� Maybe not.�

�� I told
Harry you were a muggle and you didn�t know I was a
witch and that�s why he couldn�t meet you.�

�� Lucius raised an eyebrow.�
�So he knew you were seeing someone?�

�� She
nodded.� �I guess it�s kind of
obvious.� He said I was glowing.�

�� He should
be happy that you are happy.�

�� He
is.� He wants to meet the man
responsible, though.� I just don�t see
how�� she trailed off and tears filled her eyes.

�� Lucius moved forward in the water, gathering her into his
arms.� �We knew this would happen.�

�� I know. �I know.�
It�s just�I�ve never lied to him before.�

�� Nothing
you said will be harmful to him.�

�� I know,
but he was so trusting.� He believed
everything I said.� I�m taking advantage
of him.�

�� He cupped
her chin.� �You aren�t.�� Lucius pressed a soft
kiss to her lips.� �Sometimes the people
we love aren�t ready to hear what we need to tell them.� Until they are, we�re left to relate a
version of the truth.� That�s all it is.�

�� He�ll hate
me when he finds out,� she sniffled.

�� Maybe
he�ll never find out.�

�� Hermione
looked into his tranquil blue eyes.� �I
don�t see how it�s possible.� Someone
will see us together.� I�ll slip when I�m
talking, or you will.� Some random
coincidence will out us.� That�s how it
always happens.�� She shook her
head.� �I don�t know if it�s better for
him to hear it from me or to be completely surprised.�

�� He could
only shrug.� He had no insight to offer
on the topic; he didn�t care about anyone�s reaction if they were discovered,
save maybe Draco.�
His gut told him that Draco wouldn�t
understand his choice, but he would accept it.�
It was possible that Harry Potter wouldn�t understand or accept Hermione�s choice.� Though, if he was as good a friend as she
seemed to think, he ought to.

�� This isn�t
about Harry Potter,� he said.� �This is
about you.� You can�t compromise on your
happiness to protect his.�

�� I know,�
she sighed.� �It�s just difficult.�� She leaned forward into him and he held her
until the heating charm wore off and the water cooled.

�� The morning
was, by all accounts, a normal one.� The
sun came up, filled their bedroom with its weakening late autumn light, and a
pair of orange cats were unceremoniously deposited on the floor when their
respective masters decided it was a fine time to erotically smooth away the
stresses of the day before.

�� She hadn�t
been a great fan of morning sex until Lucius.� He consistently gave her the best wake-up
calls in the world.� This time was no
different; the familiarity of his body�s friction never reduced the thrill of
receiving him, of weathering the surge of his hips and the pure sensuality of
his moans.

�� Collapsing
in post-orgasmic bliss beside Lucius and the feeling
of rightness that aligned in her gut was enough to make her push the worries
about Harry aside, at least for now.�
There was nothing wrong with her seeking her own happiness.� Harry would agree with her as long as he
didn�t know the identity of the man who was providing it.

�� In time,
they recovered and drifted into a Sunday routine.� There were no plans save the usual dinner at
Paolo�s.� Lucius
spent much of the morning writing.� She
spent most of hers watching him and penning a letter to her mother.� Her parents were quite content with her
explanation of attending University in Florence.� They had never felt the need to pry, even
when she was younger.� If they were to
find out about her relationship with Lucius, they
wouldn�t protest beyond the worry of his age, because they knew nothing about
him.� How wonderful a blank slate was,
sometimes�

�� She walked
into her room, which had become more of closet since she essentially lived in Lucius�s.� A stamp
was necessary; her parents had asked her if she could just send mail via Muggle post.� They
had never quite gotten used to owls delivering mail and she supposed that was reasonable.

�� As she was
rummaging in her bag, a loud knocking could be heard.� It was accompanied by a booming shout.

�� Open up, Malfoy!� We know
you�re in there!�

�� Her heart
dropped like a stone.

�� You have
one minute to open this door or we blast our way in!� The house is surrounded and your floo has been closed!�
You have nowhere to run.�

�� Hermione�s
mind raced.� What was going on?� Who were these people?� She started as Lucius
was suddenly there, taking her hand and pulling her upright.� His eyes were strained but already flashing
with cleverness; he had a plan.

�� Listen,�
he whispered harshly, �I put the manuscripts and my medications in the bottom
right desk drawer.� It is heavily
warded.� The password is girasole.� Can you remember that?�

�� Girasole,� she
repeated, nodding.� �Yes.�

�� Stay out
of sight.� When we are gone, take
everything of yours, everything, and
go back to your flat.� Take the
manuscripts and the pills with you.� And
Jo-Jo, take Jo-Jo, also.� It must look like
I�ve been here on my own.�

�� Her fear
burgeoned.� �Lucius,
what�s going on?� Who are these
people?� Why--�

�� FIFTEEN
SECONDS, MALFOY!�

�� He squeezed
his eyes shut for a brief moment.�
�There�s no time.�� He leaned
forward and pressed a dizzying kiss to her lips.� �Don�t come after me.� I will take care of it on my own.� Promise
me you won�t try to interfere!�

�� I can�t
just--�

�� PROMISE
me!� he demanded, his eyes sparking.

�� TEN
SECONDS!�

�� Lucius�� was all she could say, torn.� Tears filled her eyes.� She wanted to promise him, really she did,
but if he had taught her anything, it was to know what she was getting into and
if there was a way she could help him, she wasn�t going to rule it out.� �I can�t.�
I can�t promise you that.�� The
tears spilled over, streaking down her cheeks.�
�I love you!�

�� The color
drained from his face.� He reached out to
stroke her cheek with a quivering hand.

�� FIVE,
FOUR, THREE��

�� With a
muffled curse, Lucius turned and disappeared down the
hallway.

�� Hermione
cast a Disillusionment charm over all of her things, locked and warded the
door, and sat huddled in the closet with Crookshanks
in her arms.� The cat was still, his tail
flickering in agitation.� He, too, seemed
to know that something was wrong.� She
could hear the sounds of many men shouting and moving about.� There were a few loud crashes and she prayed
to every deity there was that none of them involved Lucius.

�� In time,
all was silent.� She waited a long time
just to be sure that she was really alone.�
Then, cautiously, she ventured out of the room.

�� The main
part of the villa was in disarray.� Jo-Jo
stood among the debris, looking frightened and full of despair.� The elf looked up as Hermione approached.

�� They took
Master Lucius,� she said, her wide purple eyes brimming
with tears.� �They took him and Jo-Jo
could do nothing.� Master Lucius forbade her.�
He said not to let them see her.�

�� You did
what he wanted, Jo-Jo,� she replied shakily.�
�Who were they?�

�� Aurors, Miss Hermione.�

�� She sat
down heavily.� What in the hell?� Lucius hadn�t done
anything wrong, not recently.� What right
did they have?� Tears of frustration
peaked in her eyes, stinging hotly.

�� Jo-Jo did
the only thing that would comfort her; the house elf began to clean up the
mess.

�� No,�
Hermione spoke up, �don�t do that.� Leave
it as it is.� He wanted us to hide so
that they would think he was here alone.�
If you clean up, they�ll know someone else was here.�

�� It looked
as though Hermione was asking her to cut off her own arm, but Jo-Jo
relented.� She echoed Hermione�s posture,
slumping on the floor across from her.�
There they sat for a good long time, trying to make sense of it.� That was when Hermione noticed the corner of
the Daily Prophet peeking out from beneath Jo-Jo�s foot.

�� She leaned
forward to pry it from beneath the house elf.�
Once she realized what it was, Jo-Jo scrambled obligingly out of the
way.

�� Oh, fuck.�

�� That
declaration said it all.� For, on the
cover of the Prophet, a damning headline glared out at her:

PATRICK NETHERWOOD, PUBLISHER OF �FAIM�, MURDERED
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