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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
- 23
- 24
- 25
Author�s Note: Well, I got a little bit stuck with this
chapter and as often happens to me, suddenly became unstuck today.� It pulled away from some of the hints of last
chapter, but will return to them.� It�s a
long one (20 pages!), so enjoy it.

Tohru80: You�ll see what Harry and Ron find soon.� Hopefully you get to read this before the
baby comes and you�re insanely busy.�
This chapter should be somewhat less labor inducing�I hope. :-D

Mekareami: Thanks.� I hear that a lot, that my summaries don�t
really do the stories justice.� Not sure
what to do about it�but I�m glad you�re enjoying it!

Megan: Here you go.

Kazfeist: Yes, things are being
set up for some�interesting meetings.

Thalia: Yes, no writer�s block
like Mr. Lucius way back in the beginning�let�s hope
I didn�t just jinx things.� Glad you�re
enjoying the little bit of mystery intruding upon the fic.

LaBibliographe: LoL, you are correct that Optimus
Prime�s foe was Megatron, but I wasn�t referring to
that.� I meant Metatron
in direct reference to Alan Rickman�s character in Dogma.� I brought up Optimus
Prime because we had just listened to the Dane Cook comedy bit about naming his
children (one of his chosen names is Optimus Prime).� That bit of clarification aside�yes, Lucius will still have to face some difficult things and
will not always be able to keep his temper in check.� Hermione will be there for him, and don�t
underestimate Draco.�
The confrontation with Ron & Harry is coming.� No, I didn�t originally intend for it to
become a mystery.� I had a different plan
entirely.� However, I decided to scrap
that in favor of where I�m going now for various reasons.� I like this direction better.� It�s giving me more room to open the story up
to other characters, elaborate on past plot points that were neglected, and
change the pace slightly.� You�ve
discovered the hints I dropped in last chapter � that Lucius
has orchestrated things so well that even if they do know he is the author, he
can never take the fall for murders that they can�t prove ever actually
happened.� In fact, I crafted that entire
part so that Lucius never really lies to Shacklebolt.�
Everything is a shade of the truth.�
Lucius�s experiences in Azkaban were one of
those plot points that I needed to get back around to so I could explain in
more depth how Lucius got HIV and why he has changed
to the degree that he has.� Sorry if I
made you terribly sad.� Pell was the one
who sent Harry and Ron to Tuscany,
you�ll see why later on.� You�ll see
about Pell as well as Narcissa in this chapter.� I�m going to stop answering questions so that
this response isn�t as long as the chapter, hehe!

Eleanore: Here�s some more, turn
that frown upside down!

Margot Le Faye: Sorry this took a little while.� I�m glad people weren�t angry at me for not
having Hermione rush in with her wand blazing to save Lucius.� Turns out he didn�t need it anyhow.� It�s nice that he has a mini-cavalry.� Ron and Harry will be making their meddlesome
presence known�read on.

LiteraryBeauty: Believe it or not
I have actually received feedback that there are too many lemony scenes in
this story.� I can think of at least one
that I might have omitted, but otherwise I think I have a decent balance.� Thanks for recognizing that though Lucius and Hermione are deliciously fun to write during sexytimes, there is actually a plot!� Hehe.� Read on for some
more of that plot thing.

Morganabythesea: Incoherence?� I like that.�
I speak it, as well: aoajosdvnpef1!!1!@

Celesumi: Yes, Lucius
was abundantly cunning last chapter.� I
imagine he is glad that he isn�t so alone that he has a cavalry other than
Hermione rushing to his defense.� Draco will be playing a slightly larger role in the story
now that he and Lucius have reconciled.� Hope your classes aren�t too boring, but if
they are, you can always read this during them! (FBS,
condoning daydreaming and class cutting since 1983.� Have I mentioned I used to be a member of a
facetious organization called CCU, or Class Cutters United?� If we weren�t going to go to class we used to
say, �I have a CCU meeting.�� Heh.� I�m a bad influence!)

NutsAboutHarry: Yes Hermione has a
definite heroine complex, but she suppressed it well here.� Her sleuthing was put off but it will return
in the chapter after this one.� I daresay
you�ll enjoy this one anyhow.

Heidi191976: There is good news on the horizon in this
chapter. : )

Linneh: For some reason, I enjoy
using Kingsley as a character.� I�m sure
you can tell from the fact that he makes an appearance in many of my
stories.� He�s been a bad boy here, but
is at least trying to make up for it.� Yes,
they were knocking on Paolo and Elisabetta�s
door.� You know they will get nothing out
of them!� Thanks for the lovely
compliments.

Sumariajane: There will be more
about the reaction to Lucius�s �curse� in the next
chapter�it�s kind of skirted over in this one, but I will come back to it.� Yes, Ron and Harry are in the mix now.� Enjoy the chapter!

Mia: Thank you!� As
far as I�m concerned, awesomeness is a word.�
I frequently invent words as well (today: moronicity).� The term is �neologism�.� If you tell people �I just created a
neologism�, they�ll be far more impressed by your creative vocabulary. ^_~

Michelle: You are exactly right.� Ron and Harry will be sorry they were poking
around.� And yes, Kingsley strikes me as
a character who has a lot of integrity, so the rare
times he acts without it would probably eat at him.

Elladee: I figured I had sent you people
on enough emotional roller coaster rides and decided to take a slightly
different route for this crisis.� I�m
glad people are enjoying it.� Here�s your
next dose!

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�� As he stood
in its dim corridors, Lucius wondered how the Manor
could feel so different from the villa.�
It was as if the silence had more things to echo upon in this ancient
house.� In the villa the quiet rose up to
the ceiling and stayed there, creating the illusion of being safely
cocooned.� Here in the dark and the hush
it seemed to stalk him like some amorphous predator.

�� With a
sigh, he raised his hand to knock on the door before him.� He was still at a loss as to why he had let Narcissa stay here after the dissolution of their
marriage.� To a certain degree, he knew
it was because she didn�t want to return to her parents� home.� Even when her parents were still alive, she
had never liked to visit, and frankly he didn�t blame her; anyone who had grown
up with Bellatrix (and parents who thought Bellatrix was the pinnacle of what a good child should be)
would certainly have some less-than-stellar memories.

�� It was not
as if he was using the Manor, anyway.�
Once this was done, he was going to return to Tuscany as soon as possible.� This place was just too damned heavy.

�� At that
moment, Narcissa pulled open the door.� She was in her dressing gown and her face
betrayed an unusual surprise.� She pulled
the blue silk tighter around her.

�� What do
you want, Lucius?��

It was said in a crisp,
business-like manner, but not a cold one.�
That was an improvement over the absolute scorn she had bestowed upon
him the last few times he�d attempted to talk to her.� He decided to match her distantly
professional tone.

�There are some things that are
going to be in the papers tomorrow and I wanted to apprise you of them.�

Her face betrayed only a slight
tic.� He could tell from watching her
that her mind was cataloguing the many possibilities of what he could have done
to warrant media attention.� He could
also tell that she didn�t believe for even a moment that it would be positive
media attention.

�Very well.� Come in.�

He stepped over the threshold
slowly.� The room was foreign to
him.� It smelled of some subtle powder
and floral perfume.� It was done in light
pastels, which were welcome against the heavy, dark wood�but it was the kind of
decoration that seemed almost too light and like the room would evaporate into
nothingness at a moment�s notice.

She sat on the chaise at the end of
her bed, legs crossed.� It didn�t escape
him that she sat right in the middle; he had to stand or find another
seat.� He pulled over the small stool
from her vanity and lowered himself down across from her.

�Do you want the good news or the
bad news first?� he asked.

Her lips tightened.� �Is there any good news?�

Against his better judgment, he
smiled.� �No.�

�Then I suppose that decides it.�

�Not quite.� Best to worst or worst to
best?�

�Worst to best,� she sighed.

He wasn�t entirely sure what she
would consider the worst.� This was
somewhat arbitrary, then�

�Are you ready?�

Her spine was very straight.� �Yes.�

�Your late sister cursed me while I
was in Azkaban and as a result I am dying.�
Not tomorrow, or even within the year, but it will catch up to me
sometime.�

Narcissa
blinked.� She clearly hadn�t expected to
hear that.� After a long, shocked moment,
she fussed with her hair unconsciously.

�Well�well, don�t sugarcoat it or
anything,� she murmured sarcastically.

�I decided blunt honesty was the
best course.� My
apologies.�

�You are woefully out of practice
when it comes to honesty.�

He looked away from her and
sighed.� She wasn�t processing the
implications of what he�d just said.� She
was still stuck in her self-righteousness at thinking she was a wronged
ex-wife.

�Narcissa,
from the moment I got out of that prison, I was on the verge of death.� I didn�t tell you because I didn�t know how
you would handle the knowledge that it was your sister.� I didn�t want to add to our troubles or to
give you any reason to hurt Bellatrix.� That would have been the end of us.�

�What curse was it?� she asked
tightly.

�One of her own
creation.� It destroys the body�s
ability to fight off infection.� The common
cold or an infected paper cut could kill me.�

Her face went pale.� Now the dots were beginning to connect.

�You�you were always sick��

He nodded.

�And you never got sick before
Azkaban.�

Lucius
shook his head.� That was the truth.� Before prison, he hadn�t had so much as a
cold since Draco was young,
and that was mostly because small children were germ factories.

She bit her lips.� Then, in a small voice, she asked, �Is there
any treatment?�

�Yes.� I�ve found an excellent healer who devised
one.� For now, I�m stable.� We don�t know how long it will work,
though.� Your sister�tested the curse out
on one other person before me, and he died rather quickly.�

Narcissa
was fighting tears.� �Why would�why would
Bella�she��

Lucius
kept his mouth shut.� There was no need
to make this worse by explaining exactly why Bellatrix
had sought to remove him.� Narcissa would figure it out herself, and even if she
didn�t, it had no impact on the sting of such a betrayal.

Very suddenly, Narcissa
pounded her fist against her thigh.� �I
wish I could bring her back to life and kill her again!� That bitch!�

�This is why I didn�t say
anything.� I didn�t want to upset you.�

�I would rather have been
upset!�� Narcissa
was on her feet now, fuming.� �To think I
ever felt any kind of gratitude toward her�I went out of my way to give her a
proper burial, a real grave��

�Not to change the subject, Narcissa, but I need you to understand that I was petrified
that I could somehow pass the curse on to you.�

Her eyes widened.� �Is that possible?�

�Not as long as I�m sticking to the
treatment.� There was no treatment until after the war, though.� That is why I was so distant.�

�And after the war?� she asked with
a slight edge to her voice.

�I was looking for a healer who
could help me.� It took a while to find
him.� He�s based in Vancouver.�

�Canada?�

He nodded.

Slowly, Narcissa
eased back down onto the chaise.� �Are
you attempting to tell me that when I thought you were out carousing with other
women, you were actually being treated for a lethal curse by a Canadian
healer?�

�That�summarizes it well.�

She dropped her head into her hands
and sighed.� A second later, her chin
shot up again.

�Why didn�t you tell me?� she
demanded.

�I tried.� You wouldn�t hear it.�

�Of course I would have!�

He contained the snort that wanted
to escape him.� �At the risk of being
rude, I have to inform you that refusing to believe your husband when he tells
you he isn�t cheating means that you won�t hear him out.� I took a vow to you, Narcissa,
one that I never broke, and if you wouldn�t believe that, why would you believe
that I was cursed?�

�What was I supposed to think?�

�I don�t know.� But really, I doubt there was a witch alive
who would sleep with me after they finished dragging my name through the mud.�

�Hmph,�
was all she said in response.� Lucius was happy to leave it at that; her lack of argument
meant that she accepted her own portion of fault for the way things had turned
out.� He probably should have forced her
to listen to him�but at least she was listening now.

�To continue our inspiring
conversation, I also have to tell you that I�ve been placed under house arrest
because I�m a person of interest in a murder.��
He tugged at the leg of his pajama pants to reveal heavily warded metal
shackle that rested around his left ankle.

�Good God, Lucius!� she exclaimed in an annoyed
tone.

�I didn�t do it.� They�ll figure that out.� In the meantime, though, I�m sure it will be
another mud-dragging frenzy.�
Fortunately, you no longer share my name, so you can stay at a distance
and look down upon me if you like.� I
give you permission.�

Narcissa
rolled her eyes.� �How
kind of you.�� She crossed her
arms over her chest and glared at him.�
�Is there anything else?�

�Just one thing.� There are going to be rumors that I wrote
some book that is connected to the murder.�

His ex-wife snorted.� �You?� Write a book?�

�I know,� he replied as he rose
from his seat and made his way to the door.�
He looked back at her.� Just now
he was remembering how he had always liked the way color rose in her cheeks
when she was perturbed.� There was no
harm in enjoying the tinge of crimson on her flawless porcelain skin, for he
only enjoyed it aesthetically.� His heart
burned for someone else.

With one last glance at Narcissa, he said, �Ridiculous, isn�t it?�

�� Hermione
didn�t go to class.� She felt guilty and
walked over to the floo nearly a dozen times, only to
turn around and walk away.� She was
half-panicked; she had just gotten a letter from Harry telling her that he and Ron
had at last been put on a case, and that case was the murder of Patrick Netherwood.

�� He thought
she would be happy that Lucius was under
investigation.� In reality, the intersection of these two important parts of her life made her want
to double over and vomit.� That was how Tiresias found her a little after nine in the morning �
leaning over the sink on the verge of retching.

�� You had
better not be pregnant,� he muttered.

�� Of course
I�m not,� she replied weakly.

�� Good.� That would mean that you either aren�t using
protection with Lucius or you�re sleeping with
someone else, both of which would earn you a very disapproving lecture and
several uncomfortable medical tests.�

�� You�re
lovely in the morning.�

�� Do you
have coffee?�

�� Hermione
pointed to a cabinet.� Smythe staggered over to it and located the coffee.� He set it brewing and then leaned against the
counter, eyeing her.

�� All grumpy
conjecture aside, are you all right?�

�� Yes.� Just�they put my best friend and my ex on Lucius�s case and they both hate him.� It will be their mission in life to put him
away.� How am I supposed to convince them
he didn�t do it without giving away our relationship?�

�� Tiresias shrugged.�
�Let the evidence speak for itself.�
The only trouble is that you have to find the evidence first.�

�� Do you
think they�ll investigate it fairly?�

�� I think
your Minister of Magic is pushing for it.��
The healer frowned.� �He�s hiding
something.� Something he feels guilty
over.�

�� Kingsley?�
Hermione said.� �I was in the Order of
the Phoenix
with him.� He�s a good man.�

�� I don�t
doubt that�but from time to time even good men do bad things.�

�� I can�t
believe I�m about to say this, but if it works to Lucius�s
advantage, it�s fine with me.�

�� Smythe raised an eyebrow at her.� �Stay there,� he said.� He strode out of the kitchen.� A minute later, he returned with a pair of
potions vials.� �One
for nausea and the other for anxiety.�

�� She shook
her head.� �I don�t like potions, they
make my head fuzzy.� I need to be able to
think.�

�� You know
what makes it hard to think?� Panic and the urge to vomit.�� He summoned a pair of mugs and poured coffee
into both.� Her mug got the special
treatment of two potions being unceremoniously dumped into it.� �Now drink.�

�� But I
don�t even like coffee��

�� I don�t
care,� he replied pleasantly.� �Drink
it.�

��

�� It was
strange to wake in Malfoy Manor.� It had been nearly four months since he had
slept here.� He missed the simplicity of
the villa.� The stone walls were easy to
look at in the morning, presenting a clean, cool slate for him to meditate upon
until his brain kicked into gear.� He had
no such luck here.

�� What had
possessed him to decorate (or approve someone else�s decorations) in such
dreary, light-sucking colors?� They were
rich and masculine but so oppressive.�
With the cloudiness that tended to dominate, he felt like a plant placed
in the wrong spot; he could see the sunlight, knew it was there, but it never
quite reached him.� It had bothered him
even before he left for Tuscany.� The combination of grey and these heavy
colors only brought down his mood.

�� He sighed
and turned onto his stomach so he wouldn�t have to look around the room that
was no longer familiar.� He had been
sorely unprepared for just how much he detested waking without Hermione at his
side.� As he thought of her, a shot of
relief coursed through him.� It seemed
that for the time being, she was doing as he had asked.� He knew her patience had a limit,
though.� This had to be solved quickly or
else she would out them.

�� A part of him
was flattered that she would do it.� The Slytherin part of him was at odds; it leaned strongly
towards self-preservation, which was easily gotten if she revealed their
relationship.� However, it also leaned
towards the protection of privacy and the almost unbearable need to keep her
reputation intact.� Little could be done
at this point to make him seem worse than he already did, but it was within his
ability to control how she was perceived.�
If there was a way to resolve this so that he would go free without the
sacrifice of her good name, it would be perfect.

�� It remained
to be seen if there was such a way.� He
had some ideas, though.� They began with
the editor of the Critiquill, Mr. Aloysius C.
Pound.� His open letter in the issue
Patrick had sent was an expression of near-obsessive interest in all things Faim.� Perhaps he had
been willing to do almost anything to find out who the author was�

�� Hermione
sat at her desk, trying desperately to think of a way to respond to Harry�s
letter.� If she didn�t control herself a
dissertation in Lucius�s defense would result.� Harry would think that was strange and they
would probably get in a fight over it.�
However, if she found some way
to indicate to Harry that he ought to quit judging and let the evidence decide
who was guilty, he would write that off as Hermione being Hermione.� The only trouble was how to phrase it without
sounding condescending.

�� With a groan, she let her forehead
drop onto the desk.

�� Breakfast was less somber than he
expected.� However, one family member was
noticeably absent.

�� Where is Draco?�
Lucius asked, frowning.

�� Narcissa
looked up from the Daily Prophet, trying but failing to remove the scowl from
her face before she answered.� He knew it
wasn�t directed at him.� It was some kind
of peculiar masochism to read the paper today and he had no intention of
subjecting himself to it.� He had a
pretty good idea what would be said, anyhow.

�� He�s converted one of the bedrooms
to a gym.� He�s in there.�

�� He nodded.� After observing his ex-wife for a few
moments, he asked, �Why are you bothering to read that?�

�� Narcissa
sniffed in disgust and folded up the paper.�
�So that I know who is on my blacklist.�

�� Lucius
chuckled and scooped food onto his plate, glad that he had made some kind of
peace with Narcissa.

��

�� Harry opened the letter in the hopes
that Hermione had responded in the positive for his lunch invitation.� Harry figured that since they were in Italy,
it would be a great opportunity to meet up.�
Not to mention a great opportunity to get his two best friends to exist
in the same room together without killing one another, at the very least.

�� He wasn�t optimistic that they would
actually talk.� Ron was still very angry
about the breakup, and as blind as ever to the cause of it.� He just didn�t understand.� Harry couldn�t claim to understand the deep
nuances of it, either, but he had always known that Hermione and Ron were from
different planets.

�� He had realized from fourth year on
that Ron was in love with Hermione.� He
hadn�t expected Hermione to reciprocate at any point, but he was glad when she
did, for there was nothing worse than watching a good friend suffer from
unrequited love.� What Ron didn�t seem to
grasp was how lucky he was that she had chosen him.� He also didn�t comprehend that a woman like
Hermione required some level of work to keep.� Ron thought that after winning the girl his
job was done.

�� Harry knew how untrue that was.� Ginny was the same type of woman.� Perhaps she wasn�t quite as brainy, but she
was an intelligent, headstrong spitfire of a woman who lived life by her own
terms and expected her significant other to accept that.� He could never be complacent with her and he
loved that.� He needed someone to keep
him on his toes; his entire life had been lived that way and he had no idea how
to function without it.

�� What Harry knew (and would never
say) was that Ron wanted and expected someone like his mother.� Hermione was so far from the Suzy Homemaker
type.� She could and would do those sorts
of things, but she didn�t find them fulfilling.�
Harry wondered how Ron could be oblivious to that.

�� He had a tendency to be oblivious,
as well, and if Harry knew Hermione well enough to recognize these things, then
Ron ought to.� But he didn�t, and he
continued to blame everything on her, loudly and to anyone who would
listen.� Fortunately, that group of
people was small and ever-shrinking.

�� Harry was getting tired of listening
to it.� He�d told Ron on two occasions to
shut the hell up; it was still his friend Ron was talking about.� The first time Ron had been enraged that
Harry was sticking up for her.� The second he had just stalked away.� Believe it or not, that represented progress
in Ron�s world.

�� Still, he wouldn�t trade the
impulsive redhead for anything.� Ron had
actually become rather quiet as they went about the next task, as assigned by
the lead Auror on the case.� They were searching Malfoy�s
villa.

�� It was quickly becoming as mundane
as the Muggle questioning had been.� The last house had yielded nothing, just a
couple which eyed them suspiciously while they answered the questions.� That was why Harry welcomed the sight of the
owl swooping in with Hermione�s letter.

�� The letter itself wasn�t what he
expected.

Dear Harry,

I�m so excited for both you and Ron.� It�s great to hear that you�re finally
getting some real experience, and what a case to start with!� It comes as no surprise to me that Malfoy is entangled in something like this, but I have to
caution you.� I know it�s easy to assume
that his guilt is fact.� After all, we
know firsthand what he�s capable of.�
However, if there is one thing about Aurors
that is very noble, it�s that they treat everyone equally.� If you don�t allow even the very slight
possibility that he�s innocent to be part of your investigation, I worry that
you�ll end up finding what you want to find and missing something else that�s
very important to the case.� I just don�t
want your investigation to be compromised, especially since it�s your first one
and everyone will be watching you.� I
know you�ll do what�s right.

Let me know when you are available to meet
up for lunch.� I know you will probably
want to bring Ron along.� It doesn�t
thrill me, but I�ll agree to it.� I
really hope that he is being a mature adult about things but if not, you tell
him that I won�t sit there and be insulted, so he should be ready to hold his
tongue.

When I hear from you I�ll owl you a place
for us to meet up.� Good luck with the
investigation.� Remember to stay as objective
as you can and make everyone proud!

Love,

Hermione

�� Harry smiled.� That was textbook Hermione.� People told him that he had a hero complex,
but he�d never be caught defending Lucius Malfoy.� Hermione, on
the other hand � well, she had a penchant for lost causes.�

�� It was good advice, though.� Objectivity was key
in investigating crimes.� His old
memories and emotions could potentially get in the way of his ability to see
the elements of the case clearly.� In
that kind of situation, it was expected that an Auror
would remove himself from the case.

�� Harry didn�t think he was at that
point.� He�d admit that the percentage of
him that thought there was any chance of Malfoy being
innocent was around 0.0001%, but even that was better than zero.� For now, that was enough.

�� Who�s that from?� Ron asked,
gesturing towards the letter.

�� Hermione.�

�� Hmph.� What
did she have to say?�� He always talked about her like that now,
with that accusatory tone.

�� Just Hermione being Hermione,�
Harry responded.

�� Wisely, Ron held his tongue.

�� Draco
looked around the bookstore.� He had
taken care to come to the one in Hogsmeade, rather
than Diagon Alley.�
It wouldn�t be as busy and fewer people would comment upon him
purchasing the book the papers said his father could have written.

�� Draco�s
first instinct was to think it was completely ridiculous.� He had never known his father to write
anything.� But then he remembered what
had happened in therapy and how little he truly knew about the man.� For Merlin�s sake, he�d been suffering from a
lethal curse in silence for more than three years.� What else wasn�t he telling the world?

�� That, he reasoned, was why he was
picking the book up off the shelf.� He
had to know if it was even possible.� He
wasn�t sure what he thought he�d find in the slender volume�but, he reasoned,
he would know it if and when he saw it.

�� It shouldn�t have surprised him that
Lucius Malfoy read.� What did surprise him, however, was the
presence of no less than three Muggle books in the
haphazard stack near the bed.� Harry
couldn�t claim to be well-read in either the Muggle
or magical world, but he recognized the Muggle
classics.� His aunt had always watched
the made-for-tv movies or miniseries, as if that was
somehow on par with actually reading the books.

�� There was Anna Karenina by
Tolstoy.� It was a monster of a
book.� He chuckled to himself; Hermione
would probably call it �light reading�.� Then
there was The Time Machine by Wells, which Harry had read in grade school not even
a year before discovering that he was a wizard � and that time travel was
actually possible.� Most ironically,
further down in the stack a copy of The Importance of Being Earnest by Wilde
was in evidence.

�� Perhaps Malfoy
had begun to thaw towards Muggles.� The people in the town who said they had seen
him indicated that he kept to himself, but never mentioned that he was rude or
condescending.� Now he was stooping so
low as to read their literature.� It was
puzzling.

�� His clothing yielded more puzzlement.� If Harry had been fashionably inclined, he
would have seen the brief article in the wizarding
world�s most famous fashion magazine detailing how a growing number of
purebloods were now beginning to embrace Muggle
clothing � crowned with a picture of the Malfoys,
junior and senior, in Diagon Alley wearing classic
wool trenches.� He hadn�t seen it, but
the evidence was in front of him now.

�� Shaking his head in bewilderment,
Harry left Malfoy�s personal things.� Going through them gave Harry an uncomfortable
window into Malfoy�s humanity.� The toothbrush, shampoo, and other everyday
things served as a reminder that Lucius was just a
man.� Harry rather preferred the demon
that stood residence in the back of his mind.�
It was easier to understand him.

�� The arresting Aurors
had made quite a mess of the villa�s main room.�
Ron was picking his way methodically through one side.� With a sigh, Harry resigned himself to
sifting through the other.

�� They worked in silence for a
while.� For all that could be said about
Ron, he actually seemed to be very meticulous while he was investigating.� The desire not to miss something and blow the
case was powerful, indeed.� Harry forced
himself to match his friend and partner�s patience.

�� In time he fell into a focused rhythm.� He didn�t know how much time had passed when
he found a thin magazine.� It was pinned
beneath one of the cracked, discarded desk drawers.� Smoothing the cover, he read its fancy print.

�� The Critiquill,�
he murmured.� �For
discerning readers of wizard literature.�� He flipped through a few pages.� �Hermione would love this.�� Harry turned one more page, shaking his head.� Then his eyes widened.

�� Ron?�

�� His partner didn�t answer.

�� Oi!� Ron!�

�� What?� the redhead shouted from
another room.� At some point he must have
finished what he was doing, unbeknownst to Harry, and moved on.

�� I think I found something!�

�� Me too, mate,� Ron responded from
the doorway.� There was a pair of black
lacy knickers in his gloved hand.�
�Either Malfoy likes to wear ladies� underthings, or he�s found a bint
stupid enough to shag him on at least one occasion.� Did you find the matching bra?�

�� Harry chuckled.� �No.�
But I did find an article in this magazine.� It seems the editor of this Critiquill publication is a bit obsessed with discovering
the identity of the author of Faim.�

�� Let me see that,� Ron said.� �Here, hold these.�

�� Harry quickly pulled a glove on and
took the knickers from Ron with a grimace.�
They at least appeared to be unsoiled.�
As Ron was skimming the article, Harry asked, �Where did you find
these?�

�� Pinned between
the headboard and the mattress, all the way down by the box spring.�

�� Harry turned his hand so that he
could see the little tag on the indecent knickers.� Agent Provocateur.� �This is a Muggle
brand.�

�� Ron glanced up.� �It is?��
A slight crease appeared between his brows.

�� Harry nodded.� �So, Malfoy either
had relations with a Muggle or a Muggleborn
who would know about the brand.� Whoever
she is, she could be a witness, or at least give us something to work with.�

�� Ron frowned and closed the thin
magazine.� �I hate to say it, but I think
we have to get this Aloysius C. Pound character in for questioning, too.� This article isn�t a violent threat, but it�s
a threat.� There�s nothing else here except
the knickers.�

�� I agree.�

�� Here,� Ron said, holding out the
magazine.� �I don�t want to take credit
for what you found.�

�� Harry looked at him askance.� Then he smiled.

�� We found both things
together.�� With a shrug, he said,
�Either way, we found more than the arresting Aurors.�

�� Ron smirked in return, and together
they apparated back to the Ministry.�

�� Hermione simultaneously loved and
hated her luck.� Harry and Ron had done exactly
what she had anticipated planting in their heads; they had seen the article in
the Critiquill and begun proceedings to locate and
question Aloysius Pound.� That was
fantastic and great.� The other thing
they had found was not.

�� Lucius had
bought her the Agent Provocateur lingerie for her birthday, mainly because it
amused him that they had a collection called �Witches�.� It was a full, matching set with several
different options so that it could actually make about ten different
outfits.� It was beautiful lingerie and
she felt like a goddess in it, no matter the combination.� She had nearly had a small stroke when she
found out via curious internet surfing at Paolo and Elisabetta�s
just how much the undergarments cost.

�� They had argued over it.� She saw no practicality in spending so much
money on things that probably cost a fraction of a fraction of the sale price
to make.� It ended with Lucius telling her that he could buy her whatever he
wanted, damn it, it was his money and if he wanted to spend it on obscenely
expensive lingerie, he would.� He had
been so stubborn about it.� She had
relented, but instructed him to buy more reasonable gifts next time.

�� She hadn�t even noticed the missing
knickers.� Since the set had so many
items, it had never occurred to her that something might have been
misplaced.� She couldn�t even isolate a
time when she thought she might have lost them.�
There were too many good memories in that bed and that lingerie.

�� Fuck.

�� What do they do when they find
evidence like that?� she asked Harry, keeping her voice level.� She affected the tone of one who was simply
curious.

�� Try to find DNA, and if they do,
identification spells tell you who wore the knickers and sometimes who, er, might have removed them.�

�� Hermione wanted to ask more, but it
really was not a suitable conversation for lunch.� Logically, they would be looking for any kind
of secretion, skin, or hair.� She clamped
down on her panic.� She had cast those
cleansing charms over the entire villa, but who knew if they had reached
whatever dark corner the knickers were hiding in?

�� As the meal went on, she felt ever
closer to tears.� Finally, she couldn�t
take it anymore.� Hermione made an excuse
about having to study (because they certainly wouldn�t think there was anything
odd about that), laid down her share of the bill, and left.

��

�� Smythe had
made himself right at home in her flat.� Hermione didn�t mind, since he was
essentially ignoring his own life for the sake of Lucius�s.� In fact, she was downright glad that he was
there when she returned, because if he wasn�t she would have been all alone in
her panic.

�� He looked up from the computer when
she closed the door.� Whatever cheerful
greeting he intended to give died on his lips.�

�� What is it?� he asked immediately.

�� Hermione swallowed and tried to hold
back her tears of frustration.� �We have
a major, major problem.�

�� She was sobbing against Smythe�s chest when her already bad day got even
worse.� The door to her flat swung open
and admitted a certain redhead.� Hermione
didn�t notice at first because all she saw was the dark blue of Tiresias� sweater.�
Only the healer�s sudden tension and quick intake of breath gave it
away.

�� Blearily, she looked up.� Her stomach dropped about a thousand
feet.� If not for the anti-nausea potion Tiresias had given her earlier, she probably would have
vomited on the spot.

�� Ron stood in the doorway, frozen in
awkward shock.

�� I�uh�you left your scarf�and I
didn�t think you were staying here�and the wards��

�� Of course.� She had never changed the wards.� He would know how to get in.

�� Groping for some semblance of
composure, Hermione pulled away from Smythe.� She wobbled up to Ron and held out a shaking
hand for the scarf.� Slowly, he placed
the woolen bundle in her palm.

�� For one desperately hopeful moment,
she thought Ron was going to leave without a word.� He started to turn away.� But alas, it was not meant to be.

�� So,� he bit off as he turned back,
�this is my replacement?�

�� Ron-� she started.

�� I think you�ve misconstrued this,� Tiresias spoke up.�
�Hermione and I are friends.� She
was upset.� That�s all there is to it.�

�� Right,� Ron replied, clearly not
believing it.� �Really, Hermione, an
American?�

�� Smythe�s
eyes narrowed.� �I�m Canadian.�

�� Even better.�

�� The healer crossed his arms over his
chest.� Until now, the hostility had been
one-sided, but Ron had effectively pushed Smythe�s
button.� Hermione looked back and forth
between the two men.� She didn�t know
what kind of temper Tiresias had, but she was well
aware of Ron�s.� The best course of
action was to get one or both of them out.

�� Ron, thank you
for returning my scarf.� I
appreciate it.� What I would appreciate
now is you leaving,� Hermione spoke up.

�� Ron opened his mouth and Hermione
braced herself.� However, Smythe spoke right over him.

�� When a lady tells you to leave, you
leave,� he said icily.

�� Are you going to make me, Captain Canada?�

�� If it comes to that, Ensign England,�
Smythe retorted.

�� Try it and I�ll have you arrested
for assaulting an Auror,� Ron threatened boldly.

�� RON!� Stop trying to pick a fight!� she finally
exploded.� �You are not an Auror!� You�re an Auror trainee, and frankly, if he did assault you, you
would deserve it!� I asked you nicely to
get out.� If you are not out that door in
ten seconds, my friend will be the least of your worries.�

�� Oh, come on Hermione, we both know
you won�t hex me,� he said dismissively.

�� She plucked her wand from her
pocket.� �You think so?�

�� Don�t be ridiculous.�

�� Do you remember what it�s like to
vomit slugs?� Fancy another go?� she shot
back nastily.� �Five�.four�three�two��

�� Thankfully, just before she got to
one, Ron turned on his heel and left.�
Hermione wanted to collapse into a pile of self-pity.� Unfazed, Tiresias
appeared beside her and helped her to the couch where she could actually
collapse.

�� She just sat there for a moment,
shocked at the turn everything had taken.�
This was karma, she supposed.�
This was what she got for lying to Harry�for lying to everyone.

�� The healer shook his head.

�� No wonder you don�t want to tell
them.� He doesn�t even know me��

�� Hermione sighed heavily.� �At least the worst he has on you is that
you�re Canadian.�

�� Something about being in the Manor
exhausted him.� He had not done too much
during the day, save studiously avoid all forms of media and briefly inspect
the home that had become so foreign to him.�
He had made some plans for redecoration and magical purification, as
well; half of the Manor�s oppressive feel came from the sheer overwhelming
amount of dark magic that had seeped into it over many generations.� Spells to remove such things were complex and
very draining, but he knew that he could do them and he planned to once his
house arrest was lifted.

�� He had dozed off reading a book
about that very thing.� In his dream-state
he didn�t think anything of the sudden feeling of a body next to his.� He assumed it was Hermione cuddling up to him
as she sometimes did in the middle of the night.� A pair of lips ghosted over his;
automatically, he lifted his chin into the kiss.� But her mouth did not taste the way he
remembered��

�� That was when Lucius
recalled where he was and why.� His eyes
snapped open.� His first instinct was to
fight, to get away as quickly as possible.�
He was able to pull back from the interloper�s kiss, but a soft, pale
leg wrapped around him and a pair of hands fisted in the front of his pyjamas held him right where he was.

�� It�s me, Lucius.� It�s me.�

�� His pounding heart slowed at the
familiar voice, but only slightly.

�� Narcissa�what
are you�?�

�� I�ve been horrible.� I want to make it up to you��

�� He felt her delicate hand slide
against his chest, parting the robe he had fallen asleep in.� After everything, he still felt a slight jolt
at her touch.� It was a primal recognition
of the mother of his child.� He supposed
he would never not
feel it.� Lucius
swallowed.

�� This is not the way,� he said
gently, taking hold of her wrist.�

�� I always made you feel good, didn�t
I?�

�� Of course.� Of course you did.�� He sensed that any other answer would result
in a breakdown or his untimely castration.�
Though, in fairness to her, their lovemaking had never been bad.� There had just been an element of detachment
most of the time, because they were not truly in love.

�� She said no more, but he could feel
the sleek form of her body pressed against him.�
She wasn�t wearing much.� Lucius lay there in silence for a long moment, unsure what
to say or do.� This wasn�t all that
strange; sex had always been a way to mend fences between them and apparently Narcissa saw no reason why that couldn�t continue just
because they were no longer married.� He
did want to patch things up with her, but not in the way she had in mind.� The kindest way to refuse would be to change
the subject.

�� Do you know what?�

�� What?� she asked, glancing up at him.��

�� I think you should go to the mind
healer with our son.�

�� He felt the bed shift as she lifted
herself up on one elbow.� �You�you can�t
seriously endorse that madness,� she whispered.

�� Why not?�

�� If anyone were to find out��

�� What does it matter?� We lived by those kinds of worries before and
look where it got us.�

�� Slowly, she disentangled herself
from his body and sat up.� He was glad
that his diversion had worked.� Lucius contemplated her as she drew her knees up to her
chest.� He didn�t entirely understand her
resistance to the mind healer; during the war, she had been the one to go the distance for their son.� She had dropped all the pretenses and
foregone all decorum to save him when Lucius
couldn�t.� Why should she suddenly care
about image now?

�� Have you gone?� she questioned.

�� Yes.� For the last five weeks.�

�� You wouldn�t care if people knew?�

�� If anyone wants to mock us for
seeking therapy after a traumatic war, let them.� It will only show their ignorance.�

�� Narcissa sighed.� �I know that.�� She wiggled her perfectly painted
toenails.� �It�s just�well, you told me a
secret yesterday, so I�ll tell you one now.�
When Andromeda was ten, my parents hired a mind healer to find out what
was wrong with her.�� She shook her head.� �Of course there was nothing wrong with
her.� She just wasn�t sadistic like Bellatrix or a miniature pureblood princess like me.�

�� Lucius
nodded.� He knew Narcissa�s
feelings toward her remaining sister had improved markedly, though she wasn�t
quite at the point where she felt comfortable speaking to her.� What could one say after so many years and so
much loss?

�� I was seven at the time.� Bellatrix told me
to spy on her when the healer was there � he came to the house.� I was to listen to what she said, report back
to Bellatrix, and we would make fun of her for it
later on.� So, the next time the mind
healer came, I snuck down and opened the door a crack.�

�� He sincerely hoped that the story
was not going where he thought it was.�
But why else would Narcissa mistrust mind
healers so thoroughly?

�� That son of a bitch had his hand up
her skirt.� He was trying to touch
her.� I didn�t understand it, but I knew
that he wasn�t supposed to be doing that.�
I�I got down on the floor and started to scream and cry like I had
fallen and hurt myself.� My father came
running and asked the healer to have a look at me to make sure I was all
right.� During the distraction Andromeda
went straight to our mother and told her what had happened.� I honestly don�t know if that healer made it
out of the house alive.�

�� Serves him right if he didn�t,� Lucius murmured darkly.�
He was glad she had never told him this; he might not have been able to
resist the urge to blot out the parasitic mind healer if the Blacks had not
beaten him to the punch.

�� With a shaky sigh, Narcissa nodded.� �My
parents obliviated
Andromeda.� Of course, they couldn�t obliviate me because they didn�t know I had seen it.� They just thought my clumsiness had a
fortunate outcome, for once.�

�� I can�t imagine you ever being
clumsy.�

�� Believe me, I was.�

�� He reached out to squeeze his
ex-wife�s hand.� �You were very brave, Narcissa.� You saved
your sister from a terrible thing.�

�� She offered him a tiny smile.� �Thank you.��
He felt the pressure of her clutching his hand in return.� �That is why I�m so averse to mind
healers.� All I can think about is that
cretin.�

�� Draco�s
healer is a good man.� I�ve investigated
him.�

�� Narcissa
sighed.� �I know that you wouldn�t let
him go to some crackpot.�� She shook her
head.� �Draco
must hate me for reacting the way I did, especially since you have gone with
him.� It was just such an unexpected
request.�

�� If he doesn�t hate me then he most
certainly doesn�t hate you for something so small.� When you explain to him why you reacted that
way, he�ll understand.�

�� You think I should tell him?�

�� Yes.�

�� She tiltled
her blonde head to stare perceptively at him.�
�What are you telling him, Lucius?�

�� He gently tugged his hand from hers
and shifted up into a sitting position.�
After adjusting his robe, he admitted, �Whatever he asks.�

�� Narcissa
digested that during a very long moment of silence.

�� What has he asked?�

�� A few things,� Lucius
shrugged, not caring to elaborate much.�
�On Saturday he asked me if I ever cheated on you.� I told him no and he didn�t believe me any
more than you did.�� His lips
twitched.� �He hit me.�

�� What?!� Narcissa gasped, horrified, her hand rising up to cover her
mouth.

�� It�s all right.� Lord knows he deserved at least one good shot
at me.�

�� She was looking at him
strangely.� He had to glance away,
uncomfortable with her knowing scrutiny.�
Lucius picked at some nonexistent lint on the
bedspread.� He did not feel how different
he had become until that moment.� Had
Hermione made him so mellow?

�� Narcissa�s
cool hand against his cheek brought him out of his rumination.� He looked up into her clear blue eyes and
felt a strong, slashing pang in his chest.�
He regretted that he hadn�t been able to be a better husband, even if
she was not his perfect match.� He
regretted all that his poor decisions had put her through.� He regretted that he seldom recognized her
intelligence, poise, and strength.� Narcissa had her flaws and
her moments, but he easily had twice as many in the course of their marriage.��

�� I�m sorry,� he said softly.

�� I know.�� She slid closer.� �I�m sorry, too.� I should have listened to you.� You shouldn�t have had to suffer alone.�

�� I think it was good that I did,� Lucius replied thoughtfully.

�� No�it must have been terrible.� It must be like having a knife plunged into
your back when you�re only trying to protect someone and they hate you for it.�

�� He glanced up in surprise.� �Did you hate me?�

�� Narcissa
expelled an agitated sigh.� �I wanted to, but I couldn�t, which made me
resent you even more.��

�� We were a wonderfully functional
couple, weren�t we?� Lucius chuckled.

�� In some ways.�� Narcissa�s hand
slid along his thigh and a demure, Mona Lisa-like smile touched her lips.� �We�re so good when we actually talk.�

�� You�d think that would be common
sense.�

�� Not to Slytherins.�

�� It was true.� Any Slytherin would
rather keep a secret than divulge it, even to those closest to him.� Sometimes logic and necessity would drive
them out as it had with Lucius�s arrest and his
�curse�.� However, that was a prime
example of yet another facet of the Slytherin
personality: the knowledge and careful execution of when to reveal a secret in
order to gain from it.� He could have
gone through this process without telling them, but revealing the secret had
gotten him a safe and vastly more comfortable place of detention until the
whole debacle was over.

�� So what now?� he asked.� It didn�t escape his notice that Narcissa�s hand was still resting on his thigh.

�� She leaned into him, a soft and
amorous expression on her face.� �Let�s
make love one last time.�

�� He contemplated her.� He didn�t find the idea repulsive; there were
still things about her that had the power to arouse him.� However, even the slightest thought about
Hermione made him feel like he couldn�t breathe.� He simply couldn�t betray her like that�not
after she had told him, albeit in a moment of extreme stress, that she loved
him.

�� He put his hand over Narcissa�s.

�� I can�t.�

�� Narcissa
gave him a curious look.� �I thought you
said it was all right as long as you were having your treatments.�

�� You really don�t care that I�m
cursed?�

�� She shook her head.��

�� He was not the only one who had
changed.� He could see that his advice to
Draco about his mother was erroneous, though Narcissa had acted within its parameters for a reason
neither of them could have known.� Lucius sincerely hoped that she was honest with their son
and would someday accompany him to the mind healer.� He didn�t want their relationship to atrophy
because of a misunderstanding.� Narcissa was vain and sometimes arrogant (neither of which
he could claim immunity to), but she would do anything for her family.

�� Lucius was
unprepared for the wall of emotion that hit him.� He had to struggle for control as it burst in
his chest.� It felt so good to finally have the air clear.� It had taken nearly two years for him and Narcissa to forgive one another � she for his stupidity in
ever becoming involved with the Death Eaters and endangering his family, and he
for the actions of her sister and her unwitting cruelty after the war.� Finally�finally there was catharsis.

�� While he was basking in the
exquisite, painful emptying of every emotion he had unknowingly bottled up, Narcissa curled against his side.� They stayed that way for a long time.� So long, in fact, that his eyelids began to
droop in the fatigue of exorcised demons.

�� There�s someone else, isn�t there?�
Narcissa asked quietly.

�� Yes.�

�� Do you love her?�

�� He didn�t even have to think about
his answer, and he was too tired to dance around the truth.� �Yes.�

�� She sighed.� �I can tell.�

�� Haven�t you had a thousand young
virile boyfriends?� he asked with a little smirk.

�� I wish.�

�� Well, what�s the hold up?�

�� She shrugged.� �There isn�t anybody.� Everyone�s either married or related to me.�

�� You aren�t still searching the
same�� he chose his words carefully, �circles, are you?�

�� Narcissa
pulled back and gave him a confused look.�
�Aren�t you?�

�� Slowly, he shook his head.� �It�s a new world, Narcissa.�

�� She leaned back down to rest against
his shoulder.

�� I suppose it is.�

�� They lay there like that for a long
while, in an entirely platonic embrace.�
At some point Lucius nodded off.� When he woke to the weak light of yet another
cloudy morning, his ex-wife was gone.

��

�� Kingsley looked up at the knock on
his door.� It was Dawlish
and he was glad to see his old friend; he knew he could trust him, unlike Head Auror Pell.� Pell had
been removed from the Netherwood case.� Time would tell if he would be removed from
anything else.

�� Kingsley,� the other man nodded.

�� Bogart,� he returned.

�� Dawlish
made a face; he hated being called by his first name.� It had taken a long time and a lot of respect
to shake his training camp nickname of �Bogey�.�
Kingsley was fairly certain that even the man�s own wife referred to him
as Dawlish, or D for short.

�� I have a title, you know,� Kingsley
joked.

�� Oh, yes, Minister.�� Dawlish rolled his eyes.

�� That�s better, Dawlish.�

�� Don�t let it go to your head,
mate.�

�� Shacklebolt
smiled slightly.� They had been roommates
during Auror training so many years ago and had been
very close friends ever since.� He saw
his friends less and less since taking the post of Minister, and his love life
continued to be nonexistent�but that was beside the point.�

�� Do you have anything good for me?�

�� I don�t know that I would call it
good, but it is definitely interesting.��
He reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a small vial.� Inside was the familiar liquid silver of a
memory.� �You can view it, of course, but
I�ll make it easy.� This is a memory of
security footage from the bank where Netherwood�s
account was set up.� It shows an
unidentified man in Auror robes presenting a warrant
to the branch manager.� It was a warrant
to compel the bank to reveal the account holder who was receiving royalties for
Faim.�

�� Did we ever issue any such
warrant?�

�� No.�

�� Kingsley sighed.� �Do we know who this man is?� Is he one of ours?�

�� I don�t recognize him, though I did
submit the image to archives and they are currently searching.�

�� So am I to understand that in all
probability, someone impersonating a
British Auror traced Faim�s
royalties to this bank, fabricated a warrant, and forced the bank to reveal Netherwood�s identity?�

�� That�s how it�s starting to look.�

�� Did the branch manager still have
the warrant?�

�� Yes.� Fortunately he�s a meticulous man.�� Dawlish dug the
paper out of his other pocket.� �It�s a
good fake.�

�� Kingsley took it from his old friend
and examined it.� It was indeed an
excellent fake; the only thing that idenfied it as a
forgery was the Wizengamot�s raised seal.� That was impossible to duplicate thanks to
some extreme copyrighting and taboo spellwork, but
that didn�t stop people from making some very convincing approximations.� This one was only off by one letter; it was
spelled �Wizengamut�.�
The bank manager would have needed a magnifying spell to have any chance
of noticing it.� Kingsley had seen it so
many times that the lettering switch was glaringly obvious.

�� For suspicion of accessory to
murder,� Kingsley read out loud.� �No
wonder the manager ponied up.�

�� Dawlish
nodded.� �Someone planned this.� Honestly, Kings, I think this clears Malfoy.�

�� I think so, too.� His letter proves that he already knew Netherwood and was aware of his connection to Faim.� There would be
no reason for him to go to this length to find Netherwood.�

�� Dawlish
sighed.� �He�s one that I hate to let
go.�

�� He hasn�t been a problem since the
end of the war.�

�� I guess not.�� The Auror stood and
returned the memory and the false warrant to his pocket.� �Two months in solitary and a lethal curse
must do something to change a man�s ways.�

�� I imagine those things would change
any man.�� Kingsley looked down at the
baubles on his desk.� Dawlish
had never been assigned to Azkaban; he hated the place, Dementors
or no Dementors.�
He was a tough Auror, but he only had the
heart to catch the criminals.� He left it
to others to punish or rehabilitate them.

�� I guess this Aloysius Pound
character is now our primary suspect,� Dawlish said,
breaking the somber silence.

�� It seems that way.� Get him in here for questioning.�

�� Will do, old
friend.�

�� After Dawlish
left, Kingsley sat there deep in thought.�
Malfoy was innocent.� That was certain now.� However, there were other things that still
remained ambiguous and they ate at the Minister of Magic.

�� Did no one besides him think that Malfoy could be the author of Faim,
in addition to Netherwood�s clever sidekick?� It was true that Lucius
had never before shown a flair for the literary.� Kingsley had researched.� There was nothing, not so much as an
editorial.� For such an opinionated man,
he had evidently never felt the need to put those opinions down on paper.

�� But if Kingsley knew anything, it
was that Lucius was an intelligent man.� He didn�t know how much of what Malfoy had related in the interrogation room was the absolute truth; there always seemed to be gears
turning behind the blond wizard�s eyes.�
He was capable of something as clever as an anonymous and chillingly
controversial bestseller.

�� It went without saying that he was
well-read.� That didn�t always equate to
talent with a quill, though.� He wished
they had found some kind of diary at Malfoy�s villa
so he could compare writing styles.� Some
time ago he might have commissioned a search of Malfoy
Manor for any kind of non-business documents, but currently he was loathe to do
that.� It was a vestige of the guilt that
he still held.

�� Still, Kingsley couldn�t lay his
thoughts to rest.� He couldn�t order the Aurors to hold Malfoy in light of
the evidence Dawlish had procured.� However, evidence took time to process�

�� He chewed his lip.� Yes.�
He would think on it for one more day, and if he couldn�t connect Malfoy to the book by then, he�d tell Dawlish
to release him.��

�� Draco�s
hands were shaking.� This book was making
him sick, but he couldn�t stop reading it.�
He had stayed up well into the night, reading even when his eyes began
to burn with exhaustion.�

�� He was almost finished, but around
four in the morning, his body had demanded that he sleep.� He had lost consciousness on his stomach with
his cheek resting against the crisp pages.�
It was lucky that he didn�t have typefaced
words imprinted in his skin today � though he drooled the tiniest bit and the
pages now had a slight ripple.

�� After a shower and some breakfast,
he had been enticed straight back into bed to finish the damnable book.� He was there now, riveted, as he neared the
end.

�� He
was wary of the world, wary of any happiness that drifted his way, for he knew
that such things were always temporary.�
They were a tease, like the touch of a woman who would never truly give
herself to you.� People thought he was
stoic.� In reality, he was so jaded that
he believed in the authenticity of nothing.�
His own feelings were to be viewed with
suspicion.� His own
life felt like a house of cards, poised to fall at the slightest wind.

�� Draco
shook his head in wonder.� He knew that feeling.� He knew it, but could never have put words to
it like that.

�� He
needed something.� He needed some anchor,
but he found none.� Time passed in
interminable stretches, full of mundanity and swings
of excruciating rage and depression.� He
was a phoenix that could not burn.

�� This author was a genius.� Draco felt near
tears.� He knew all these feelings.� They were describing his life during and
immediately after the war, when all he could do was live day to day, resisting
the urge to scream, to take his own life, to do something stupid so someone
else would take it for him��

�� He swallowed and closed the book,
needing a moment to compose himself.� He
felt no shame in crying.� Draco had been an absolute blubbering mess the first few
sessions with Healer Newbery.� It was the
first time he had ever been confronted with a person who wouldn�t judge him and
the result was a near-tsunami of emotion.

�� He had better control over himself
now.� Time was a powerful factor in his
mental health.� The further he got from
all the things he had seen and endured, the easier it was to deal with the fact
that it had happened.

�� Reading this book was stirring
things up.� He wondered how much time and
distance it had taken for this author to put every ounce of his shame, rage,
and self-loathing on paper.� Draco didn�t think any of it was fictional.� One simply couldn�t write about these things
so incisively if one hadn�t experienced them.

�� Draco
exhaled.� Could his father have written
this?� The truth was that he had no
idea.� His father was still very much a
mystery to him.� All the shields and
screens were slowly falling away in therapy, but weren�t yet at a point where Draco could definitively say if his sire was capable of
writing such a thing or not.

�� He didn�t want it to be his
father.� He didn�t want him to have
suffered what this narrator had.� He
didn�t want a progenitor who was a murderer, even a justified one.� He just didn�t want to be reading his
father�s savagely depressing autobiography right now.

�� But if it was him�if it one day came
to light that Lucius Malfoy
had indeed written Faim�Draco
would still love the old bastard anyway.�

��
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