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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
- 25
- 26
- 27
Author�s
Note:� I don�t have time to respond to
individual reviews this chapter as I need to finish working on my final project
for my school placement, but I did have a few comments!� Thanks as always for being such wonderful and
supportive readers.� Thanks in particular
to Kazfeist, who helped me out immensely with this
chapter.� The exorcism spell is her baby,
so please direct some love at her! (It is adapated from the traditional Catholic Rite of Exorcism, modified to fit the wizarding world and our dear Malfoys). All in all, it's some excellent work!�

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�� Two blond wizards met before a door
that had not been opened in three and a half years.� It had been so long that neither remembered
what the hallway looked like without the broad, blank mahogany of the door.� They remembered only too well what lay behind
it.

�� The wards are in place?� Lucius said softly.�
He had sent Draco to secure the south and west
portions of the house and he had gone to do the north and east.� The wards were to ensure the house�s
stability and protection, inside and out.�
When one chose to cast out dark spirits, the doorway had to be opened
wider into that realm.� Without wards,
they could actually end up doing more harm than good.

�� Draco
nodded.� �Did you warn Mum?�

�� She isn�t here.� I�m not sure where she�s gone.�� That was interesting, indeed.� Invitations to social events had been scarce
since the war�s end in spite of Narcissa�s role in
saving Harry Potter.� She had adjusted to
spending many nights at home.� She rarely
went out without an invitation and to his knowledge there hadn�t been one for
tonight � but it was not as if she had been discussing her plans with him for
the last few months, anyhow.

�� Okay.� How long is this going to take?�

�� I have no idea.�� Lucius stared at
the door, the furrow between his brows appearing.� �We don�t know exactly what we�re up
against.�

�� Draco
sighed.� �That�s the part I don�t like.�

�� With a long exhale, Lucius took a step forward.�
He lifted his hand and tried to push through his instinctual hesitation,
but the slight jerk in the movement betrayed him.� He licked his lips and took out his wand.

�� We�ll never know if we don�t go
in.�

�� Wouldn�t it be easier to just�leave
it be?�

�� Lucius
raised his wand in front of him as his other hand closed around the cold
doorknob.� �Easier,
yes.� But I am not in any mood to
surrender part of my house to a dead demon that made my life miserable for
years.� Are you?�

�� Draco�s
eyes turned hard and flinty.� Just like
that, his entire demeanor changed.� He
extracted his wand from his pocket and raised it in both hands, expressing in
no uncertain terms that he had his father�s back.

�� Well, when you put it like that��
he nodded once, sharply, �let�s go.�

�� The door gave so easily that it felt
deceptively normal.� No force beyond
their will had kept it shut, at least from the outside.� As they would soon find out, the inside was a
different story.

�� Lucius was
no fool.� He knew the Dark Lord didn�t
like to admit defeat or let go of anything.�
He had left his stamp upon the Manor.�
It would be here more than anywhere else.� The trouble was that he had not seen the room
after his death; many curses only went into effect after the caster was dead.�

�� The good thing about the Manor,
though, was that the door would not have admitted them if whatever was
contained within would cause them any serious harm.� They were ancient wards, very protective, and
the Dark Lord had struggled with them more than once during his unwieldy reign
over the domicile.� He had commented on
several occasions that the Manor was a finicky, fickle bitch, much in line with
the family it housed.

�� He released the door knob quickly
and whispered, �Lumos.�

�� We should have done this during the
day,� Draco murmured behind him, echoing his father�s
thoughts exactly.

�� Too late now.�� He stepped in.� Draco stealthily
moved to his side and lit his own wand.

�� What met their sight didn�t seem out
of the ordinary.� There was the long
dining table, its many brocade-upholstered chairs, and a candelabrum that still
bore some crusted wax.� The fireplace sat
neglected on one end of the room, in dire need of a sweep.� On the other end, behind the head of the
table, a mirror loomed.� Lucius frowned.� The
mirror had gone cloudy and dull, as if the smoke and heat from a fire had
distorted it.

�� It was cold.� Draco pursed his lips
and blew an amorphous cloud of steamy air in front of him, watching it curl,
undulate, and then disappear.� It was
winter and it had been a long time since a fire had graced the room, but it
shouldn�t have been that cold.� The Manor
was well insulated.� This was purely
paranormal.

�� There was no question that there
were ghosts present.� What they didn�t
know was how many and what temperament they bore.� Lucius expected the
worst.� They had died in his house, after
all.

�� For now, there was only silence. �It was heavy and thick, snuffing at their
light and muting their already quiet words.�
The atmosphere felt stagnant.�
Amid that stagnance, a sound reached Lucius�s ear.

�� It was low, rasping, and rough, like
a piece of paper being dragged across a floor.�
He knew that sound.� He had heard
it so many times, especially in the sinuous rhythm it took on.

�� That was the sound of a large
snake�s body as it glided across the floor.

��

��

��

� �� Narcissa couldn�t stop fidgeting.� It had been a long time since she recalled
feeling this nervous.� Perhaps nervous
wasn�t the right word.� No, she was
terrified.

�� She didn�t know what had driven her
to do this.� This was a crazy idea.� She was better off just sitting at home,
enjoying the last day she would have with both her son and his father.� Lucius had made it
clear that he wasn�t staying and that though he wished to remain friends, there
was little hope of rekindling their relationship beyond that.� She bore no delusions that she would be
seeing him frequently.

�� He belonged to another now.� She made him happy, whoever she was - happy,
mellow, and patient.� She was a miracle
worker.

�� Narcissa
sighed and fervently hoped that she could borrow some of that miracle for
herself.

��

��

�� Do you hear that?�

�� Hear what?� Draco
whispered.

�� Lucius
listened hard, trying to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from.� �Things left behind�� he trailed off.� He couldn�t figure out where the snake was.� Its sound was everywhere.� He turned in a slow circle, straining his
eyes for any sign of movement, any gleam of serpentine skin.

�� Draco�s
breath was coming a bit faster, puffing out in front of him.� He wished that it was not so quiet.� The longer he had to wait for something to
happen, the more he dreaded it.

�� He didn�t have to wait much longer.� A few seconds later, he heard his father
inhale sharply through his teeth.� His
back curved, his hair falling in a pale curtain forward over his shoulders.� In the dim light of his Lumos,
Draco could see him clenching his left arm, his face
white and drawn with pain.

�� Father!� he gasped, closing the
short distance between them.

��

�� She raised her hand to knock on the
door, and, for the third time, dropped it.

�� Oh, honestly, Narcissa!�
she admonished herself.� Determined, she
lifted her hand once again and forced herself to rap upon the painted wood.

�� Thunk thunk thunk.

�� That wasn�t the bad part.� It was the waiting that was awful.� Swallowing, she stepped back from the
door.� A few long seconds passed.� Then she heard the click of footsteps, as if
someone was descending a staircase.

�� Just a moment!� a female voice
called.� A cold flush went through her at
the sound of it.� That voice�it hadn�t
changed a bit.

�� She had no time to process her
emotions.� At that instant, the door
opened�and she was face to face with her sister for the first time in more than
two decades.

��

�� He was bleeding.� Worse still, the blood that seeped through
his white shirtsleeve was in the shape of the Dark Mark.

�� What�s happening, father?� he
beseeched, shaking him.� Lucius appeared paralyzed with pain.� His eyes were clenched shut, his lips pulled
back from his teeth, and every muscle in his body taut with agony.

�� I can tell you what is happening,�
a sinister voice echoed.

�� Draco felt
the burn of bile edging up his esophagus.�
He forced it down and turned to the source of that heinous voice,
praying every second that it would not be who and what he thought it was.

�� It was and it wasn�t.� The cloudy mirror had flared to life and now
resembled a giant portrait.� Framed in
its silvery murk was the Dark Lord as Draco
remembered him.� Bald, white, nearly
translucent, with eyes the color of a river of blood, and that horrible
smugness that broadcast to everyone that he was one step ahead of you and
didn�t care about the rules.

�� You!� he spat hatefully.� �You�re dead!�
Leave us alone!�

�� You are bigger fools than I thought
if you believe you can ever be rid of me,� the portrait growled.� �I�ve been waiting for you.�� The portrait Voldemort
cocked his head to the side and his almost nonexistent lips pulled into a cold
grin.� �Are you ready to die, boy?�

�� You can�t kill me,� Draco sneered, leveling his wand at the portrait.

�� You�re right�I can�t.�� The portrait
laughed mirthlessly and pointed a long, skeletal finger at the hunched form of Lucius.� �But he
can.�

��

�� He wanted to scream but felt like
the air was trapped in his lungs.� The
pain was intense, all-encompassing, like an hourlong
bout of the sadistic Cruciatus training he had
endured so many years ago.� The times
when the Dark Lord would hit him with the curse again and again, and he would
try desperately not to scream, not to cry, to be
immune to it, because that was his salvation.�
That was what would make him stop hurting, stop fearing.� When pain lost its meaning there was nothing
left to fear.

�� For a while, there had been nothing to fear.� It was a relief, but it was also very
empty.� Then his entire life
changed.� He was granted an exceptional
gift, one that caused the fear of loss to return.� However, in this case he couldn�t find
anything wrong with fearing the loss of his little boy.� It was normal.� It was what a parent � a father � was supposed to feel.

�� And that was what flooded him beyond
all reason when suddenly the pain began to ease and he could open his eyes.� The first thing he saw was the vibrant smear
of blood that had soaked his shirtsleeve and was now trickling down his
palm.� The next was his son, his face
full of confused trepidation, and the pale white hand that emerged over his
right shoulder.

�� The scream finally came out of him.

�� Draco!�

�� His beautiful grey eyes widened just
as the blade dragged across the soft skin of his throat.� He could see the metal disappearing into the
gap where flesh parted from flesh, digging deeply into the structures of his
neck, and as it moved the blood began to spurt.��

�� Something was controlling his
father.� He knew it instantly; why else
would his eyes widen in terror like that when nothing was happening?� He was seeing something terrible � hallucinating.� Draco was willing
to bet that it had something to do with him.

�� That was confirmed when his father
released a soul-shredding scream.� It
made his skin crawl with gooseflesh.� He
had never heard anything like that issue from his sire, and he could
conclusively say he never wanted to hear it again.

�� Father, it�s not real!� he shouted.

�� Lucius
didn�t (or couldn�t) hear him.� His face
morphed from sorrow to pure, animalistic hatred in an instant.�

�� You gave me nothing but pain!� his
father roared, his voice raw.� Draco recoiled from the force of it, fear settling in his
gut.� He had no idea what to do.� Perhaps stunning him was the only choice he
had.

�� But his short reprieve was over,
evaporated with his father�s sanity.� Draco only had time to lift his wand before his father
sprang.

�� His son had fallen, gasping air and
blood and spittle as he died.� His
lifeblood soaked the carpet in rhythmic, fading bursts, the opened jugular and
carotid vomiting their contents to the cold room.� Voldemort towered
above his twitching body, bloody knife in hand.

�� Did you think you could escape
without consequences?� Did you think you
could be disloyal to me and walk away
unscathed?� DID YOU, Lucius?�
he thundered.� �After everything I did
for you!� After everything I gave you, you ungrateful son of a whore!�

�� You gave me nothing but pain!� he
screamed, red spots blinking before his eyes.�
He felt that line inside his brain, the one that kept him from falling
over the edge of insanity, wavering.�
Then it fractured into a thousand tiny little pieces and he only knew
rage.

��

�� Draco�s
instincts were good.� He sidestepped, but
even as his father hit the ground, he was scrambling to capture his prey.� His hand flashed out and clamped around Draco�s ankle, pulling his leg savagely out from under
him.� Draco
found himself rapidly speeding toward the ground with absolutely no control
over his landing.

�� He met the wood floor jarringly and
knew that his wand had been knocked out of his hand.� Draco made a
desperate lunge for the scrap of wood, but Lucius was
pulling him by the leg, dragging him away from it.� He did the only thing he could: he kicked
with his other leg, catching his father harshly in the jaw.

�� The force of it was enough to knock Lucius back.� Draco half crawled, half stumbled to his wand, knowing it
was his only chance.� Just as his fingers
closed around it, he felt the vice-like force of his father�s grip on his leg
again.� Merlin, he was fast!� Draco tried to kick
again, but Lucius was ready and dodged it.

�� Now he was at even more of a
disadvantage, for the momentum of the missed kick had turned him over onto his
back.� Frantically, he brought his wand
up and shouted.

�� Stupe--ahhh!�

�� Pain exploded in angry ripples as
his father viciously grabbed his hand, heedless of the wand, and slammed it
down into the floor.� Loud, pronounced
cracks told him that at least two bones had broken from the impact.� His hand released automatically and Lucius was quick to pluck the wand away.

�� Then the substantial weight of his
tall, solid father was upon him.� He was
running out of options.� Thinking through
the haze of pain, Draco prepared himself to try wandless magic when his father�s hand clamped around his
neck.� It squeezed mercilessly, crushing
any hope of breath or voice from Draco.

�� Whatever Lucius
was seeing, it was not reality.� Draco struggled for breath.�
His mind raced, urgently groping for a solution.� He thought he found one when he managed to
free one of his hands.� With a brutal
twist, he pulled the wand away from his father.�
Lucius seemed to not even care.� He simply moved his other hand to join the
first in crushing the life out of his perceived enemy.

�� Draco knew
this was his only chance.� He would have
to use his magic without speaking.� It
was a long shot; he�d never been great at that beyond simple charms.� Squeezing his eyes shut, Draco
thought the words as forcefully as he could.

�� Levicorpus!� Levicorpus
levicorpus levicorpus LEVICORPUS!

�� In
some kind of miracle, it worked.� Lucius was yanked up and away from him.� He tried to hold on in spite of it, actually
lifting Draco a foot off the floor before his hands
slid, nails scraping along Draco�s neck, and
released.�

�� He gasped for breath, fighting the
black spots that danced before his eyes and the pain in his throat.� He could not pass out.� He would never wake up.� Whatever curse was upon this room had driven
his father mad.� He would kill him.

�� But he couldn�t get enough air.� Draco felt like he
couldn�t control his own body; something was off between his mind and his muscles
and limbs wouldn�t do what he wanted.�
His concentration was wavering.�
Maybe he had been without oxygen for too long�

�� He heard the tell-tale sound of his
father crashing to the ground.� He hadn�t
been able to hold the spell.� Thankfully,
Lucius hit the edge of the table as he fell and was
temporarily stunned.

�� Both Malfoys
lay there, recovering from different ills.�
Draco knew he had to get away.� He had to get out of here.� There was no choice but to leave his father
until he could figure out some way to stop it.�
Merlin, they never should have come in here!

�� Still gasping, Draco
groped to his feet.� Lucius
was beginning to recuperate.� He moved
groggily to his knees, clutching the leg of the table for support.� Draco stumbled
toward the door.� He reached it just as Lucius regained his feet.�
With one last look at his father, Draco turned
the knob.

�� Or tried to.

�� Nothing happened.� It wouldn�t budge.� He couldn�t get out.

�� Fuck,� he breathed.� Now his only choice was to incapacitate his
father somehow.� Draco
turned back to him and was startled to see how close he already was; there were
only a few feet between them, and Lucius had his wand
in hand.

�� Reflexively, Draco
raised his.� It was with no real hope at
all.� In a head to head duel against his
father, he would always lose.� The gleam
in his father�s tormented eyes guaranteed it.

�� You could kill him, you know,� the
mirrored portrait spoke up smugly.� �It�s
him or you, Draco.�

�� Shut up!� Draco
shouted.� �Father, please, it�s me!� It�s Draco.� I�m here, I�m safe.� He�s manipulating you!�

�� He can�t hear you,� Voldemort laughed.�
�He will only be able to hear your silence after he kills you.� Whatever will he do then?�

��

�� His head hurt and he couldn�t see
the Dark Lord clearly, but by Merlin, he didn�t need to in order to kill him.

�� Accio�candelabrum,�
he panted.� The son of a bitch was going
to die the same way his son had.� He was
going to die suffocating on his own blood.�
With gritted teeth, he transfigured the candelabrum into a long, serrated
knife.� He didn�t want to see it cut
through the pale flesh like so much butter as it had on Draco.� He wanted that knife to be dull and full of
jagged teeth.� He wanted to hurt, rip,
and tear, and watch his beady red eyes while he died.

�� Draco was
beginning to think he was really going to die.�
His father now held a knife and a wand and the look on his face was one
of grim, murderous determination.

�� Expelliarmus!�
he shouted, jabbing his wand.� His heart
began to pound as his father deflected the spell as if he had done little more
than throw a pillow at him.� That
wouldn�t work.� �Stupefy!� he
attempted.� Another slash of his father�s
wand absorbed the red jet of light.

�� What the hell else could he use
without seriously injuring him?� Reducto could end badly.�
He wouldn�t be caught with Levicorpus
again.� Rictusempra?� No, it would be far too twisted to be killed
by his own father while the aforementioned was
laughing uncontrollably.

�� In a last ditch effort, Draco feinted, lunging as if he was going to cast a
spell.� Lucius
fell for it and cast a shield charm.� In
the moment it faded and his father was unprepared, Draco
used his last chance.

�� Petrificus
Totalis!�

�� By all rules of age and infirmity, Lucius should not have been able to dodge it.� It was heading for his midsection.� Draco knew from
experience that that was one of the hardest places to avoid being hit because
it didn�t move as freely as a head, arm, or leg.

�� For one terrifying moment, he
thought he had somehow missed.� But then
his father�s muscles went rigid.� Draco only just managed to cast a quick cushioning charm so
that Lucius wasn�t further injured when he crashed to
the floor.� He stood there panting in
disbelief that he had been able to win a duel against his father.� As he did, many aches that adrenaline had
previously dulled made themselves known.

�� His ribs hurt.� His neck and throat were throbbing.� The hand his father had smashed against the
floor was purple and swelling rapidly.� A
slight shudder went through Draco; he had a feeling
he had gotten a glimpse of the way his father had been during his worst Death
Eater days.� The others had whispered
about his ruthlessness and were simultaneously relieved and mocking that his
heir wasn�t anything like him.

�� Draco had
never seen that man.� The worst he�d
experienced as a child was a certain aloofness.�
Lucius had a temper, that was for certain, but
he had never, ever directed it at Draco or his
mother.� He also had high expectations
and was very good at making people feel like they were an inch tall when they
weren�t met.� While he�d been a tad
strict and heavy-handed, it could hardly be considered abusive.�

�� Now he knew that his father could be
absolutely vicious.� That was scary as
hell and for a few minutes there he thought he was really going to die, but
until he knew what had caused Lucius to snap like
that, he would reserve his judgment.� If Voldemort was in his mind Draco
might have behaved the same way.

�� You are lucky, boy,� the
mirror-portrait said, as if on cue.� �But
the spell won�t last forever.� He will
wake and you will have to defend yourself all over again.�

�� Shut up.�� Draco paced and
tried to gather the tattered ends of his thoughts together.

�� Just kill him now.� Kill him, or he�ll kill you.�� The portrait smirked.� �You already know you can�t get out.�

�� Oh, Merlin.� If he truly couldn�t get out, he would be
fighting an endless battle against his crazed father.� If he didn�t die that way, he would die of
hunger or thirst.� They both would.

�� He had to end this now.� Swallowing, Draco
turned to his father�s motionless body and crouched down next to him.� He reached into his pocket and pulled out the
long spell they�d constructed to cleanse the room.

�� They were supposed to do it
together.� It wasn�t meant to work with
just one person, and certainly not just for Draco.� Lucius was the
master of the house; the magic only recognized him as such.� Draco had some pull as heir and that was why he was
necessary, but the greater part of the power in the spell was meant to come from
his father.

�� He looked over the splay of Latin
written in his father�s elegant scrawl.�
He needed to believe that he could do this.� There was no chance if he didn�t.� With a deep breath, Draco
rose and prayed that his battered throat could recite it all.

��

��

��

�� Andromeda stared at her, hazel eyes
wide and stunned.� Narcissa
waited.� That was all she could do.� There weren�t any words to offer; it was up
to Andromeda to determine the course of this encounter.� Narcissa�s presence
was signal enough that she wished to start reversing all the damage she had
done.� Andromeda would either accept it
or reject it.� Either way, Narcissa would have to live with her choice.

�� Why are you here?� Andromeda said
quite abruptly, snapping out of her shock.

�� I�I just wanted to see you.�

�� About what?� her sister
snapped.� �What can�t your ex-husband
provide you with?�

�� Narcissa
blinked.� She hadn�t expected her
sister�s attitude to hurt quite so much.�
Andromeda was definitely entitled to it so she couldn�t complain.� She could only weather it�and hope.

�� I just thought that�well, we�re
sisters, and you have the baby�maybe you�d like a break or�just��

�� Oh, heaven help her.� She was not expressing herself particularly
well.� Andromeda�s eyes narrowed.

�� The baby?� Narcissa, he�s
four.� He�s not a baby anymore.�

�� I know.�

�� Do you even know his name?�

�� Teddy,� she said.� �His name is Teddy.�

�� Andromeda shifted from one foot to
the other.� For a second, Narcissa thought she had won her over.� Then a dark look crossed her sister�s face.

�� You have the nerve to come to my
door now?� I can forgive a lot of things,
Narcissa.� I
can forgive you for being stupid and prejudiced because that�s how we were
raised and that�s the society you were part of.�
I can forgive you for not talking to me for twenty-two years.� I can even forgive you for allowing your
family to become so entangled in Death Eater madness.� But what I absolutely cannot forgive you for
is looking the other way when my husband
and my daughter died!�� She shook her head, tears pooling in her
eyes.� �Not even a card, Narcissa.� Not one
flower!� You couldn�t spare one little
note to extend condolences to your sister, your widowed sister, who outlived
her only child!�

�� Narcissa
felt the hot burn of shame filling her gut.�
The fact was, Andromeda was right.� She hadn�t done anything when she heard the
news.� She had thought about it, agonized
over it, but in the end, she had done nothing.

�� I know,� she whispered.� �It was terrible of me.� I�m certain that an apology is very little
comfort, but I am truly sorry.�
Andromeda, I�m sorry for everything.�

�� Well, I�m very happy that you have
finally learned how to apologize, Narcissa, but I
don�t need it.� You aren�t welcome
here.� Goodbye.�

�� With that, Andromeda slammed the door
in her face.

�� It won�t work.�

�� Draco
nearly jumped out of his skin at the feminine voice that issued just behind
him.� He whirled, almost tripping over
his father.� Across from him was the
faint outline of a woman who had haunted his dreams for a long, long time.

�� Charity Burbage.� She
had been a pretty enough woman, young, idealistic, and confident.� Her ghost didn�t look the way she had when
she died.� Draco
was endlessly thankful for that.

�� He had completely forgotten about
the ghosts; Voldemort�s malicious remnant had
commanded all of his attention.� When he
was there, even a leftover, pre-programmed illusion of him, a few cranky ghosts
seemed trivial.� Draco
stared at her, unsure what to expect.�
Ghosts could be very vengeful and if they wanted to they could cause
damage to just about anything.� She had
already caught him unawares, though, and if she had wished him harm it would
have been easier to perpetrate without his notice.

�� The spell won�t work,� she
repeated, her voice echoing ominously in the cold room.� �Not on your own.�

�� Be silent, filth,� the portrait
commanded.� She ignored it.� Draco tried his
best to ignore the sheer loathing in that evil voice, too.

�� How do you know?� he asked
cautiously.

�� It is meant for both of you.�

�� Draco bit
his lips.� He knew that.�

�� Then�what can I do?�� He had not meant for his voice to sound so
small or frightened.

�� You can do nothing, boy, except die
cooperatively,� the Dark Lord growled.�
�Fools, all of you, to think you can forget me so easily!�

�� Easily? Draco
thought.� Nothing has been easy, least of all forgetting�� But he would not give the nasty creature the
satisfaction of knowing that, egocentric bastard that he was and continued to
be, even in death.

�� He is right,� Burbage
said quietly.� �You can do nothing.�� She drifted around, turning to face the
cloudy mirror.� �But I can do something.�

�� Before Draco
could utter a word, the ghost of Charity Burbage rose
gracefully and then appeared to swan dive straight into his father�s
chest.�

�� She had begun to walk after the
encounter with Andromeda, and only now, an hour later, was she even
comprehending where she was.� She was
deep within Muggle London.� The neighborhood didn�t appear to be
dangerous and there weren�t many passers-by.�
Right now she was glad of the anonymity.

�� There was just one problem.� The shock had worn off, and now she was
perilously close to tears.� Not just a
little cry.� She could feel heaving,
gasping, uncontrollable sobs welling up in her chest.

�� She didn�t want to go back to the
Manor.� If Lucius
or Draco saw her, an explanation would be required
and she wasn�t ready to share the shame of her rejection with them.� The sad fact was that she really had nowhere
else to go.� With that knowledge foremost
in her mind, she stepped into an alleyway and apparated.

��

��

�� A light broke through his
misery.� It punched through the wall of
images, sounds, and sensations like an iron fist.� The shards of it shivered down upon him and Lucius groaned at the pain that gripped his body.� He couldn�t move, he was losing his mind,
everything was wrong and he couldn�t stop it�

�� He could still see the faces, the
faces of everyone who had ever tormented him and of those he had
tormented.� They leered, cried, shouted,
condemned, mocked�a circle of madness.� He thought that she was one of them.� She had died suspended above his dining
room table after spending thirteen days in his dungeon, thirteen days in which
he knew others had done unspeakable things to her.� It didn�t matter that he hadn�t.� None of it mattered.

�� But she was speaking and instead of
the jumbled slurs, he understood the words.�
Her voice rode over the din.�

�� You must wake up.� This isn�t real.� None of it is real.�

�� He couldn�t speak in return.� He struggled with the meaning of all
that.� Everything seemed so real.� The colors were vivid, the voices sharp, the
touch and smell and taste poignant, and the pain, oh, Merlin, the pain�!

�� It�s a curse.� Voldemort left a
curse to punish those who presented him with a face of loyalty but a heart of
betrayal.� I saw him do it.� He was going to activate it and use it to
kill your family after he returned victorious from the war.�

�� A curse.

�� M�my�son�� he choked, unsure if he
was really speaking or just wanting to so badly that he imagined it.

�� He is not affected.�

�� Lucius
knew why.� Draco
had never been loyal to the Dark Lord.�
He had taken the mark out of necessity, performed his duties out of
necessity, and Voldemort had always known that.� Lucius, on the
other hand, had been slavishly devoted in the beginning.� His loyalty had eroded over time as the life
returned to him.� All that remained of it
now was anger and regret.

�� Not�dead,� he murmured to himself.

�� Yes,� she said with a smile.� Already the others around him were fading;
she stood out in greater contrast against the blackness that had invaded his
mind.� Lucius
clung to her image desperately, trying to filter everything else away.� It proved impossible.� She was defined, though, clear and corporeal
and walking toward him.� She knelt.� �You must resist this.�

�� How do I�how do I know what is real
and what isn�t?� he whispered.

�� All you have to know is that your
son is alive.� If you want to keep him
that way, you must perform the spell you wrote with him.� No matter what you see or feel or hear, you
must do the spell!�

�� I can�t move.�

�� She nodded.� �When I leave your body you�ll be able to.�

�� The thought of it panicked him.� �No!�
No, you can�t leave.�� Merlin, he
didn�t even know her name.� �You can�t�I
had no control before and I�ll lose it again.�

�� You won�t,� she replied
firmly.� �It�s a matter of
willpower.� You have enough will to save
your son, don�t you?�

�� Yes!�� A resounding yes.

�� Then get ready�� she warned.� All too quickly, her ghostly body lifted up
and away from him and she was gone.

��

�� Draco
watched, unbearably tense as a very long minute passed.� Outwardly, his father gave no sign of
anything.� He was still Petrified.� Inwardly, Draco was sure that nothing short of a hurricane was taking
place.

�� Burbage
had more or less possessed him.�
Possession by a ghost was not as strong as possession by a demon, but it
still wasn�t comfortable.� That was why
people felt so strange and violated when a ghost traveled through them.� He�d had the misfortune of receiving that treatment
from the Bloody Baron once and it had felt like there were insects crawling all
over his skin.� The sensation of another
mind inside his had been incredibly disconcerting, as well.� He could only imagine what it felt like for
an extended period of time.

�� At that moment, the white form of
Charity Burbage ascended back into the cold
room.� His father�s body arched upwards,
as if she was pulling him.� Then he took
a great, gasping breath that was so loud that Draco
jumped.

�� He groped for his wand.� What had Burbage
done?� Was he going to have to stun or
petrify his father again?� His knuckles
were white on his wand as he waited for the answer.

�� Lucius
pulled himself to his knees.� It appeared
that it was a very great effort to do so.�
His face was taut and nearly feral with agony, so human and inhuman at
the same time.� Then, in an action that
was viscerally shocking to Draco, his father leaned
forward on his hands and crawled across the floor.

�� The�spell,� he pleaded.� �Must do the spell.�

�� Draco�s
hands shook as he fumbled for the piece of paper.� Though it had been his father�s own
foolishness that led them to this place, this horrid moment, he hated to see
his father suffering.� Lucius�s hands also shook when at last he took the
parchment.

�� Don�t let me stop.� No matter what.� Even if you have to use Imperius,�
he ground out, squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment.� �Do you promise?�

�� I p-promise,� Draco
responded without thinking.

�� Please, Merlin, let it work,� his
father whispered.

�� A worm of concern penetrated Narcissa�s melancholy when she stepped back into the
Manor.� Something felt off.� The wards had made her skin feel the tiniest
bit itchy and�she frowned.� It was as if
the Manor was holding its breath.

�� Something was wrong.� Her self-pity could wait.� Dropping her things, she strode quickly out
of her room to find Lucius and Draco.

��

�� He felt like he had only the most
precarious of holds on his sanity.� He
could see Draco, but he still bore the gruesome
injury of his hallucinations.� He was so
very pale, his front covered in blood, the gaping wound across his neck like a
red mouth.� It made him sick to his
stomach.

�� So did the tastes and smells
invading his senses.� They weren�t real,
he knew they weren�t real, but that
didn�t lessen the horror of them.� He
fought the shame and anger they spurred.�
He couldn�t begin to recite the spell until he had mastered his urge to
vomit.

�� Willpower.� He needed willpower.� He needed something to counteract the images,
for Draco was not the only one that plagued him.� In his eyes, the room was filled with
everyone he never wanted to see again.�
There was Bellatrix, a leering Mulciber, the Muggle beast of his
nightmares, his mother, his father, oh, God, a young version of himself, naked and covered in blood and
grass.

�� He thought he knew what he feared
most.� He was wrong, wrong, wrong.� This was awful.� To be truly insane, unable to tell the
difference between reality and fantasy, was the most
terrible thing he had ever experienced.�
And yet�paradoxically, that gave him strength.

�� If this was the worst thing he had
ever endured, everything else he saw was robbed of its power.� The fear came from the betrayal of his
senses.� It didn�t come from their manifestations.� They were plucked from the memories in his
brain, things from his past that had imprinted in spite of his best efforts to
prevent it.� But they were the past, and all these people,
these tormentors, were dead to him.� No
matter how his unbalanced brain wanted to bring them back, they were dead.

�� They were dead, Draco
was alive, and even if he had well and truly lost his mind, it was still his mind.� Gritting his teeth, Lucius
lifted the parchment and began to read.
��

His father�s voice was small and pained when
he began.

�Exorcizo te, immund�ssime sp�ritus, omnis advers�rii, omne phantasma,
discedere, nunc et infiniti�, ab loc�
nati� me� . Ipse tibi �mperat,
qui Rector loci heius, per Sanguinem
et Nominem se, est.�

(I command you, unclean spirit, and all your spectres, your armies and companions, to depart, now and forever, from the
place of my birth. It is he who commands you, who is Master, by
his Blood and Name, of this place.)

Draco knew it was his turn.� He swallowed once, for his throat was very
dry.� His voice was still a low rasp when
he spoke.� �Ipse tibi �mperat,
qui Heres loci heius, per Sanguinem et Nominem
se, est.�

(It is he who commands you, who is Heir, by
his Blood and Name, of this place.)

Seeming to gather some kind of indefinable
spirit, Lucius went on, his voice stronger now.� �Adjuro te, serpens ant�que, per vox Merlini et Morganae, Magistri et Sapientes antiquis, ut ab hoc disc�das.
Adj�ro te �terum ,
non mea infirmit�te, sed virt�te amoris et honoris, ut �xeas
ab hoc domiciliae familiae meae, Familiae Malefidei. Non res�stas nec
mor�ris disc�dere ab domicili� ista.��
Lucius looked at him.� His eyes were still wide and seeing things
that weren�t there, but they burned with determination.� �Imperat tibi Lucius.�

(I adjure you, ancient serpent, by the power
of Merlin and Morgana, ancient Mages and Sages, that
you should depart from here. I adjure you again, not by my weakness but
by virtue of love and honor, that you depart from this, my family home, that of the Malfoy Family. Neither resist
nor delay to depart from this home. Lucius
commands you.)

�Imperat tibi Draco,� he echoed.� Then, in unison with his father, Draco said, �Imperat tibi Abraxas.�� He had been assured that his grandfather had
despised the Dark Lord and were he alive, he would not want any remnant of him
in his ancestral home, either.� It was
one of the only favorable things he�d ever heard his father say about the man.

(Draco commands you. Abraxas
commands you.)

Lucius picked up again.� �Cede,
ergo, Domini legitimi domiciliae illae, locum
item.� Disc�dite
a nos, maled�cti, in ignem �t�rnum!�� He
struggled to his feet.� �Adjuro ergo te,
omnis immund�ssime sp�ritus, omne phant�sma, tu Voldemorte,
in n�mini Luci Malefidei, Magister domiciliae istius, recedere!�

(Yield, therefore, to the rightful Master of
this home, this very place. Depart from us, accursed one, into eternal
fire!� I adjure you, therefore, every unclean
spirit, every evil spectre, you, Voldemorte,
in the name of Lucius Malfoy,
Master of this house, to depart!)

Now his voice was loud, booming, once again
imbued with its customary power and arrogance.�
Draco felt his fear give way to something
else.� What, he couldn�t really
define.� His father was shouting and he
could feel the energy, the pure magic gathering in the room.

�Ille te ej�ctit! Ille te expellit! Ille te excl�dit: de cujos ore ex�bit gl�dius ac�tus!�

(It is he who casts you out! It is he
who expels you! It is he who repels you, from whose mouth comes a sharp sword!)

As the words left
his mouth, a roaring, screaming rush filled the room.� Draco pressed his
hands to his ears reflexively.� He could
feel the wind of it on his skin.� It was
so loud!� Magic made a sound but most often it was
nothing more than a whisper or a crackle.�
This was so far beyond anything he�d experienced before.

�� His
father fell to his knees.� Amidst the
rush, his head tilted back, his hair cascading down his back and nearly
brushing his heels.� Outside of his own
control, his arms parted and his palms turned to face the ceiling.� The power was congealing around him, whirling
and funneling.

�� Then,
quite suddenly, it was silent.� Confused,
Draco lurched toward the faint glow that surrounded
his father.

�� His
eyes widened when he got there.� Lucius was in some sort of trance, his eyes rolled back and
his body frozen in that crucified pose.� Draco could hardly
believe what he was seeing.� The spell
had told of a sharp sword carrying their family�s will, a sword that
metaphorically issued from his father�s mouth.�
He shook his head in wonder.� It
wasn�t as metaphorical as it seemed.

�� His
father�s lips were parted, and between them rested the ornate hilt of a
sword.� He resembled a sword-swallower at the end of his dangerous trick.� Only this time, the sword was made of pure
magic, constructed of the accrued majesty of his family over centuries.� Somehow Draco knew
that.

�� A
pull in some unidentified place within him told him to take the sword.� Draco couldn�t
fight it.� He reached out for the
glimmering thing, the silver hilt encrusted with impossibly green emeralds.

�� Pure
electricity danced along his skin when he touched it.� Slowly, he drew the sword, with care because
he didn�t want to hurt his father.� He
knew it wasn�t actual metal and that if it was coming from his body, it could
do him no harm, but the ingrained concern was hard to ignore.

�� He
was dizzy with power once it was in his hand.�
He had read about heroes and villains who were equally enthralled with
their weapons of choice; for a long time he�d thought them silly, for it was
just a piece of metal.� Now he knew how
wrong he was.�� The sword felt like air;
it had no weight, but everywhere it contacted his skin the tingle of magic was
evident.� The blade shone with prism-like
colors, opalescent and ever-changing in its own light.� Draco had handled a
sword before, but never had he experienced the feeling of it being just right
for his hand, as if it had belonged to him forever�

He swung it once
and it cut away at the darkness around them like it was nothing more than a
thin black curtain.� He glanced at his
father; he wanted him to see it, to see what their magic had created.� Lucius didn�t
move.� He remained in that trance,
awaiting the spell�s crescendo.�

Draco could wait no longer.�
The malificence that was Voldemort
had been here far too long.� He deserved
neither explanation nor hesitation.� He
deserved death � crushing, whole, and final.

�� Draco reached for his wand with his free hand to cast a
levitating charm on himself.� However, he
didn�t even need it; the sword responded, lifting him off the floor easily.� In seconds he was on level with the infected
mirror.

�� Just
this once, he would allow himself to feel a deep and vindictive satisfaction at
the fear in the specter�s eyes.

�� What
do you think you�re doing, boy?� it demanded sharply.

�� Enjoy
Hell,� was his only response.� Then he
swung the sword as hard as he could.

�� Her
sense of panic grew as she ran through the Manor�s corridors.� She couldn�t find the men of the house
anywhere.� Frustrated, she stopped short
and called for a House Elf.

�� Narcissa didn�t even register which one it was when the
small creature blinked into existence before her.� She grabbed its slim shoulders and nearly
shouted, �Where are they?� Where are Master
Lucius and Master Draco?�

�� I-in
the old dining room, M-mistress!� it squeaked, terrified.

�� She
couldn�t believe her ears.� The old dining room?�
Why?� Why would they ever go in
there?� It was haunted, forever gripped
by the spirit of evil and death.� Merlin
only knew what Voldemort had left in there!

�� Damn
it, she left for a few hours and it was as if sense abandoned her men!� With a frustrated cry, she rose to her feet
and sprinted toward that cursed room.

�� The
sword had rent a great crack in the glass.�
It split the Dark Lord�s face into fragments � seven of them.� Instead of that expression of fear Draco had hoped to see, the demon was laughing.� Draco tugged at the
sword, ready to deliver another blow, but it seemed fused with the glass.

�� Voldemort�s laughter echoed all around him, assaulting his
senses.� The sword began to burn in his
hands.� And to Draco�s
very great horror, he found that his hands were stuck to it, just as the blade
was stuck within the mirror.

�� The
scene that met her was surreal.� Lucius was on his knees, frozen in some sort of
stasis.� Nothing she did would wake
him.� Draco
stood on air on the other side of the room.�
He had a sword in his hand that was halfway buried in a great decorative
mirror.� The glass wound was dripping
black blood, but its demonic occupant was laughing.

�� She
could make no sense of it until she saw the piece of parchment on the floor in
front of Lucius.�
Narcissa plucked it up and scanned it
quickly.� An exorcism
spell.� They were insane!� Her ex-husband and son were trying to exorcise
the darkness from this room by themselves.

�� Typical men.� Didn�t
they know that the magic of exorcism was made infinitely stronger by the
presence of a woman, especially one of the same blood?� It was ancient, protective magic � and most
ancient, protective magic was inherently feminine in nature.� Hadn�t Lily Potter taught them that?� Obviously not.

�� Well.� She hadn�t the time or the immediate
knowledge to construct a fancy Latin narrative as they had.� No matter; English would work just fine.

�� He
was just beginning to panic when another voice punched through the shroud of Voldemort�s laughter.

�� RELASHIO!�

�� A
jet of fiery red-orange light slammed into the sword.� With a shrieking, grating sound that made his
ears feel like they were going to bleed, the sword at last pulled free of the
mirror.� Draco
stumbled backwards, still managing to inexplicably walk on air.

�� Mum?�
he panted.� �What are you doing here?�

�� Questions
later!� she snapped, her face full of thunderclouds.� �Let�s finish this.�

�� Draco smiled with relief.�
His mother�s bearing was mildly terrifying, but somehow he knew her
presence was the last ingredient.�

�� Yes,
let�s,� he grinned.

�� She
pointed her wand.� �In the name of the
noble House of Black and its union with the great House of Malfoy,
by the blood of our Heir, BEGONE!�

�� Draco flinched at her voice.� She sounded like Aunt Bellatrix
when she shouted like that.� His mother
kept her temper in check and rarely had he seen her truly angry, but it was
safe to say that right now, she was pouring every ounce of ire she had into the
banishment.

�� Her
blue eyes flickered to him.� Draco nodded.� He was
ready.� He didn�t know exactly what form
the death blow would take, but he was ready to convey it.

��

Narcissa lifted her wand above her head.� She had never used the Killing Curse before,
but her entire body bunched with the mad desire to cast it.� She knew that with such things you had to
mean it.� Merlin help her, she meant it.

She wanted Voldemort out of her home, out of her life, out of her
memories, but she could never be so lucky with that last one.� That was all right.� She�d settle for watching the last little bit
of him die.

Throwing her arm
back, she gave in to the emotion.� She
gave into the fey wildness that she concealed so well.

�AVADA KEDAVRA!�

The burst of
sickly green light went not for the mirror, but for the sword.� Draco hoped to all
the powers that existed that the curse couldn�t travel through the sword and
into him.� With a burst of air, the blade
exploded into green flames.

Now there was an
expression of fear upon the Dark Lord�s face.�
Draco�s body quivered with some maddening
pleasure-pain; his mind was overwhelmed with it.� Biting down on the irrational urge to laugh,
he addressed the mirror portrait again.

�It�s time for you
to go.�

�No!� it
snarled.� It burst into motion, slamming
up against the glass as if it were behind a window and could not get out.� �You will never vanquish me!� You will never destroy me!� I AM LORD VOLDEMORT!� Put down your toothpick, you worthless little
whelp, you slime of wizardkind, you--�

Draco had had quite enough.�
With a delirious, hateful little smile, he thrust the sword directly
into the phantasm�s head � and this time, it went through.

She thought for a
moment that the house was going to come down around them.� The roar was so great!� She could feel the very foundations
rumbling.� It was then that she realized
that they were shifting not in protest, but in unified force with their magic.� The Manor was ready to spit Tom Riddle out.

The glass
shattered with an explosive force.� The
shockwave knocked her backwards quite soundly; she was stunned for a
moment.� Her
only thought after that was of Lucius and Draco.� She prayed
that they wouldn�t be hurt�that when the light faded, they would all wake and
feel a thousand pounds lighter.

He felt like death
warmed over.

His senses
returned slowly.� He was halfway under a
table so all he saw was the patterned, unfinished wood of its underside.� Lucius struggled to
remember where he was and why.

The
dining room.� Exorcism.� Hallucinations, spells, pain�

He sat up too
fast, only narrowly avoiding cracking his skull.� Draco.� Where was Draco?

First he saw Narcissa, and his brain balked at that information.� Maybe he was still hallucinating.� She had not been there.� Why was she here now?� She lay unconscious on her back, her thick
blonde lashes wet with tears.� To his
very great relief she seemed to be all right.

He used one of the
chairs to pull himself to his feet.�
There wasn�t any energy in his body; his muscles didn�t want to support
him. �He didn�t give a damn what they
wanted.� He needed to find Draco and make sure he was safe.

When he found his
son he received quite the shock.� Draco was lying across the table on his back.� The table all around him was splattered in
some black, sticky substance, but Draco himself was
entirely clean.� Quickly, Lucius pulled him down; he looked too much like some kind
of sacrifice.

Draco, too, was unconscious.� Like his mother, he seemed mostly
unharmed.� Lucius
could see bruises blooming along his neck and one of his hands was very
swollen, but his chest continued to rise and fall and there was no blood.� He allowed himself a moment of weakness as he
clutched his son�s body to his in a self-indulgent embrace.

Lucius was aware of the ghosts all around him.� He knew he should thank the Muggle Studies teacher, the one that had helped him see
through the hallucinations.� He simply
wasn�t capable.� He was so tired that his
mind could process only one thing, and that was the relief that they had
succeeded and were all alive.�

Nine ghosts
filtered away, at last carried to their great beyond.� Charity Burbage was
the final one to depart.� For a brief
second she was irritated at Malfoy�s lack of
acknowledgement, but then�she saw his gratitude in the way he cradled his
son.� Besides, she ought to be thanking
him.� If he had not gotten it into his
crazy mind to vanquish the Dark Lord, she and the other ghosts would have been
trapped in here forever.

Smiling serenely,
she moved on, ascending into a very bright light.

Hermione received
a letter as she was cleaning her teeth.�
She recognized the bird as a Malfoy owl and
took the letter from it with some apprehension.�
What would Lucius be sending her this
late?� It was past midnight.� Tiresias had at
last gone back to Vancouver
and she was about to slip into bed.

Lucius�s handwriting was messy and uneven, rising and
dipping in crooked lines.�

Overdid it tonight.� Very tired.� Will explain later.�
May not make it back to villa tomorrow but you should go before me if
you want.� Love you.

�� L.

�� That
was twice now.� She had thought that Tiresias had added Lucius�s
expression of love in his earlier report.�
Here she had evidence for herself.�
In the scheme of admissions of love, he was progressing rapidly.� He had spoken it to another.� Now he had put it in writing.� Inevitably, the next step was to say it
directly to her.

�� Her
heart nearly liquefied.� God, she loved
him.� It had only been four days but
their separation felt like centuries.�
Hermione blinked away happy tears, determined to go back to the villa
tomorrow and set everything right before his return.�

<><><><><><><><><>

End note: Next chapter we return to our regularly scheduled
plotline.� You can expect Lucius and Hermione�s reunion as well as Harry�s thoughts
and reactions to the knowledge he now has�
- 25
- 26
- 27
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