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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
- 26
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�� Harry didn�t sleep.� He laid there listening to Ginny�s soft and
even breathing.� He imagined that in the
deep quiet of the night he could actually feel the gentle thud of her pulse
rippling through the mattress.� Having
her there was a comfort even if he could never, ever voice his thoughts to her.

�� He felt suffocated.� He was used to having two best friends and a girlfriend
to speak with when situations like this came about; now all three of them were
out of the question.� Anything involving
a Malfoy was unsafe grounds with a Weasley, Ginny and Ron especially.� And for once, Hermione was the source of the
problem, not the voice of reason�

�� Harry thought.� He thought about everything that had happened
in the last few months�and everything that had not happened.� There were a lot of possibilities and if the
war had taught him anything, it was not to jump to conclusions.

�� For all he knew, Marietta Edgecombe
could have told him a vicious lie for her own personal gain.� If she worked down in forensics it wouldn�t
be a great challenge for her to fabricate a very convincing document that backed
up her claim.� But this was a girl who
had ratted out an entire group of students to save her mother�s reputation � it
seemed out of character for her to craft an elaborate ruse that could
potentially endanger her own, especially when she had a successful job.� She wouldn�t take the risk without very solid
proof.

�� So perhaps she wasn�t lying.� That would, inexplicably, place Hermione, or
at the very least her knickers, at Lucius Malfoy�s vacation home.�
Hermione had never denied that she was in Italy.� The question really became whether she was
there because of him, or if she had had the misfortune of bumping into him�

�� He swallowed.� If that black-hearted bastard had done
anything to her�Harry squeezed his eyes closed.�
It was not so far outside the realm of possibility that she had crossed
his path on a random Italian road and Malfoy had
decided to take some kind of liberty.�
Perhaps he had drugged her with a potion or Obliviated
her.� Perhaps she didn�t even know�

�� He felt a little sick with the
knowledge that he would almost prefer
the idea that she had been taken advantage of to the possibility that she was
leaving knickers in his bed willingly.� Almost.� He wasn�t
that far gone with dislike for the elder Malfoy.� He didn�t want her to be involved with him,
but if she was, he very much wished that it wasn�t against her will.

�� But how?� How could Hermione stand him?� How could Malfoy
stand Hermione?� They were polar
opposites.� They just weren�t supposed to
exist as anything more than distant, frosty adversaries�veteran combatants in a
war gone cold.�

�� One thing was for sure: Harry didn�t
think that Malfoy had a snowball�s chance in hell of
being able to make Hermione as happy as he�d seen her.� Yet all signs pointed that way.� The extended stay in Italy, her evasiveness when
questioned about the man in her life, and now, her knickers�

�� Oh, Merlin.� What had his best friend gotten herself into?� Feeling
confused to the point of exhaustion, he turned against Ginny�s side and dropped
into a troubled sleep.

�� When he returned to an empty house,
his heart jumped into his throat.� For
one horrible moment he thought that Hermione wasn�t coming back.� Then Jo-Jo all but exploded out of the dining
room to pounce on him.

�� He had never embraced a House Elf
before; it wasn�t really so bad.� Listening
to her shrieks of excitement and half-blubbered sobs was another story.� Lucius attempted to
extract himself from Jo-Jo to start clearing up the mess that was his villa
post-Auror raid.�
However, the elf wouldn�t have it and banished him quite threateningly.

�� The bedroom had not been turned
upside down like the other rooms.� Either
that, or Jo-Jo had already cleaned it.�
The bed was freshly made up and very inviting�

�� He sank into it, wondering where
Hermione was.� Perhaps her studious
nature had gotten the best of her and driven her to go to class.� That made sense; it was mid-afternoon.� She would be home in a few hours if that was
the case.

�� He couldn�t believe how tired his
body still was.� He�d slept nearly twelve
hours straight and felt like he could sleep twelve more.� It was the best sleep he had gotten in that
Manor in a very long time, though�the house was no longer tainted by the ghosts
of his own mistakes.

�� Lucius
smiled.� The momentousness (and
stupidity) of what they had done was finally beginning to hit him.� The things he had seen in that dining room
should have discomposed him in hindsight, but he just couldn�t feel terror at
something that could never happen.� All
he felt was an odd sort of elation.

�� Tired elation�With a jaw-cracking
yawn, he adjusted his pillow and promptly fell asleep, a tiny trace of a smile
still on his lips.

�� The gentle tickle of fingers against
his cheek woke him.� He knew Hermione�s
touch instinctively; it sent little ripples of electricity pulsing across his
skin, making his breath catch.� He had to
fight a surge of some unidentified emotion before opening his eyes.� The anticipation of seeing her, having the
beauty of her face filling his mind again, was stronger than he ever imagined
it could be.

�� When he did at last raise his
lashes, a visceral sense of relief flooded him.�
Her face was bathed in soft candlelight.�
Night had fallen and now the villa was back to its usual status of
sanctuary - their sanctuary.

�� It�s late,� he said softly.

�� I know.� I stayed at the library after class to study
all the things I missed.�

�� He smiled.� �I thought you might.�

�� Hermione leaned down to stroke his
hair.� �You�ll never sleep tonight.�� He rarely did after a long nap.

�� He reached up to return the favor,
twining a warm brown curl about his finger.�
�I hadn�t planned on it anyhow.�

�� Oh?� she said with a slight raise
of her brow.

�� Did you?�

�� He loved the way the slow, subtle
grin moved her lips.� �No,� she admitted.� She leaned down, resting her forearms across
his chest, and gave him a gentle kiss.�
He shifted sideways and wrapped his arms around her.� He could tell that she had only meant it to
be a quick kiss, but he wasn�t having that.�
He needed to make sure she was real and things were still the same even
though their circumstances had shifted.

�� Hermione met him gamely, relaxing
against his chest and coyly parting her lips.�
Kissing her never became less exciting; she had a way of making it feel
like the first time every time. There was always a slight hesitation in her, a
need to be pushed into losing her control.�
A part of him had always known that they were more alike than they cared
to admit�

�� He kissed her with abandon, suffused
with the knowledge that he didn�t need to be in control with her.� That was a rare gift.� With nearly every other lover in his life he
had felt the suffocating need to be the one in power, and it invariably kept
him from making any kind of real connection with them for fear of losing that
control.� He thought he had connected
with Narcissa, but now he knew how woefully wrong he
was.

�� The small vulnerability of wanting
Hermione, of needing her, no longer had the ability to make him feel out of
sorts.� It kept him grounded.� He would be lying if he tried to say that he
didn�t intensely fear an end of their sudden happiness, yet he had made up his
mind months ago that fear would no longer guide his behavior.

�� Slowly, their lips drifted apart
from a long, sensuous kiss.� Hermione
stared down at him with wide pupils and beautiful pink lips.

�� I confess,� he
said softly, �when I first returned and you weren�t here, I thought maybe you
had come to your senses.�

�� She tilted her head and offered a
wry smile.� �I have none when it comes to
you.�

�� Nor I you.�� He cupped her cheek with his palm, feeling the
delicate bones that shaped her face.�
�I�m sorry for the scare and for causing you to miss class.� I know you hate that.�

�� Don�t be sorry.� I�m just glad everything is all right now.�

�� He contained the slight frown that
wanted to flash across his face. �Everything was not all right; whoever had
killed his publisher and friend was still at large and the actions of the
Ministry had effectively penciled him in next on the list.� Tomorrow, they would have to put up wards and
he would begin his own subtle probe into what had happened.� But for now�he was reunited with the woman he
loved.� The woman who
loved him.� It wasn�t the time for
solving mysteries.

�� Carefully, he pulled her onto the
bed, rolling and turning so that she was beneath him.� He loved how he could affect her so; already
her cheeks were flushed and her breath quickened in anticipation.� Knowing how much she wanted him always made
him equally hot and bothered.� He nestled
into the contours of her body and reveled in it.

�� He burrowed his nose into his
favorite place � just beneath her ear.�
She smelled so good, no matter whether she was sweating from a workout,
waking up beside him, or fresh out of the bath.�
He marveled that no one else had ever noticed its addicting nature�but
perhaps no one else was meant to.

�� Lucius
dragged his fingers lightly along her collarbone, smiling at the slight trail
of goosepimples that followed his touch.� Touch was such a simple thing, but until he
had gone nearly three years without any true intimacy, he had never appreciated
it.� He had never taken a moment to be
grateful for the brilliant sensations the human body was capable of
feeling.� Hermione�s textbooks told him
that there were many different kinds of touch receptors embedded within his
skin; they had all been so starved until she came along.

�� There had been nights when she would
just touch and kiss and caress each pale acre of his skin.� Those nights destroyed him.� She had found so many little erogenous zones, places that made him squirm and pant.� In that way she was so like him, determined
to be the best at whatever she was doing, whether it be
dueling, academics, or sex.� It went
without saying that she was the best he�d ever had.� She was the only lover that he�d given
everything to and it seemed like that made all the difference.

�� He had never known that life could
be like this.� And how could he?� His parents had been so estranged from one
another, hardly an example of the strength of a loving couple.� His marriage to Narcissa
had been closer, but still quite tame and business-like.� In the pureblood world real affection was
kept behind closed doors if it existed at all.�
To love with the kind of abandon he�d experienced with Hermione was
considered plebian in those circles.

�� He lowered his lips to the base of
her throat.� He really did need to tell
her how he felt.� She knew, of course,
but it was such a wonderful little pleasure to be told out loud.� He hadn�t been able to enjoy the moment when
she said she loved him, but even so, it had lifted his heart in a dark
hour.� If not for that anchor, he might
have lost his mind at the thought of being tossed back in Azkaban.

�� Lucius
looked down at her. �Soon he would do
it.� Soon he would confess his love.� But now was the time to show her, not tell
her�

�� She woke from the dead sleep of a
woman who had been shagged within an inch of her life.� Incredibly, Lucius
was up and about.� Hermione smiled
sleepily to herself; his bare arse was a most
agreeable sight first thing in the morning.

�� Until he turned and she saw the
violently colored bruise that marred his right flank.� Her eyes widened.

�� Lucius!�
she gasped.� �Did they do that to you
when they arrested you?�

�� He glanced over his shoulder at her,
evidently surprised that she was awake.�
Then he twisted slightly to eye the bruising.

�� No,� he replied, and then returned
to nonchalantly sorting through his clothes.

�� She gaped at his back for a
moment.� His audacity was truly amazing
at times.� Hermione sat up and crossed
her arms over her chest.

�� Then how did you get that?� she demanded.

�� He sighed and then abandoned the
closet.� With the air of a man who knew
he was about to be yelled at, he settled on the bed next to her.� �It has to do with my activities before
returning to the villa.�� His hand sought
hers. ��You are no doubt aware that my
ancestral home was tainted by his
stay.�

�� Hermione didn�t have to ask who he was.�
With a convulsive squeeze of his fingers, she nodded.

�� He left many relics behind.� One of those was our original dining
room.� It was where�meetings were
held.� I won�t elaborate beyond
that.� Suffice to say, the room was
haunted.� Draco
and I decided to do our best to start removing some of the darkness left
behind, beginning with that room.�

�� She swallowed and nodded again.� How fearsome it must have been, confronting
those ghosts�Having grown up in the magical world, the thought of a ghost no
longer frightened her.� However, the only
ghosts she had known were benign, if mischievous, aloof or occasionally grumpy
creatures.� There were specters that
could be downright dangerous and they were usually the ones who wanted
revenge.� She couldn�t say that she would
be a terribly forgiving ghost if she was ruthlessly murdered.

�� What we didn�t know,� Lucius went on quietly, �was that the room was also
cursed.� The Dark Lord left a remnant
behind to ensure that we would die even if he didn�t make it through the
war.� The ghosts were the least of our
worries.�

�� What happened?� she asked, her
spine straightening as her body went tense.�
It was on the tip of her tongue to chastise him for entering into that
situation so recklessly, but she bit down on the urge.� The fact was that Hermione couldn�t claim
that she would have been more cautious in the same situation.� She was very much a Gryffindor at times.

�� It is best forgotten,� he responded
in a tone that said he would not be persuaded to speak of it.� �The important thing is that we accomplished
our goal.�

�� You vanquished him and released the
spirits?�

�� Lucius
nodded.

�� That still doesn�t explain your
bruise��

�� As near as I can understand, part
of the spell was to�reclaim me, in a sense.�
To remind me that I was his.� The curse must have detected the runes you
placed upon me.�

�� It removed them?� she whispered.

�� Yes.�

�� That must be why I didn�t feel
anything.� I was wondering why I wouldn�t
have detected any hint of emotion from you when you were fighting the
curse.�� She closed her eyes for a
moment.� �I�m sorry you had to go through
that alone.�

�� I wasn�t alone,� he replied,
reaching out to brush his fingers along her cheekbone.� �Draco was with
me.� And truthfully, I am glad you didn�t
feel anything.� It was a disturbing
evening.�

�� But everything�s all right?�

�� Everything is fine,� he murmured.� �Better than it has been in
a very long time.�

�� Hermione smiled, nearly breathless
at the emotion she saw in his eyes.� He
was happy.� She had longed to see him so.�

�� His hand trailed lightly down her
face, to her chin and down her neck to dance along her collarbone.� The usual tickle of warmth that followed his
touch lit across her skin.� Then he went
lower still and his fingers traced the runes he had written upon her.

�� His lips moved.� A cold sensation hit her, centered over those
runic characters.� Hermione held her
breath.� She wasn�t sure what he was
doing, but she trusted him.

�� A moment later he lifted his hand.� Hermione glanced down at the top of her right
breast; the skin there was smooth and untarnished.� The runes were gone.

�� She looked up at him, eyes
questioning.� Lucius
leaned close, his lips just inches from hers, and said, �No more marks.�

�� Tears welled up in her eyes.� Hermione had no idea why.� Perhaps the stress of everything had at last
gotten to her, perhaps she was sad to lose the last bit of connection to his
psyche, or perhaps she was boundlessly happy that he did not need to own or be
owned.� She didn�t know, but Lucius didn�t seem to need an explanation as he gathered
her into his arms.

��

�� Tiresias Smythe was ever so glad to be back where he belonged.� Hermione had certainly been a gracious
hostess, but home was home.� He missed it
and all its trappings, even if those trappings were just a slobbery Labrador Retriever and a mountain of medical files that threatened to
crush him if they ever gave way.

�� He stared at those files, arms
crossed.� With a sigh he realized how
much of his practice had been pushed aside to deal with Lucius.� He didn�t regret it, not for a moment; he
wasn�t suffering financially from the arrangement and he genuinely liked his
primary patient in spite of his spotty past.�
It was just that life was becoming more complicated working with a man
who was encircled with both fame and infamy.

�� That was driven home to him an hour
later as he left for his private practice.�
It was close enough to walk and he preferred to; the cool air was
invigorating.� No one had ever bothered
him on the short 15 minute jaunt to his office, save the occasional panhandler.

�� It was certainly not a panhandler
that suddenly appeared in front of him and began snapping pictures.� He started at the bright flash.� Then his mind caught up.

�� He had seen the countless articles
splashed throughout the English papers when Lucius
revealed his �curse�.� Lucius and Hermione had not been kidding when they
explained how the media would treat the situation.� He thought the public�s fascination, be it
sympathetic or condemnatory, bordered on ridiculous.� He saw very clearly why they had to keep
their relationship a secret.� The media
would destroy them.

�� Healer Smythe,
are you aware that your patient, Lucius Malfoy, is a convicted Death Eater?� Are you aware that he assisted in the torture
of Muggles and supported the Dark Lord Voldemort in Europe�s
recent war?� the unknown reporter flung at him.

�� Tiresias
ignored the man.� He pulled the collar of
his jacket up, along with his scarf, and walked on.� The reporter followed him the entire way,
barraging him with increasingly inflammatory questions.� Tiresias bit his
tongue.� There were many things he could
have said, but it just wasn�t worth it.

�� He slammed the door in the
reporter�s face.� His secretary looked up
at him curiously, unused to the dark scowl that was currently gracing his
visage.� Tiresias
took a deep breath to calm himself.� Then he said, �Call the Aurors.� I want them stationed at the door to prevent
those media leeches from entering the practice or harassing the patients.�

�� She nodded and Tiresias
stalked off to his office.� He stripped
off his jacket, scarf, and gloves and then leaned heavily on the desk.� Notoriety had never been his goal when he
agreed to treat Lucius.� The world was never supposed to know, unless
he somehow managed to cure the blond wizard.�
They had agreed on that.� Lucius would not deny him the prestige of curing a
heretofore uncurable disease.

�� But he had not cured anything.� He felt his jaw clench briefly.� Right now, he was the healer who had found a
way to keep a strongly disliked man with a questionable past alive.� People would hate him by association.� He suspected that the obnoxious reporter was
only the beginning.

�� He sat and rested his forehead on
yet another stack of folders.� Tiresias wished it wouldn�t be highly inappropriate to
knock back a drink.� He stayed there,
fervently wishing for a gin and tonic that was mostly gin, until his secretary
knocked timidly and informed him that his first patient was waiting.

�� Being back at training camp was
grueling but not unwelcome for Harry.� It
kept his mind occupied, away from where it inevitably wanted to return.� It kept him from thinking about Hermione and
the possibility that she was involved with Lucius Malfoy.

�� It continued to kill him that he
couldn�t talk to anyone about it.� Every
time he looked at Ron he wanted to, because he was so used to being able to
talk to his best friends�but this was too different.� Ron could never know about this.� It had taken him a long time to find his own
confidence; knowing that Hermione might have replaced him with a Malfoy would tear that all down.� Harry would not be the harbinger of that.

�� But the day was over now, and four
long hours of downtime stretched before him.�
Dinner would take up one of those hours.�
That left three in which he had to continuously restrain himself, 180
minutes of mind-racing torture.

�� He made it through dinner without a
problem.� Ron appeared to have eaten too
much and was semi-conscious trying to digest it all for the half-hour after
that.� Once he felt better, Harry asked
him if he wanted to play chess.� That
would keep them busy for some time and he�d have to focus on the game lest he
be completely crushed.� He almost always
lost to Ron anyway, but there was losing and then there was embarrassing himself.

�� Ron agreed.� Harry set up the board as Ron went to change
out of his robes.� He thought all would
be smooth sailing until Ron�s exclamation drifted across the room.

�� What the hell?!�

�� He squeezed his eyes shut for a
brief moment.� Harry knew that tone of
voice.

�� What is it?� he asked wearily.

�� Ron strode over with the paper in
his hands, a strange sight to be sure.�
�Mum sent it, there�s an article on W3 in the business section, but look
at that!� he said quickly, pointing at the picture of a man that Harry had
never seen before.

�� Okay.� Who is he?�

�� THAT
is the man that was at Hermione�s flat.� The one that made her cry!�

�� Harry frowned.� �Ron, we�ve been over that.�

�� Whatever!� the
redhead said dismissively.� �Look,
Harry.� It says he�s Malfoy�s
healer!� Why in the hell would Hermione
be hanging around with someone like that?�

�� Why, indeed.� Harry felt his stomach sink.�

�� She�s in school to be a healer,� he
heard himself say.� He was on autopilot
now, knowing that he had to obscure what was looking more and more like the
truth.� �She probably knows him through
that.�

�� Ron scowled, but accepted that
explanation.� In his mind there would be
no other reason for Hermione to be so closely involved with a Malfoy.� It had been
that way in Harry�s mind, too, until Marietta Edgecombe burst in and destroyed
the status quo.

�� He didn�t sleep that night even
though his body was half-dead with exhaustion.�
He couldn�t.� He had to know
whether it was true.� Harry
swallowed.� He was going to have to go to
Italy�back
to that villa�and either he would see nothing, or he would see something that shook
the foundations of a lifelong friendship � because, to him, his life had truly
begun at eleven, and Ron and Hermione were the first true friends he ever had.

��

�� The next day was Sunday and it was
the one day of rest afforded to Auror trainees.� Normally he would have gone to see Ginny, but
she was visiting Bill and Fleur.� Harry
had no excuse not to do what had kept him awake all night.�

�� Fortunately Ron was too occupied
with flirting with a new recruit to notice Harry�s departure.� He felt sick as he prepared himself to Apparate.� He was
well and truly torn.� Harry didn�t want
to know if what Edgecombe said was true, but at the same time he needed to
know.� He just needed the truth.

�� It was easy to find his way toward
the outskirts of the small Italian town.�
The beauty of the countryside was imprinted in his mind. �When he had first seen it, undercover in the
scratchy uniform of a carabinieri,
he had thought to himself that he really needed to travel more.�

�� Late autumn was taking its toll
now.� The grasses were browning and the
trees had become sparse.� The sunflowers,
while still in bloom, were also becoming brittle and straw-like.� The scene was lent some color by the field of
pumpkins and squash that bordered it.�
Somehow it was still beautiful even though he knew this place concealed
a multitude of secrets.

�� Harry walked up the long dirt road,
the Invisibility Cloak dragging in the dust behind him.� He felt unaccountably dejected.� He hated that he even had to spy on his
friend like this.� Her life should have
been her business.� But Malfoy�he just couldn�t be trusted.

�� He was about two hundred feet from
the villa when he felt the hum of wards.�
Harry didn�t dare trigger them.� Malfoy would be cautious or even paranoid after recent
events and Harry knew that he did not want to be on the receiving end of any
security system the man had set up.

�� The only choice was to wait.� If he saw Hermione at any time, he would have
his answer.� Sighing, Harry wandered back
down the road and found a rock to sit on without any knowledge that an
eight-year-old Lucius had once sat upon the very same
one, staring longingly down the path at the friends he could no longer
associate with.�

�� You really didn�t read it?� Lucius asked incredulously.

�� No.�
You can ask Jo-Jo, I didn�t touch it,� Hermione replied.

�� I believe you.� I just didn�t expect you to have such
self-control.�

�� Because you know so much about
that,� she taunted good-naturedly.��

�� Indeed, I am a master.�� Lucius turned and
flashed a grin.� He was pulling his
trousers back on for the third time that day.�
Self-control had not been on the menu from the moment they woke up.

�� You�re a master of something,� she mumbled, unable to
contain her own pleased smile.

�� He said nothing as he finished
dressing.� Hermione eventually managed to
quash the erotic memories that were tinting her cheeks pink.� It was pointless; the flush returned when Lucius approached to help her tie the halter straps of her
dress.� The brush of his fingers was
enough to raise goosebumps on her skin.� The small kiss he pressed to her shoulder
tightened her nipples against the bodice.�
It was not lost on him; he merely offered her an unrepentant smile as he
began to tug her out the door.

�� Hermione felt a lovely swell of
affection rise in her chest.� He had
missed his Italian friends, as well, even if he didn�t say so; he wasn�t
bothering to conceal his eagerness to see Paolo and Elisabetta.� Or maybe that wasn�t it at all; perhaps he
had just missed the simplicity of life in the villa.� Hermione knew she had.

�� As they began the journey down to
the village, Hermione slid her hand into his.�
Normally he would have tolerated it for a minute or two and then
reclaimed his hand.� Today, he let her
fingers rest within his, and they walked on in contented silence. ��

��

�� Harry sat numbly, watching them go
by.� He had hoped, at first,
that the beautiful woman who emerged from the villa with Malfoy was not
Hermione.� Hermione didn�t dress like
that, nor did she carry herself that way.�
But it became increasingly clear as they strode down the path that it was Hermione, a Hermione he had never
known.

�� It hurt.� It hurt because she was so gorgeous, so
confident, and so happy at his side.�
Harry had never seen her look that way.�
Why, why, why did it have to be Lucius Malfoy that brought it out?�
Why?� And how?

�� He tried not to pay attention to Malfoy, but he couldn�t ignore the blatant contentment that
rested upon the man�s features.� His eyes
were warm, engaged in some distant thought, and his lips relaxed from their
perpetual sneer.� His large hand encased
Hermione�s.� As Harry watched, his thumb
rubbed absently along hers.

�� The urge to vomit was overwhelming,
but Harry was far too practiced at squelching it.� Reeling, he stood up from his rocky seat and
began to quietly follow them.� He didn�t
know what he hoped to accomplish.� At
that moment, he didn�t know much at all.

�� He followed them in dumb shock as
they descended into the village and down the Briatore
road.� Harry�s shock deepened when they
stepped inside a fence, a fence that surrounded a house he had visited not even
a week before.� A house where a
suspicious Italian couple had told him that no, they did not know a man named Lucius Malfoy, did not recognize
the man in the photograph, and was that all?

�� Harry stopped outside the
fence.� He couldn�t believe it.� They were visiting Muggles.� Muggles had covered up for Malfoy.� What in the hell?� What�

�� He fought an urge much worse than
vomiting.� He struggled not to cry as
Hermione and Malfoy exchanged double kisses with both
host and hostess and were invited in with warm and effusive greetings.� Harry stood outside the fence, lost and
whirling in a tornado of questions.

�� They were drunk on good food, good
wine, and good company as usual.� It felt
so decadent in spite of its minimalism.�
It was just the four of them tonight and they lounged in the living
room, a couple to each couch.� There was
precious little speech as music drifted through the room and the fire crackled
in the hearth.

�� They had talked themselves out.� Elisabetta was
dozing in Paolo�s lap and Hermione was curled up to Lucius�s
side with an entirely unnecessary glass of wine in her hand.� She knew from Lucius�s
expression that he was very full and would likely fall asleep as soon as they
garnered the energy to return home.

�� It is good to have you back, Luciano,� Paolo said around a yawn.� He spoke everyone�s thoughts.

�� It is good to be back,� Lucius agreed.

�� At that moment, a knock sounded at
the door.� Elisabetta
startled awake, sitting up and blinking.

�� Who could that be?� Paolo
grumbled.� His wife began to rise, but he
subdued her and meandered away to get the door himself.� Elisabetta
stretched and smiled sheepishly at her guests.

�� The man didn�t recognize him.� Harry supposed he was a little unkempt and
not wearing the Carabinieri uniform.� Nevermind that he
had only spoken to them for five minutes; what reason would they have to
memorize his face?� This man, this
perjuring Muggle, had no idea of the trouble he could
be in.

�� May I help you?� he said
expectantly.

�� Yes,� Harry said as firmly as he
could manage.� �I would like to speak
with Hermione Granger.�

�� The man blinked.� Then he frowned.� His eyes instantly took on a suspicious cast,
real rather than conjured, and he took a step back.

�� Just a moment.�

�� He shut the door, and Harry waited.

��

�� Who was it?� Elisabetta
asked offhand as her husband returned.�
Paolo sat on the couch without answering.� His unusual somberness alerted everyone that
something was not right.

�� He swallowed.� �Hermione, there is a man outside who wants
to see you.�

�� Lucius sat
up very straight.� Hermione nearly
dropped her wine glass.� Lucius steadied it and then removed it from her suddenly
tremulous fingers.� He set it aside and
cleared his throat.

�� Who?�

�� He didn�t give his name.�

�� What did he look like?� Hermione
asked in a tiny voice.

�� Paolo looked nervously at his
hands.� �Ah�well, he was of average
height, with very untidy hair and glasses.�

�� Green eyes?� she whispered.

�� Paolo thought for a moment.� �I�well, yes, I suppose.�� He shared a glance with Elisabetta
and then set his jaw.� �Is he your
ex?� I have my father�s old shotgun in
the cellar.�

�� Hermione flinched.� �No.�
No, that isn�t necessary.� He�s��
she trailed off as she extracted herself from Lucius
and stood.� �Well, he was my best friend.�� She smoothed her dress.� �Not sure what he�ll be after this.�

�� An expression of apology passed over
Lucius�s face.�
�Do you want me to accompany you?� he asked quietly.

�� No,� she said, shaking her
head.� �I think it�s better if you
don�t.�

�� He nodded.� With a deep breath, Hermione straightened up
and walked out of the room.� The
inevitable confrontation had come, and she wasn�t going to back down.

�� As soon as she was out of sight, Lucius felt a powerful surge of irrational panic well up
inside him.� It clutched at his chest
with an iron fist.� He stood and excused
himself, less alarmed by his inability to draw adequate breath than by the
possibility that this was it.� This was the part where she realized her
insanity and left him.

�� Paolo didn�t need his wife to tell
him to follow his friend.� The look on
his face had been one of pure, unadulterated fear.� He knew that Elisabetta
would watch out for Hermione.� His wife
would not stand for this mystery man harming Hermione in any way.� He wouldn�t put it past her to go and get
that shotgun herself.

�� He found the blond man leaning
against the counter in the kitchen.� Luciano was struggling to take deep breaths.� Paolo took one look at him and headed for the
liquor cabinet.� He needed something
stronger than wine.

�� Lucius
took the glass of Merlin knew what from the other man.� He wondered if this was why his mother drank.�
If she had felt like this, trapped in an overwhelming anxiety all the
time, then he could spare some small shred of understanding.� But he would never know.� She had taken the why to the grave with her.

�� He tossed the drink down, hating
that he had to emulate her just to function.�
The incredibly strong alcohol cleaved a path of clarity through his
head.� He had to draw in great lungfuls of air to prevent himself
from immediately expelling the poison the same way it had come in.� Somehow he managed not to vomit.

�� Talk to me,� Paolo ordered.

�� She�s going to leave me,� he
gasped, not quite recovered from the wicked shot.

�� Don�t be ridiculous.� Hermione loves you.�

�� You don�t understand.�

�� Then tell me.�

�� Lucius
shook his head.� How could he explain it
all to a Muggle?

�� Hermione�s heart hammered in her
chest as she opened the door.� Harry had
stepped away from it and stood with his hands in his pockets a little ways
off.� It was such a familiar
posture.� It made tears prickle in her
eyes.

�� Hi,� she said softly as she stepped
out onto the porch.� She was keenly aware
of Elisabetta standing a few feet from the door, eyes
watchful and her arms crossed over her chest.�
It made her feel a little stronger.

�� Hi,� he murmured in response.

�� She stood there, waiting.� Waiting for the tirade, the curses, the anger that was sure to issue from him.� She knew better than anyone that Harry had a
temper, one that took a lot to provoke.�
Once that line was crossed his rage could be boundless even though he
kept most of it inside.

�� Minutes passed.� Harry just looked at her.� He, too, was waiting.� For what, she didn�t know.� Did he expect some kind of apology?� An admission of guilt?� Hermione bit the inside of her lip.� He wasn�t going to get either.� She was not sorry for falling in love with a
brilliant man.� The only thing she was
sorry for was that others did not know of that brilliance.

�� It�s true, then,� he said at
last.� �You�re with Malfoy.�

�� The way he said it, with so much
defeat and disappointment, made her bristle with anger.� �Yes, I am,� she responded with a tone of
defiance.� Hermione braced herself.� Surely this was where the verbal abuse would
begin?

�� But Harry was not Ron.� That aligned firmly in her mind when he
remained silent.� In some ways, his
silence was worse than a loss of control.

�� You lied to me.�

�� Her lip quivered.� �I know.�
I�m sorry.� I didn�t want to,
but�if I hadn�t��

�� Silence once more.� With each passing moment, Hermione felt ever
closer to crying.

�� He hasn�t done anything to you, has
he?� You can tell me, Hermione.�

�� Of course he hasn�t.� Is it so hard for you to believe that I
actually care for him?�

�� He tried to kill you,
Hermione.� He thinks that you�re
inferior.� Have you forgotten?�

�� No.�
I will never forget.� But he isn�t
that man anymore, Harry.�

�� He shook his head.� Then he paced a few steps.� She could see in the set of his jaw that he
was beginning to feel the sting of the situation.

�� What about these
people?� Harry gestured sharply toward the house.� �He Imperiused them
so they would lie about him during the investigation.� Still think he�s a changed man?� he spat.

�� He didn�t Imperius
them.� I asked them to lie.�

�� Harry stopped short.� �You?� You asked them
to lie�to save him?�

�� There was nothing to save him from,
Harry!� He didn�t do it.� Is the evidence not enough for you?�

�� His nostrils flared and he took
several forceful breaths before turning a piercing emerald gaze on her.� �Oh, no.� It�s more than enough to tell me that you�re
not the person I used to call my best friend.�

�� Why?� she shot back.� �Because I fell in love with someone you
don�t approve of?�

�� No, because you think you love some monster, some man
who nearly murdered us all and who thinks you�re less than dirt, and because
you�ve changed for him!�

�� The only one who�s changed is Lucius.� He isn�t the
way you think.�� Tears spilled over at
last, fat droplets that cascaded down her cheeks and dripped off into the dusty
planks of the porch.� �Harry, please,
think about when you first learned of Sirius.�
You hated him because you didn�t know the whole story.� When you saw the truth, you forgave him!�

�� She knew almost immediately that she
had made a bad move in comparing Lucius to
Sirius.� It was logical, but for Harry,
the emotions overpowered rationality.

�� Don�t you dare!� he barked, raising his voice for the first time.� �Is Malfoy
innocent?� Did he go to prison for a
crime he didn�t commit?� Did he watch
everyone he ever loved die or betray him?�
Don�t you ever compare that scum to Sirius!�

�� He is not scum!�

�� Harry�s eyes were bright with angry
tears.� �Then maybe you are.� Aren�t people who lie
to their friends, who stab them in the back, the real scum of the world?�

��

�� He could find no way to explain his
anxiety to Paolo.� Instead, he settled
for a question that had nagged him more than once.

�� Is it fair?� Lucius
whispered.� �Is it fair of me to cause
her to lose everything?�

�� Is it fair of her friends and
family to judge you without even knowing you?� Paolo countered.� �Luciano, in these
situations�those who are true friends will find a way to understand.�

�� I don�t deserve their
understanding.�� He cast weary eyes at
his friend.� �I have done terrible
things, Paolo.� They judge me rightly.�

�� Do you think that boy has never
done a terrible thing?� Do you think I have never done a terrible thing? �We all do things that we aren�t proud of.� We have lapses or we encounter situations
where we aren�t prepared, we make the wrong choice.� What matters is that we know our error.� The difference between a bad man and a good
one is just that.�

�� Lucius was
silent for a long moment.

�� There is no reason for her to be
with me.�

�� She loves you.� That is the only reason she needs.�� Paolo looked up.� �Isn�t that the only reason you need?�

�� The blond man blinked.� �Yes.�
Yes, it is.�

�� Stabbing you in the back?� That�s
rich, Harry.� Aren�t you the one stabbing
me in the back by being angry with me for living
my life?� I don�t exist to please
you!� I am more than just some girl who reads a lot and saves your arse all the time!�
Not that you would ever notice!�

�� Yes, I�m sorry I never noticed the
side of you that fucks Death Eaters!�
Does he call you mudblood in bed?�

�� Her mouth fell open.� That word had never spilled from Harry�s
lips, not once.� It was all she could
take.� Hermione crossed the distance between
them and slapped him as hard as she could.

�� I think you should go out
there.� Both of you.�

�� Lucius and
Paolo glanced up at Elisabetta.

�� They are starting to yell,� she
added.

�� Resolutely, Lucius
nodded.� He wished he could give his wand
to one of them so that he would not be tempted to use it, but it just wasn�t
plausible.� He would have to trust his
instincts.� He turned and headed for the
kitchen door.

�� Paolo was right behind him.� A hundred thoughts churned in Lucius�s head, jumbled into a mess of unsorted
emotions.� One thing was for
certain.� He would not stand for Hermione
being hurt by Potter.

�� The sting of her palm danced wildly
over the left side of his face, throbbing in brilliant waves.� Harry knew he had gone too far.� The look on Hermione�s face told him that she
knew she had, as well.

�� Lucius
stepped out onto the porch.� It was not a
shouting match that met him.� It was the
coldest, most wounded stalemate he had ever seen.� Both parties had tear tracks on their faces.

�� Harry Potter�s eyes flickered up to
him.� He expected them to be full of some
dark warning, some violent portent should he ever hurt Hermione.� But there was nothing.� They were empty.� Just�void.

�� Harry touched his cheek, and then he
said, �Goodbye, Hermione.�
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