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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.

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She would never know what made her
go back.

�� Six weeks
were gone and she�d heard no more from Lucius Malfoy.� It was a bit
surprising considering what she knew.�
She had discovered that he was the
mysterious author, the one whose gritty book had literally mesmerized the
world; last she heard it was being translated into 36 languages.� If that wasn�t serious blackmail material,
she didn�t know what was.� Yet he�d made
no attempt to contact her.

�� Perhaps he
didn�t think her capable of using the information against him.� She snorted to herself; that was
impossible.� Slytherins
were obsessively careful creatures and would suspect anyone of anything.� So why wasn�t he breathing down her neck
(agreeable as that might be), attempting to obliviate
her, or otherwise threatening her to ensure that his secret stayed safe?

�� She had no
idea.� Hermione frowned.� Was it possible that he didn�t care?� No � if he hadn�t cared he would have put his
name on that book.� Vanity and pride
would propel him to do so.� But wait, who
would buy a book written by him?� Perhaps
he had feared that his name would overshadow his talent.� That talent was undeniable; she had re-read Faim, scoured it cover to cover, trying desperately to
figure out who was who and if the book�s happenings were fact or fiction.� It was just as disturbingly good the second
time, perhaps better, and even more ambiguous.�
And this time around, with the unforgettable sensation of him in her
head, the book�s masterful sexuality nearly made her explode.� Oh, if only Malfoy
had put his brain to writing sooner��

�� She pushed
her mind away from those thoughts.� They
never led to anything good.� Hermione
sighed and flicked her hair, agitated.�
It bothered her that Malfoy could evoke these
things; he was a foul man, one she�d rather see dead than naked.� Right?

�� In all
seriousness, though, what was he up to?�
He would not let things be; she knew it instinctively, like a migratory
bird knew its route.� It was out of
character for him to disappear.� That,
she reasoned, was what made her go back to the caf�.� When one was tracking a man, one always had
to check his old haunts.

�� But he
wasn�t there.� She asked the counter
girl, the same black-haired, edgy muggle, and she
said she hadn�t seen him in a few weeks.�
She felt compelled to talk to the girl, whose name was Anna, for reasons
she couldn�t identify.� Perhaps talking
to a neutral party would help her sort out her own confusion�

�� He�s
writing a book, you know.�

�� Anna nodded
and for the first time Hermione noticed that she wore those large plugs in her
ears, the kind that stretched the earlobe to impossible-looking proportions.

�� Yeah.� Treats me like
a thesaurus sometimes,� she smiled.� �But
he always tips well so I don�t mind.�

�� Hermione
blinked, trying to imagine what words he would need alternatives for.� And he would trust a muggle
to help craft his life story?� Oh, but
there was still no guarantee that it was true.�
There was no guarantee of anything.�
Thoughtfully, Hermione took a pen out of her purse and pulled a napkin
from the dispenser.

�� This might
sound weird, but�� she trailed off, the pen poised over the napkin.

�� Anna looked
at her patiently.

�� Never
mind,� Hermione said, returning the pen to her purse.� �Thanks for humoring me.�

�� He made his
move a week later.� An unmarked letter
came in the mail, and she really ought to have been smarter about opening
it.� But the handwriting looked so like
his; she recalled it easily, sloping in neat, tight letters across the
pages.� Precise, perfect, the kind of
penmanship that should have taken hours of arduous concentration�and she had no
doubt that he could write like that just as quickly as any sloppy doctor.

�� Oh, she
really was smarter than this.� She
was.� But as the sting of his letter set
in, she realized she wasn�t.� He knew it
and now she did, too.

��

Miss Granger,

I thank you for
keeping my secret this long.� I would not
have expected it and was bracing myself to be revealed.� However, I don�t hold much faith that you
will continue to keep such an interesting fact to yourself; whether
intentionally or by accident, you would have told eventually.��

Therefore, you should
know that this letter was charmed to respond only to you.� By handling, and more specifically, opening
it, you have entered into an Unbreakable Vow.�
The conditions of the vow are this: you will tell no one that I am the
author of Faim, Soif, or
any other book I might write in the future, until and unless I announce it or
someone else declares it.� You will tell
no one of our previous interactions and any that might take place from this
point forward.� To violate these terms
will be to forfeit your life.� You are a
smart girl, and as such I�m sure you are aware of how these things work.� I shouldn�t have to tell you not to show this
letter to anyone but I will anyway, since you were silly enough to open it in
the first place.

If it is any
consolation, know that since this Unbreakable Vow was not made in person, but
rather through twists of magic that are, at best, nefarious, it is possible for
me to dissolve it.� If circumstances
change, you will be released.� But don�t
think for a moment that I won�t hold you to it for the rest of my time on this
earth, if necessary.� Also, don�t think
I�ve underestimated you � if you attempt to hasten my demise in order to get
out of the vow, it will hasten yours.� I
do love irony.

- L. Malfoy

�

�� At first it
had been dull, numb shock.� He couldn�t
have.� He couldn�t have trapped her into
an Unbreakable Vow.� No.� But he had, oh, he had, and why was she so surprised?� She knew it was coming.� And really, she had expected something
worse.� Yes, Lucius
Mafoy could have taken many paths to ensure her
silence, some cruel, some bloody, and some downright sadistic, but all he had
done was trick her into the Vow.� A vow that could be released.� Coming from him, that could be considered
benevolent.

�� Then it morphed
into rage.� How dare he!�
How dare he, in his intolerable smugness, take advantage of the
curiosity he knew he�d sparked?� She had been played like a harp.� How stupid was she?� Merlin!�
He had known she wouldn�t stop to think before opening the letter, not
once she figured out it was from him.�
Its very presence, a seemingly innocuous sheet of parchment on her desk,
mocked her on so many levels.� With an incoherent
cry of fury, Hermione incinerated it.

�� She sat on
the edge of her bed, breathing and trying to control her racing thoughts.� The implications of the vow swirled in her
head.� You will tell no one of our previous interactions and any that might
take place from this point forward.� From this point forward.�
That meant, unmistakably, that this was not the last of it.� He would seek her out for his own ends.� And because of the vow, she couldn�t tell
anyone about it.� Hermione felt
sick.� If he managed to trap her�get her
alone�Lucius Malfoy could
do whatever he wanted and she couldn�t say a word. �

�� She was
like a ghost at the Ministry.� The
specter of the Vow hung over her.� Arthur
asked her if she was feeling well one day; later, in the bathroom, she saw
why.� She was losing sleep over this.� She was pale and dark, puffy circles ringed
her eyes.� Her lips were chapped, her
clothing wrinkled, her hair at its worst since the advent of puberty�

�� Frustrated,
she slammed her fists on the counter.�
Wrath welled up inside of her.�
She had not even seen the man
and she was cowering in his shadow!� This
was not who she was.� She was not a
frightened girl to be bullied into submission by an absent taskmaster!� If Lucius Malfoy thought for one
minute that she would not claw and fight and find some way to make this
blow up in his face, he was dead wrong.�

�� Dead
wrong,� she whispered murderously to herself.�
At least, she thought it was to herself, but that was proven wrong a
moment later when a tiny old woman tottered out of one of the stalls.

�� Did you
say something, dear?� she croaked.

�� No,�
Hermione said, embarrassed.� Good thing
this lady was hard of hearing, otherwise Hermione would be the strange person
muttering darkly to herself in a public restroom.� With a few deep, calming breaths, Hermione
cast no less than five spells to improve her appearance: one for the hair,
another to du-puff her eyes, a third to moisturize
her lips, a fourth to smooth her clothing, and the last to bring a pinch of
color to her cheeks.

�� When Lucius decided to make his move, she would not look like
she was dreading it.� She wouldn�t give
him the satisfaction.� Checking herself
one last time, Hermione turned to leave and nearly ran over the little old
witch.

�� The woman
looked at her with wide eyes, and then sheepishly said, �My goodness, would you
mind teaching me some of those spells?�

�� Hermione
smiled, choked back a laugh, and proceeded to show her all five.� The woman, who she learned was no less than a
hundred and five years old, was named Mrs. Guinevere Hawkins, and Mrs.
Guinevere Hawkins of the Hall of Records, Room 409, swore up and down that
Hermione had given her the best makeover of her life.� Took fifty years off, she said � and at last
Hermione had to laugh.

�� Smiling, she
left the loo with one more friend than she had gone
in with, and Lucius Malfoy
was forgotten.

��

�� He was
forgotten, except by her subconscious.�
That night, lying beside Ron, she dreamed of him.� She dreamed of his crystalline eyes, so cold
and capable of such hate, and the anemic curtain of his hair, the only things
visible beneath a black hood that she thought at first was the memory of his
old Death Eater robes.� But no � he was
standing in a boat, leaning on an oar the color of bone, and the water beneath
the boat crawled with Inferi.� Their grey hands rose out of it, knocking
against the wooden sides.� A crimson mist
muffled their groans and the lap of the water.�
It was reduced to whispers all around her.

�� And
suddenly she was standing on the riverbank.�
A cold, slimy hand wrapped about her ankle � one of the dead � and she
screamed.� He laughed, a cold, detached
chuckle, and held out his hand.� His large, strong, perfectly manicured hand, pale and surreal in
the shades of black, red, and grey.�
She floundered for it, desperate to escape the Inferi
that were trying to pull her into the murky water.

�� They were
strong.� He stood in the boat, unmoved by
her plight.� The Inferi
pulled her to the ground.� She struggled,
screamed, felt the scrape of rough sand on her legs � oh God, she was nude �
and one of the Inferi dragged itself halfway out of
the water in its zeal to claim her.

�� Its eyes
were made of coins.� Shiny,
irregularly shaped coins, metal that had been shaped and pressed archaically.� She looked up at Lucius
as a horrible feeling invaded her.� There
he stood, still as a statue in his rowboat, hand still extended.� He beckoned once, a languid flex of his
fingers, and she heard the clink of coins as the Inferi
dragged her towards the water.

�� He was not
trying to help her.� He was�

�� Demanding payment.�
Not Hades today � no, he was Charon, the
ferryman of the dead, and that was more frightening, because Hades was many
things, but he had always been just.� Not
Charon.� Charon the bright, enchanted only
by the gold he charged, and if you did not have it, you were left to wander the
banks of Acheron for a hundred years�

�� And then
she was under the water.� It tasted like
blood and dirt; dead hands were upon her, she was drowning, and she could see
the rippled outline of his blonde crown where he peered down over the edge of
the boat�

�� The next
thing she knew Ron was shaking her.

�� Hermione!�
Hermione!� Wake up!� It�s just a dream!� �

�� The next
day she threw out all of her Greek mythology books.� Ron watched her as she rampaged through her
library, looking utterly perplexed.� He
had never seen her throw away a book before.�
Well, that wasn�t true � she had discarded her Divination books out of
sheer spite, but later admitted that she wished she hadn�t.�

�� She dragged
the bin out to the curb and sighed.� It
wouldn�t do any good.� She had already
read all the books.� She loved mythology
and had been enthralled with it from a very young age.� She knew all the stories; the rejection of
the books wouldn�t make her forget.�
There were so many more roles he could yet play in her nightmares.

�� As an
afterthought, she went back into the house and plucked his book from the
shelf.� She marched outside, fully
intending to toss it in with the others, but once she got to the bin she
couldn�t do it.� Her hand wavered above
the can.� It would be so easy to drop
it�.so easy�

�� But she
couldn�t.

Author�s Note: Obviously I am drawing heavily on Greek
mythology for this, specifically things of/related to the underworld.� There are some interesting connections; Hades�
Roman name, Pluto, means �rich one� (derived from Greek �plouton�
- fits perfectly, yes?), and Charon (son of Nyx aka Night, the ferryman of
the river of sorrow, Acheron, who rowed newly dead souls into the underworld
for a price of two coins) means �the bright� � an intriguing parallel because
the name Lucius means �light� or �bright� (hence, Lumos � lumen, lux or lucis all = light).�
I always thought it was interesting that JK named a character who was
blatantly bordering on evil something that meant �light�. �I believed it was a hint that she�d redeem
him, and she sort of did, but makes you wonder, right?

Again, this chapter was a little short (by my standards),
but I�m finding that it takes a lot of energy to create the kind of atmosphere
and characterization I want.� I usually
write Lucius a bit nicer than this, so channeling his
inner git is relatively new for me.� He�ll make his move soon enough, but Hermione
might be surprised at how/why he does it.�
In good news, there may be another update later this week, since I don�t
have much schoolwork to do. ^_^� Leave me some love if you�re so
inclined.
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