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The Xeoforce Equation	By : Esequell Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 5632 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I'm not making any money from this.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
A/N - Freshly edited :) I am aware of the POV issues, inasmuch as I wrote this story a year ago, and now I would handle the POV very differently but because I have other projects I want to move onto soon, I'm going to leave those in and just try and sparkle up the story with an edit as I work towards the last chapter(s). I hope (and think) it's still pretty entertaining. Feedback always welcome!

3. Mactoduplex
Hermione's grubby opponent fires two hexes at once. She ducked as they blasted a jagged hole in the hedgerow, wide enough to scramble through. She didn't want to guess where he'd learned that; she'd only seen very powerful wizards do it.
She took refuge behind a marble fountain of an armoured hero standing on a coiled serpent, his iron spear poised to pierce scaly flesh. The circular based was paved with flagstones and gravel. She could smell the rainwater that had collected in little dips and troughs. It soaked through her short, blue dress and panties and made her shiver with cold.
She knew the wards were just feet behind her but if she escaped that way, she'd lose her chance to find out who wanted her dead so badly.
Another volley blasted off the hero's head, covering her in a hail of marble chunks. A third disembowelled the serpent. It snowed dust as the grubby man limped graceless into view, his broad knuckles clenched ineffectually over a gaping wound in his thigh.
She twisted her body over the stone lip and shot a darker curse than she'd admit to knowing. He dodged.
'Coming,' he rasped, limping towards her. 'Ready or not.'
Lucius was enjoying a glass of very fine wine when his garden started lighting up with the violent red and blue flashes of a hex battle.
'Misty?' his eyebrows arched.
Misty looked up anxiously. She'd been shredding old papers at his behest, and now she worried she might have shredded the wrong ones, but it was the window that had caught his attention, not her work.
'Somebody's having a duel. In my garden. That can't be Draco.'
Hermione yelled in pain.
'Granger,' Lucius set down his glass and snatched up his cane.
He strode to the gate, irritated by the disturbance and the girl's cheek. Wearing nothing but his shirtsleeves, slacks and slippers, he threw a cloak on went outside. Hermione yelped. She had to be just outside the wards. Lucius edged around the gaping hole in his hedgerow, unimpressed that she could simply turn up and wreak such wanton destruction. Then a bleeding, limping man twirled together two curses to battle the girl, whose familiar silhouette flashed up in a blast of dangerous red. His fine statue was decimated. His mood darkened.
They were destroyng his garden. They'd ruined his fountain. He'd imported that.
Hermione made a dash for the wards under a potent shield charm but the man ripped it away with a savage swipe of his wand and as she staggered into the privet, her back bare to attack, he cut a deep red line in her thigh. She yelled and stumbled, clutching the wound. Lucius cast a silent Disillusionment charm over himself, disappearing from view.
'Now we're even!' the grubby man said, as he stood over Hermione with his wand raised.
Hermione forced herself to focus as she reeled from the shock of sudden blood loss. She felt dizzy. Her thigh felt wrong. The flesh was hanging. Her stomach rolled over.
He's cut me open, she realised. The bastard!
She opened her lips to breathe a curse, and Lucius appeared like an angel, his wand-tip jabbed viciously into the man's throat, just below the atlas plate where a curse would probably kill him.
'Not another move,' Lucius said with false apology, 'Or I'm afraid you'll lose more than blood tonight.'
'Malfoy!' The man exclaimed, his voice full of hope and relief. 'Don't you remember me?'
Hermione went cold a she imagined what might happen next if Lucius sided with her attacker but Lucius looked stunned. She cast a quick healing charm at her thigh that seemed to stop most of the bleeding but she'd need more help to close the flesh.
'Come on, old friend,' the grubby man wheedled encouragingly. 'We can share her. You can have her first.'
'A tempting offer,' Lucius nodded coolly. Hermione swallowed back the urge to vomit.
'First maybe you'd like to tell me what you're doing in my garden?' he said.
'What do you think, Malfoy?'
'I think,' Lucius said mildly, his lips turning upward. 'Legillimens!'
The grubby man yelled as his body seized grotesquely.
'What're you doing!' Hermione yelled.
'His name is John Carrigan,' Lucius sneered. 'He was a Deatheater.'
He cast a full body bind. Carrigan pitched forward onto the grass.
'Mr Malfoy, that's...' she trailed off. Not illegal, she thought, but bloody ill-advised!
'Now, now, shelve your soft heart, Miss Granger. He and his...associates...were sent to kill you.'
Lucius toed Carrigan onto his back and knelt over his prone body. He repeated with precise, compassionless efficiency; 'Legillimens.'
Carrigan mewled and twitched wildly as Lucius searched the corners of his mind.
'Thank you,' Lucius bent down. 'You've been most helpful. Obliviate.'
Carrigan went silent.
'Misty!' Lucius snapped to the dark garden. The elf appeared in the shadows, her footfalls soft and wet, wringing her little fingers in worry. 'Summon the Aurors and a healer for Miss Granger. And see to him.'
Misty grabbed Carrigan by the wrist and disapparated with a crack, leaving the garden suddenly quiet and Hermione buzzing with unspent adrenaline. She clutched at her thigh as the pain suddenly intensified. Her ankle was wet with her own blood and she felt cold and shaky.
'They could send you back to prison for what you just did,' she shook her head disapprovingly.
'I'm entitled to defend my home,' Lucius said coolly, his ice-water eyes passing over her injury. 'He was trespassing. Why, he might have been sent to steal my more...precious...possessions.'
He bent and pried her hands from the cut.
'No!' she squeaked, afraid to let go in case it was even worse than she imagined.
'Let me see, Miss Granger!' he insisted.
He tutted at the sight of it, then tugged off his cloak. Hermione thought he was going to wrap it wound her but he didn't.
'Keep still,' he emphasised, tying it around her thigh so tightly hat she groaned as the flesh shifted about. The ground undulated. She thought she might be sick as he closed his cool fingers around her wrist.
'N-!' she didn't get to finish before side-along apparition snatched her into a swirl of sickening colour.
They landed on the study floor, her forehead against his chest. Hermione snatched the waste paper bin and threw up.
'Easy, Miss Granger,' Lucius held her hair back. 'Easy,' he said gently.
'Sorry,' she murmured.
'I'm glad it was only in the bin,' he arched a brow.
Hermione wanted to scrub her teeth until she felt clean again.
'I'm freezing,' Hermione whispered.
'I'm hardly surprise considering your attire,' he arched a brow as he transfigured a throw into a duvet.
'I was out with friends!' she trembled uncontrollably. 'I didn't expect to go crawling around the garden tonight!'
Hermione clutched the bin.
'I thought the Ministry stopped you using magic-' she whispered.
'Only outside my own wards,' he wrapped the blanket hastily around her.
Hermione closed her eyes and tried to stop herself from shaking.
'Miss Granger!' he shook her, hard. 'Don't go to sleep. Look at me.'
'I'm not...I'm just...resting my eyes.'
He snatched up his wand and brandished it threateningly.
'You have my word I'll douse you in freezing water! If you die on my floor I will lose what little liberty I have left!'
'Trust you to worry about your own skin,' she murmured. She didn't mean it. She was so, so cold. He gave her a shake when she closed her eyes again.
'Stop it!' she pleaded.
'Look at me!' he demanded. His eyebrow arched and he went on more gently. 'You're going into shock. Look at me,' he commanded, in such a tone she felt compelled to obey. 'Don't close your eyes,' he smiled encouragingly. 'Please. Stay with me.'
The floo flared green and admitted two St Mungo's emergency response medics and two Aurors. One woman was tall, with cropped, auburn hair and the other was short and slim with almost no bust at all. Her hair was dyed bright red.
'Emergency means, come with haste,' Lucius snapped at them. As the medics swooped in to take control of Hermione, the taller Auror approached Lucius.
'Mr Malfoy. Your elf brought a splinched man to our custody. Do you know him?'
'As a matter of fact, I do,' Lucius smiled coolly. 'He was one of the Dark Lord's more...avid...followers. John Carrigan. He attacked Miss Granger.'
'Any particular reason he has a broken jaw?'
'I'm afraid he fell,' Lucius arched a brow. 'Naturally, finding him on my property at this time of night was...distressing...to say the least. I assumed, judging by the state of Miss Granger at the time, that I should subdue him.'
Hermione groaned. Lucius tutted sympathetically. 'Poor girl.'
'Any witnesses to this event, Mr Malfoy?'
'My elf,' Lucius said mildly. 'And my gatekeeper, no doubt.'
'You got that, Hex?' she asked the shorter, red-haired witch, who had been scribbling away in a notebook in silence.
'Mmm-hmm,' Hex agreed.
'Good. Potter will be wanting statements from all of you, Mr Malfoy.'

oOo
It took a few layers of wand-stitching and a couple of potions applied directly to close the wound. In Hermione's leg. The trainee fired a neat line of gritty, wiry external stitches from his wand.
'All done,' he smiled at her. 'Keep your weight off it. Should close in two or three days. It wasn't too deep. We'll leave you with some Deep Healing Draught anyway. Should do the trick. The stitches will pop out when their work is done, OK?'
'Blood Regeneration Potion,' he uncorked a phial and handed it to her. Hermione drank it down despite its foul, metallic taste.
He levitated her onto the sofa and passed her the quilt to cover herself, then took down the forcefield shield and shrank the gurney. They disappeared into the Floo.
The tallest Auror transfigured a folding chair from a cup coaster and sat down close to Hermione. Her eyes were an unusual shade of green. She erected a privacy shield with a swish of her wand.
'Miss Granger. I'm Madeleine. This is Hex. I'm working for Potter on your case. Can you tell us what happened tonight? In your own words,' Madeleine added pointedly.

oOo
By the time Madeleine and Hex were gone, Hermione felt completely exhausted. Misty came to see her, anxious to be of help.
'Can Misty fetch another blanket, or a pillow? Something to eat? Or drink? Will Miss be staying tonight? Misty can make up the guest room-'
Hermione smiled reflexively. Even though she felt the house elves were kind because it was trained in, it was difficult to dislike anyone who cared so much for others.
'Could I have a cup of tea, please?' she asked.
'Right away, Miss!' Misty squeaked happily.
Lucius poured himself a large glass of whisky and enquired sarcastically, when Misty returned with tea and biscuits;
'Are you quite sure you're comfortable enough, Miss Granger?'
Hermione hid a smile. 'I'm fine now, Misty. Thank you.'
Misty looked at her feet, a little smile on her lips. Nobody ever thanked her. She was coming to like Hermione more and more.
Lucius gestured to the quilt.
'You have a way of getting yourself into the most unladylike situations.'
Misty had already taken her clothes to be mended, despite Hermione's insistence that they might as well be burned.
'I have spare clothes in my bag,' she informed him. 'It's a habit I got into when I was moving from place to place a lot.'
She glanced around and realised her enchanted beaded bag was missing.
'I've lost my bag!' she said.
'Oh! Misty find it!' the elf piped up, delighted to perform even the smallest service for her new favourite human. She disapparated.
Lucius tutted mildly.
'What would people think if they knew you're in and out of this house more often than my son?'
'They'd probably think I'm the cleaner,' she quipped drily.
'The cleaner takes the mess out, Miss Granger.'
Hermione folded her arms.
'I'm sorry,' she said honestly. 'I didn't mean to come here. It was an accident.'
'How considerate of you,' Lucius said testily. 'First, you bring a convicted Deatheater to my door and then, when there's little I can do to minimise the damage done to my already...precarious...social position, you apologise! If only apologies were currency, Miss Granger-'
'If they were currency,' she glared at him, 'You could make a few yourself and make yourself even richer!'
'Touche,' he smirked coldly. He turned his piercing gaze to the fire moodily.
Silence reigned for a few minutes. It wasn't exactly companionable but there was a surprising ease to it. Misty returned with a pop and handed Hermione her soaking bag with a grimace of apology.
'It's OK, Misty,' Hermione said, before the elf could self-mutilate for her failure. Hermione cast the strongest drying charm she knew. The bag stopped dripping. 'Thank Merlin I applied a waterproofing charm to the interior.'
'How industrious you are,' Lucius observed, without looking at her.
'I just like to stay prepared,' she said, as she tugged a pink sweater, Muggle jeans and a faded T-shirt out of the depths.
'Folded too,' his eyebrow arched. 'Miss Granger. It isn't recommended for the recently injured to apparate far, or to Floo. Imagine the trouble I'd be in with Mr Potter if I let you go home in this state.'
'Yes, yes!' Misty piped up suddenly. 'Miss cannot possibly apparate in her condition!'
'We do have a guest room,' he suggested mildly. 'If you'd like to make use of it.'
Her eyebrows went up. He gazed back with heavy lidded eyes and pointed out;
'You'll find a lock on the door,' his implication hung thick in the air. She wasn't sure if he prodding at her, or himself.
'That's nice of you but I have to feed my cat.'
'Oh, Misty will gladly feed Miss' pussycat, if she wishes it! Miss should not be alone after losing so much blood.'
Misty wrung her little hands in genuine concern and finally, Hermione relented.
'OK.'
Misty smiled triumphantly and disapparated with a crack. Hermione sighed, fishing about in her bag to see if she'd remembered to pack a toothbrush.
Lucius stood. 'Shall we?'
She swallowed nervously. She eased herself off the sofa, clutching the duvet. They'd stripped everything but her panties off her and those were soaked in blood and rainwater. She winced as she tried to stand up and took his offered arm. She closed her eyes tightly.
'Please don't apparate.'
'Whyever not?'
'I don't want to be sick again.'
His lips thinned. 'Fine,' he said snappishly.
'No!' she squeaked, when he reached for his wand. 'Absolutely not. I hate being levitated!'
'Miss Granger,' he said tightly, 'Is it really so hard to trust me with such a simple task?'
'I hate flying. I'll walk.'
He scooped her up. She managed not to hiss in pain and wound her arms around his neck for fear he'd drop her.
'Do try to relax,' he suggested, a tinge of humour at the edge of his tone. 'I think I can make it up the stairs, despite your not inconsiderable weight. Perhaps a few less Butterbeers in future?'
She flushed. 'It's muscle, actually.'
'Of course it is.'
He was warm. He smelled amazing, like fresh laundry, skin and aftershave. He didn't seem to struggle with her but then again, she knew he would probably pretend just to save face. Arriving at her room puffing and panting wouldn't become him. Though it'd give her a laugh. He'd probably already cast a surreptitious Weightlessness charm over her.
Enough of that, she thought, when she realised what was going through her head. Tall, blond and handsome does not equal a wise choice despite the fact he did actually save my life tonight.
Lucius toed the door of the guest suite open and deposited her on the bed, flushed a bit pink in the cheeks.
'I trust you can manage your own clothes,' he said drily.
'Absolutely,' she said quickly. She'd wand-cut her panties off if she had to.
'Good. If you'll excuse me I need to go and apply a painkiller to my back.'
Hermione gaped. Then her face darkened.
'Wow, you're just so charming. Are you seriously trying to tell me you don't have an extra inch. Or three.'
He arched a brow. 'It's muscle.'
'Of course it is,' she agreed, falsely.
He shut the door behind him, leaving Hermione to stick out her tongue childishly and flop, defeated, onto the pillows.

oOo
Hermione woke up in a king-sized four poster. Her leg ached dully. She was laying on Egyptian cotton so fine that it warranted a caress, in an opulent room befitting royalty. Desperate for the loo, she managed to limp to the en-suite which lent new meaning to decadence. Every step hurt like her thigh muscle was tearing in two. She gave up trying to dress herself and resorted to magic. She transfigured her jeans into loose fitting jogging bottoms and wriggled into them with the aid of magic. She made it downstairs by holding onto every surface she could.
Lucius was in his office, his platinum head just visible behind a stack of papers. He heard her coming, either by her laboured breaths or her shuffling steps.
'Miss Granger,' he said cordially, 'I wonder if you understand the meaning of the term bedrest.'
'I'm not staying in bed all day. Besides, I really need some breakfast.'
He finally looked up. 'That's what House Elves are for.'
She arched an eyebrow in a passable impression of Severus Snape. Lucius sighed.
'Go back to bed,' he said. 'I'll send Misty up.'
'I'm OK,' She assured him. 'I just can't move very fast.'
'As you wish. Just don't come crying when you rip your stitches. Mr Potter has been in touch,' he rifled through some papers and handed her a folded report. 'You'll find his results quite interesting, I think.'
'Oh my God! I knew it!' she quoted; '"Traces of potion-form Mactoduplex in blood post mortem. Suspect, Carrigan, John, died at 8:37 am from suspected drug withdrawal, having escaped a full body bind no less than...five times."'
She stopped. Lucius lay his quill down and regarded her.
'Mactoduplex,' she repeated softly. 'Oh my God...that's actually quite clever. That's why Carrigan was so powerful! In just the right doses it doubles the caster's magic but causes extreme addiction... take too much and-'
'You become a Squib, Miss Granger.'
'Yes,' she nodded. 'But to brew it you need the blood of a living unicorn! That's not exactly easy. Only a virgin can do it, and only at a certain time! And then you need to keep it fresh long enough to use it. Unicorn blood spoils fast. There are only a few herds left in the whole country and most of them are tracked magically.'
'Gold, I imagine. It opens many doors.'
'If someone is brewing Mactoduplex...I'd say it's pretty obvious that they'd have a good reason to want me dead. I was on the verge of discovering how to undo their curse. I've got to go and tell Harry,'

oOo
Hermione had trouble getting down low enough to use the Floo but with a bit of creative wriggling, a chair and Misty's help, she got close enough to stick her head in the flames and speak to Harry, who neatly confirmed her suspicions.
'They almost killed me, Harry. If Malfoy hadn't stepped in I don't know what would have happened.'
'I know,' Harry nodded. 'How's your leg?'
'Just awkward, really. Thank Merlin for pain potions, Harry. What are we going to do?'
'Just lay low for now,' he said after a moment. 'We'll set a watch on your flat, just in case. I've got three Aurors on the case. We're trying to turn up some likely identities. It'd be easier if Carrigan was still alive.'
Hermione nodded. 'I know.' Her leg gave a warning spasm. She didn't want to rip her stitches. 'I've got to go, Harry.'

oOo
Hermione apparated with Lucius to the third floor Morning Room, which faced the risen sun. Light wallpaper in a shade of pastel blue and a plain, though expensive carpet added to its appeal. It wasn't dingy like the ballroom or the study. It was long enough to seat ten people and a chaise and footstool faced out over the frozen pond. A clear, high window afforded an excellent view of the rolling fields. Hermione liked it instantly. It was small enough to be cosy.
A painting hung on the wall above the fireplace. He was obviously charmed into silence because when he opened his mouth, no sound happened. A nagging feeling suggested he was a recent ancestor. His platinum hair was even longer than Lucius' but his eyes were far, far colder.
Lucius folded his copy of the Daily Prophet away when Misty delivered his boiled egg. He buttered a piece of toast in silence. Misty provided Hermione with scrambled egg, freshly squeezed orange juice and a huge pot of expensive coffee that she'd never, ever buy at home. It soon became apparent that Lucius enjoyed his coffee. He finished off two cups before she broke the silence.
'Who is that?' Hermione gestured to the painting.
'That,' Lucius arched a brow, 'Is my Father. Abraxas.'
'I thought so,' she nodded. 'You look alike.'
'Well, I sincerely hope that I only inherited his looks. His manner was less than charming, Miss Granger. He despised children and he was an avid supporter of the Dark Lord.'
She opened her mouth to ask him if that was why he became a Deatheater. She closed it again quickly without speaking.
'I can hear you thinking,' Lucius said. 'Are you afraid to ask, Miss Granger?'
'No,' she lied. She shrugged lightly. 'I'm just not going to pry.'
'You clearly want to.'
She sipped her coffee.
'Is he...the reason you became a Deatheater?'
'No,' Lucius' lips tilted up humourlessly. 'Draco is the reason I became a Deatheater. Can you imagine what the Dark Lord would have done to my family, had I refused to raise my wand for him? I was simply protecting my son. My Father saw to it that the Malfoy heir would be expected to serve,' he said bitterly. 'Which is why I keep him in here. This was Narcissa's reading room. They hated each other.'
'You can't expect me to believe that everything you did for...Voldemort...was to protect Draco.'
'I'm afraid the Dark Lord had a more...intimate hold...on this family than you think.'
'He threatened Draco.'
'He did more than threaten,' Lucius said coldly. 'You couldn't possibly understand.'
Hermione tugged her sleeve up and turned her arm over. The scar was still visible through the burns.
'You stood by while she did this.'
'A scar?' Lucius smiled coldly. 'Is that the worst of your injuries? How I pity you,' he spat. 'My deranged sister would have gladly skinned you shred by shred and left you to die. This-' he grabbed her arm. 'Is nothing. Be thankful it wasn't a whole sentence!'
'Nothing,' she breathed. 'She tortured me. Right under your nose!'
'You poor thing,' he tutted, sympathetically. It was fake. 'Twenty minutes under the Cruciatus? Do you know who took Draco's punishment when he failed to kill Dumbledore?'
'No-'
'I did!' he snapped. 'It was a good deal more than twenty minutes, I promise you. You know nothing of pain. Would you like me to educate you?'
'No,' she wrestled with the fear in her voice.
He tugged her closer. Her thigh burned with the effort of resisting him.
'No, indeed,' his frozen gaze passed over her burns. 'Pissing yourself and passing out on my floor does not entitle you to martyrdom.'
Hermione collapsed into the chair with a hiss of pain when he released her. She tugged her sleeve down, flushed. His eyes narrowed suddenly.
'Your scar is a dragon,' he said, more calmly.
She covered her cheek with her hand. Much later, at home, she took a closer look. At first she couldn't see it, then the coiled tail jumped out, over her jugular vein. Suddenly she saw it. A winding body with delicate legs, almost shimmery with the shininess of a healed burn, up to an open mouth. There was even the hint of an eye. She touched it lightly. It was actually, accidentally...quite pretty.

oOo
Hermione ran herself a hot bath and settled in, her leg sealed by an unbreakable bubble to keep her dressings dry. A few days had passed since her last, tense meeting with Malfoy. The potions had done their work. Her leg no longer itched like mad and she could walk a hundred yards without yelping.
She heard crookshanks use the catflap for his nightly mouse patrol. She'd washed her hair and charmed some conditioner into it when something tingled along her spine. She had the sudden, unpleasant feeling that something was wrong. The water sloshed gently as she reached for her wand and brought it into the tub with her. Then her wards gave a great shudder as someone apparated into the living room.
She held her breath, her heartbeat so loud she wondered if they'd hear it. The doorknob turned. The bathroom door swung open and a bespectacled man with short-cropped hair pointed his wand at her heart.
'Stupefy!' she yelled, reflexively.
She sloshed water everywhere as she clambered out of the tub and snatched her bath robe off the chair. A second invader stumbled over the first, who lay stiff as a log on the hall carpet. She hung in stalemate, her heart thundering, her wand and eyes locked with his. She could hear water dripping off her hair.
'Incen-' he began.
Her front door caved inwards. His wand flew out of his hand and rattled to a stop under the bath. Harry appeared, the tip of his wand pressed to the mans brain stem.
'Don't move anything,' he said.
'Harry!'
'Are you OK?' he asked quickly. Hermione nodded, flooded with relief and adrenaline.
Madeleine stepped over the fallen man as Hermione wrapped a towel around her shoulders. Hex was close behind.
'Come with us,' she gestured. Hermione grabbed her beaded bag and coat on her way to the Floo.
Madeleine showed her to a Ministry bathroom where she hastily wand-dried her clothes, then they took her to a little room where a Quick Quotes Quill took down everything they said.
'Did you recognise either of them?' Madeleine asked.
'No.'
'I'd bet money this is connected to a certain Mr Carrigan. They seem to have a propensity for fire, this group.'
Hermione pushed back her tears to the back of her mind and nodded.
'Your house isn't safe any longer. We'll get you moved tonight. Do you have any enemies, Miss Granger?'
'Only every Deatheater still standing,' Hermione arched an eyebrow in an expression Lucius Malfoy would have laughed to see. 'And anyone connected to the War or Voldemort. Or Harry.'
Madeleine nodded.
'Don't tell anyone where you're staying. If you remember anything pertinent that might prove useful, I want to hear it.'
Hermione nodded.

oOo
Grimmauld Place was just as foul, dark and spooky as she remembered. Hermione stood alone in the dusty hallway where they'd seen the shade of Dumbledore that had shaken them all so badly, they'd slept together in one room. The house was silent now but for a single, distant bump that reminded her this was Kreacher's domain.
She took a few brave steps inside.
Not only do I have no lab and no home to call my own, I have to put up with that foul, Muggle hating House Elf. Wonderful.
Hermione built a fire with her wand. Kreacher wandered in some time later, carrying her dinner. He didn't look particularly impressed - or surprised - to see her.
'Kreacher,' she acknowledged him.
'Miss,' he bowed. It was anything but welcoming. 'Kreacher has received his instructions from Master Potter. Kreacher will...obey,' he looked like he might choke on the word. He bowed, his face sour. 'If there's nothing else, Miss?'
At her shake, he dispparated with an angry crack.

oOo
The book sat on the library desk, waiting for her. For once, Lucius wasn't aggravated by the untidiness of an item left out. When she came back, she wasn't limping so heavily and her burns had either faded with further treatment, or she was wearing a glamour.
'Miss Granger,' Lucius nodded.
'Mr Malfoy,' she said tightly. She hadn't forgotten their last altercation. 'I hope you don't mind.'
'Mind?' he queried. 'The Manor is big enough that I don't need to mind.'
'It's Saturday.'
'I don't exactly have a busy social calendar.'
'Aren't you allowed to go out?'
'Not without a chaperone,' he sneered at the idea; 'Which is why I don't.'
She retreated to her table where she spent most of the morning trying to piece together what she could recall of her research. The Xeoforce equation was still missing from her mind but she'd found a useful arithmancy text in the Malfoy library. She pored over it whenever she needed to take a break from translating the ancient runes that would hopefully, yield some answers. If she could just remember her own hypothesis, it woul be a start.

oOo
'Miss Granger,' Lucius said, from a nearby shelf when he heard Hermione sniffling. Hermione jumped in shock and swiped at her eyes.
'I didn't know you were there!'
'Clearly. Do try not to drip all over that book.'
She sighed. 'Is that all you care about, your bloody book? The normal reaction when someone is crying is to offer them a cup of tea! Or at least leave them alone to get on with it!'
He arched a brow.
'Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Granger?'
'No,' she said despairingly. 'Thank you.'
'I had no idea ancient runes upset you so.'
'It's not the runes,' she said snappishly. 'God. Are you always so austere? I've worked for months for this and...one bang to the head and it's all gone!'
'Gone?'
'Yes!' she closed her eyes. 'Gone! My equation. I can't remember it. How am I supposed to find a cure if I can't remember my own work?'
'I assume you've tried retracing your steps?' he descended the spiral staircase with the soft click of heeled boots and cane.
'Yes,' she nodded. 'I just come against a blank.'
'Well. Perhaps you haven't retraced them correctly.'

oOo
Hermione sat on a conjured chair in the storage locker where she kept her receipts and tax returns. She was rifling through the records of every book she'd bought recently and making wand-copies of any she thought might be relevant. Whatever was missing from her mind, she was willing to bet it wasn't missing from her paper trail. She replaced them all meticulously in the right folders and handed the key in at the desk. She apparated to Grimmauld Place to put them together. It wasn't until much later that she realised the key might be easier and cheaper to acquire than she'd imagined.
Sunday afternoon saw her back at the Manor, though this time she knocked on the front door for fear of intruding. Misty answered it.
'Is he home?' Hermione asked anxiously.
'Yes, Miss. But Master is-' she swallowed nervously. 'Not feeling well.'
'Can I sneak into the library? I'll be really quiet, I promise.'
'Master Lucius will sleep soon,' Misty nodded sagely. 'Please come in, Miss.'
Hermione crept into the library and buried herself in the Arithmancy section, balanced high on a wooden ladder. She fished out the book she wanted and set to work.
'Misty...can you find me all references to ragwort? I think it's what I've forgotten...a stabiliser-'
'Of course, Miss!'
Hermione nearly squealed as she ran the equation again. This time, the block dissipated to reveal the high probability that the potion would not only remain stable but could potentially reveal the presence of the recessive gene. She needed to test it. If it worked, gone were the days of Nightshade and unlucky rats.
She put everything back as the sun went down and crept toward the stairs. She heard the clink of a glass.
'Master should lie down,' Misty cajoled patiently. 'Let Misty do that, Master, please-'
'I'm fine, you irritating little-' he stopped when Hermione tiptoed past the door. 'Miss Granger,' he nodded coolly. 'I thought I heard a mouse in the library.'
She peered inside. Two empty wine bottles sat side by side on the desk. The third was half full. He was holding a glass. The evidence of yet another of the Ministers investigations was spread around the stepped inside resignedly.
'Please, tell me you haven't drunk all that today.'
'Are you worried for me, Miss Granger? How touching.'
'It's not very healthy, is it-?' she stopped dead when she saw the photo pinned on the window with a magical tack. She strode over to it and snatched it down then biting her lip, she turned it over swiftly and tried to steady her breath.
'You've got to put a stop to this. This isn't fair!'
'Life became fair?' he laughed mockingly. 'Call the daily Daily Prophet immediately!'
Hermione shook her head.
'You need help. If not with the fact you're pickling yourself, then with all this work! Can't you get an assistant or something?'
She bit her lip. 'I know why it upsets you so much,' she ploughed on. 'He looks like Draco. It isn't.'
'It could have been!' he hissed, suddenly standing a bit too close for comfort. She could smell the wine on his breath. 'It could be. He barely speaks to me. How am I supposed to know if he's safe?'
Real fear crossed his face. It shook Hermione to see him so afraid. She'd always thought of him as strong, if not completely immune to fear.
'Well, there's got to be ways to find out that don't involve pickling yourself with guilt or...pain...or whatever it is you're feeling! Can't you hire a private investigator or something?'
Realisation crossed his eyes. His lips turned upwards.
'Why Miss Granger. You do have a touch of the Slytherin in you!'
She shrugged.
'It's not hard, I just imagine I'm you.'
He snorted ungracefully. She reached into her beaded bag and drew out a clear baggie of chocolate brownies.
'I thought...you might like chocolate. I bake them every year. A kind of...pre-Christmas pressie for anyone brave enough to try my cooking. To say thanks for indulging me, even at the weekend.'
He picked up the bag, his eyes full of surprise and suddenly, a flicker of hope. He set his glass down.
'Just...don't drink yourself to death,' she added, feeling a bit uncomfortable over her gift. Lucius arched a brow.
'Perhaps I can manage that if you'll enlighten me as to how I get into this contraption,' he said, fiddling with the tie. Hermione pulled it for him. The bag rustled as he fished for a cake.
With a raised eyebrow he bit it. Something in his face changed. He licked his lips and suddenly she realised that not only was he flesh and blood, he had vices and favourites. He was actually quite handsome, in his way.
'I take it you do like chocolate,' she smirked.
He was far too polite to talk until he'd swallowed it, but the fact he did Hermione found very encouraging.
'You baked these?' he looked down a bit doubtfully. 'I was under the impression you were no fan of cooking.'
Hermione folded her arms.
'Are you?' she said doubtfully. Her gaze flicked from his dragonhide boots to his perfect hair. She couldn't imagine him in a kitchen, let alone slaving over a hot stove. The mental image she conjured up – apron and steam frazzled hair – was almost enough to make her laugh aloud.
'I could if I wanted to,' he said a bit defensively. 'But no. I'm not particularly fond of cooking.'
'Well. I learned,' she shrugged. 'And anyway, how the bloody hell do you know what I'm good at? Did Draco tell you?'
He cringed.
'Firstly,' he held up a finger, 'your language is...quite disgusting. I'm not going to ask if you were raised in a barn, Miss Granger, because then I'd be accused of being a supremacist. Again. But I reserve the right to think it loudly. Secondly, I make it a point to know as much possible about the...opposition. Know thine enemy.'
She laughed.
'Then again,' he conceded softly. 'These are different times.'
'People don't usually change much, in my opinion,' she said. 'Ron is proof of that.'
'Are you...comparing me...to Mr Weasley?' Lucius arched an eyebrow. 'I'm not sure whether to be insulted...or sick.'
'The world might stop turning if that was a joke.'
'Would you like me to stop before you get a migraine?'
'Yes, please,' she returned his smirk.

oOo
Hermione trod the soft grass, past the twin stone lions to where he was standing, partially obscured by leafless, tangled rose bushes. His familiar cloak touched his ankles, but it was his hair she'd recognise a mile away. It fell loose, fine strands stirring in the Winter breezes that whipped through the estate.
'Mr Malfoy?'
He startled. There was a telling redness about his eyes.
'I'm finished for today,' she said.
'It's a shame you weren't here this Summer gone,' he said, gesturing to his roses as though he hadn't heard her. 'These were beautiful. Yellow and white. I've collected them since I was young.'
'Actually, roses are my favourite,' she admitted. 'White ones really.'
'Roses have been used for thousands of years or convey messages,' he said. 'Mostly sentiments of love, but some have other meanings. White, for example, signifies innocence. I have a particular breed down near the pond, Scarlet Carson, they're called. Perfect crimson,' he gestured with his hands as though he was holding one.
A lance of unexpected pity shot through her for the Deatheater who grew flowers.
'I never imagined you'd know so much about...flowers.'
'Because of my affiliation with the Dark Lord?' he said softly. 'Really, Miss Granger. I'm surprised that you, of all people, can't see the woods for the trees! I was a captive in my own house! An interest in horticulture is incompatible, in your mind, with the protection of one's name? One's...family?'
'I suppose not,' she conceded gently.
Her eyes caught a glistening expanse of partly frozen water. He followed her gaze.
It was the lake she'd seen from the Morning Room. She could see evidence of water lilies and far below, the slumbering shapes of huge Koi Carp.
'I call it the Malfoy Private Lake,' he said softly, humour evident in his voice. 'A jibe, at my late Father, who was obsessed with the biggest and the best. He had excellent taste in fashion, furniture and drink and a heart like a rock.'
The venom with which he spat the last made it abundantly clear that Lucius Malfoy had not had a pleasant upbringing.
'How wonderful it must have been to return home each year to welcoming arms,' he said softly.
He turned his frozen eyes to the lake. He looked like a sad statue on the edge of grief. She sensed he was breaking inside the cocoon of black. Six months before she wouldn't have given half a damn is Lucius Malfoy drowned himself in his own lake, but it was different now. Now that she knew he liked chocolate brownies, and coveted red roses. She couldn't care for refined tastes for the sake of refinement but his favourites were hers too and she could acknowledge that he was actually quite funny in a dry, sarcastic way. Not dissimilar actually, to Snape. She could see what the two men had in common, and imagined that Lucius, of all people, might have been able to give the clever professor a run for his money.
Odd that the once-Deatheater was so deep. On the other hand, she supposed, her opinion as a teenager might have been a little biased, especially since Malfoy had spent so much time trying to kill Harry. She came up short. He must have caught the honest moment of realisation flitter across her face, or betray her through her eyes because he asked;
'I can hear the cogs turning,' he said. 'What is it?'
'Nothing,' she lied, ashamed to have been so stupid.
He let out a foggy breath.
'Fine,' she shrugged. 'You asked, Mr Malfoy. I was just thinking that you never actually tried to kill Harry.'
'Actually I did. Just once, mind you. Though I would have lived to regret it. For that, at least, I have that wretched little creature Dobby to thank.'
Hermione folded her arms.
'He wasn't wretched,' she whispered. 'And he was less of a creature than some wizards I've met!'
Lucius' eyebrows went up. 'I see you had an acquaintanceship with him. He was a wilful, obsequious little thing. Do you think I don't know what he did? Little rat. I hardly think I should pity him now.'
Hermione's eyes filled with tears.
'He was my friend,' she said softly. 'Do you even know what it means to have a friend?'
'How dare you-' he snapped.
'Do you?' she demanded. 'Someone who cares just because they want to! Someone you haven't paid!'
'Do you think Potter and Weasley love you, for you? Or for what you can do for them!?' he sneered. 'We both know that without your help those buffoons would be long dead.'
She folded her arms. She didn't want to entertain those thoughts. He sniffed, haughtily.
'I see the light of understanding dawns,' he met her eyes. 'Inspiring. Perhaps we should install lampshades, before we both go blind.'
'I think you should get laid,' she breathed.
He frowned, for the first time apparently flummoxed.
'Excuse me?'
She turned back to him.
'You heard me.'
'Is that your answer?' he approached her steadily, 'My, my, the little bookworm is just full of surprises. That does neatly explain your attire the other night.'
'That's not what I was doing that night!' she protested, suddenly flustered.
'No?' he came within range. 'Why, is that a blush? Have I touched a nerve? Dear me, girl. Is it guilt that's made you flush so prettily?'
'No!' she hissed.
'I imagine Mr Weasley has more skill on a broom than he does in the bedroom.'
Hermione opened her mouth to speak. She'd gone so red she was angry with her own reactions.
'And naturally, you'd be an expert there,' she prodded angrily.
Suddenly he stilled.
'Oh my,' his eyes flicked down to her legs and back up. 'Is it...innocence?'
She turned her back and walked away. He laughed. Hermione fled, feeling his attention on her back. It made her spine tingle pleasantly in a very unexpected way. Could she actually be attracted to him? Hermione didn't really want to think about it.

oOo
Dr Grey was dressed in black except for an eccentric red Muggle scarf draped around his neck. One of the fringed ends had come loose from where he usually tucked it into his duffel coat. He always found the Manor too dark and a little overwhelming. A well-dressed shadow appeared on the first landing.
'Doctor,' Lucius nodded to him politely. 'I didn't know you were coming.'
'I'm sorry for the short notice, Lucius. The Ministry insisted.'
'Naturally,' Lucius said, his tone thick with implication. 'Would you like a drink?' he enquired more politely.
The study was warmer than the rest of the house. A blaze burned in the grate and the Daily Prophet lay open on the tea-table. Misty bowed to both men.
'Just tea, please,' Dr Grey said kindly.
'What can I do for you?' Lucius enquired, politely, when Misty had disapparated.
'How are you feeling?'
Dr Grey was only thirty-two. A mere boy and Lucius regularly spared no effort to remind him of that, despite the grudging respect he'd slowly acquired for the intuitive man during his house arrest. Grey had a skill for sorting his head even when Lucius couldn't name the problem. He also had the discretion not to boast of his achievements. He was probably the only reason that St Mungo's wasn't full of well-meaning Ministry physicians. Lucius was known to hex anyone who came within six feet of him holding a needle.
'My dreams are troublesome,' Lucius admitted.
He was more candid with Grey than anyone else.
'I think that's to be expected. Dreams are a safe way to catalogue memories and feelings. Are they frightening?'
'That depends on how easily frightened you are.'
Grey gave a gentle, endearing little laugh. Dr Grey added a lump of sugar to his tea and stirred it. The clanking of the spoon irritated Lucius, who resisted the urge to charm the spoon to stir without a sound.
'Not that easy, I promise you,' Grey said.
'Neither am I. But they frighten me.'
'Is your sleep otherwise regular?' Grey sipped his tea.
'Hardly,' Lucius' brow arched.
'You're still struggling, then.'
'Three or four hours a night.'
'Are you depressed, Lucius?'
'Hardly,' Lucius sneered at the very idea. Grey nodded.
'I could provide some Sleeping Draught but I'm inclined to think this is a natural response to trauma. I'd like to let it run its course naturally.'
Grey brought out a shrunken file and enlarged it with a flick of his wand.
'The Minister insisted I bring you this. Your evaluation. You can read it if you like.'
Lucius grimaced. 'I believe I can survive without that particular...pleasure. Thank you.'
'Actually it pronounces you fit for rehabilitation. If you'd be willing to reconsider an impartial escort, the Minister is willing to allow you more freedom. More freedom. You'd have to be accompanied everywhere except the Manor, naturally. A small price to pay.'
'You expect me to consent to a babysitter?' Lucius hissed.
Grey wasn't intimidated. His serene temperament would bear all but the most grievous temper tantrum. Lucius was almost, perversely grateful for this because secretly, he quite liked to rage.
'It's for your own safety, Lucius, as much as it's for Ministry surveillance,' Grey suggested. 'The public are afraid. Of people like you.'
'Ridiculous,' Lucius' eyebrows ached. 'What on Earth could I possibly do with Aurors breathing down my neck day and night? Do you think I don't see them at the gate! No doubt they'd follow me anywhere I go. If, that is, I was allowed to leave!'
'Fear isn't logical. A little patience now will buy you a better future.'
Lucius reigned his tongue.
'Accompanied by whom?' asked coolly.
'I'm sure we could come up with a few choices.'
Choices. Though it pained Lucius to admit it, that sounded good. He had too much pride to be openly thankful though. He nodded once.
'Excellent,' Grey smiled gently. There was a pleased twinkle in his eye that thoroughly irritated Lucius.

oOo
'Miss Granger,' Minister Lackwit offered her a seat in the plush, red armchair that he kept for guests he actually liked. His office was decorated in rich, autumn shades. Hermione found it a bit dark.
'You wanted to see me, Minister?' she asked politely.
'Harry Potter has submitted reports of your recent dealings with what we can only describe as a rogue faction of the Deatheaters. I appreciate that this is a bitter pill to swallow but just...hear me out, OK? I'm going to do my best to see everyone benefits from this arrangement.'
Hermione nodded.
Lackwit leaned in. 'I understand you've spent some time recently with Lucius Malfoy?'
'Not with him, Minister. He's been kind enough to offer me access to a rare book. I've spent more time in his library than I have with him.'
'I understand you're unemployed. I confess I was very disappointed when you didn't apply to Auror training. We're always in need of witches of your calibre.'
'I don't want to fight,' Hermione said. 'I spent far too long watching my back. I want to do something to help the people who came off worst. If you'd reconsider my proposal about the Xeoforce cure-'
'I'm sorry,' he cut her off. 'It's just not viable. I'm sure you know that funding for experimental treatments is tight. Right now we have more to worry about with trials of surviving Deatheaters, as well as the trouble we're facing from those still undercover. The War may be over on paper, Miss Granger but I'm afraid the reality is quite different. We can't be seen to be throwing gold at a problem which can wait a generation or two.'
'What about the casualties in St Mungo's, hit by the Xeoforce curse?'
Lackwit's red silk tie glimmered in the dim lamplight.
'Casualties of war. At least for now. As it happens, A position just became available that might benefit us both. I have a proposal for Lucius Malfoy. I'm – understandably, I think – reluctant to involve him again in the world of Ministry control but I won't lie, his influence and his generous donations are very useful. I don't need to mince my words with you, do I, Miss Granger?'
She let out a slow breath.
'No.'
'I'd like him back where he belongs. If he could be rehabilitated successfully, it would send a powerful message to other Deatheaters, both those under house arrest and facing trial. Your job would be twofold. To watch him and to protect him. Who knows, perhaps in time we could find funding for your project, providing all goes well.'
'I'm not an Auror, Minister.'
'No, but you have direct experience with casting and resisting the Dark Arts. It was wartime, Miss Granger. We were all of us forced into difficult situations. It would send a powerful message to have you, specifically you, taking part in such a...charitable endeavour. Especially considering your history with the Malfoys.'
'Half the Wizarding world is screaming for his blood. It's frankly a miracle he's still alive, or not in Azkaban.'
Lackwit spread his hands eloquently.
'He was acquitted. It'd be insulting to lie to you, Miss Granger. I won't do that. Lucius Malfoy is a powerful wizard and a dangerous man. The Auror department is already overtaxed. You've shown an aptitude for deflecting his darker moods, evidenced by the fact he hasn't yet banned you from his house. We can provide suitable magical restraints to prevent any harm from coming to you. What we need is someone brave enough to stand up to him. Can you do that?'
'Yes,' she said softly. 'It's not hard when he behaves like such a bastard.'
Lackwit smirked. 'Before the Dark Lord's return, Malfoy was head of a vast business empire. I'm certain he still maintains those contacts. I doubt he'd overlook a chance to get the gold flowing again. He does have an eye for all that shimmers and shines and naturally, local business benefits from his enterprise.'
Hermione sighed. She had no funding, no lab, no home and the only job on the cards was one she really, really didn't want.
They want Lucius because he's rich, she thought. That and his flair for making gold grow on trees is probably why he's not in Azkaban right now. This is bloody corrupt!
'I'd like to give it some thought before I decide. '
'Of course. Just owl me with your answer, if you would.'

TBC
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The Xeoforce Equation