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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
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�� Not a
problem,� the graying man replied, jovial.�
�I came to see what people are buying and what they aren�t so that I
might get an idea what to review in the next issue.�

�� Lucius contemplated him.�
He�d met the man in person once, at a mutual gathering with Dawlish to plan their strategy.� The Critiquill�s
creator and lead editor was a likeable man.�
Perhaps too likeable.

�� I�m sure
you�ll find something; there are dozens of new books out,� Lucius
said neutrally.� �I appreciate your
assistance just now.� If you�ll excuse
me, though, I must meet my son for lunch.�

�� Pound
nodded with a smile.� Then, he waved that
wand again to clean up the fallen books.�
Lucius walked the other way, mind racing.� He very nearly trod over a small child that
ran across his path.� Fortunately, he
managed to step aside in time and a second later a flustered young witch
appeared to reclaim her rambunctious toddler.

�� Then he was
out the door and on the street.� His
breath was coming quickly.� That
wand�that had been the one the killer held, he was sure of it.� It was imprinted into his memory.� Pound held it the same way, wrist up rather
than down.� The voice didn�t trigger
alarm bells in his head, but speaking to someone casually in a book shop did
not equate to threatening them.� He knew
from personal experience that the voice one used when trying to coerce or intimidate
was vastly different from one�s everyday tone.

�� The
information was conflicting.� They
already knew the man who had attacked him was Polyjuiced
as Pound.� Yet, would he have gone so far
as to have Pound�s wand?� It wasn�t a
generic, as the maple wood had been.� It
was a custom and probably one-of-a-kind wand, as Lucius�s
was prior to its destruction at the hands of the Dark Lord.

�� If only Severus was still alive.�
He would have known the answer to the question Lucius
had posed to Dawlish, about whether or not Polyjuice caused the user to take on all of the intended�s
characteristics.� Right now it was very
important.

�� But aside
from that, it was the wand that troubled him.�
The extra wand had seemed so obvious at the time.� Any criminal might use that caution.� Now it occurred to him that perhaps it was a
necessity, for if the attacker was Pound, his wand would be too easily
identified.

�� But how?� And why? �The evidence
didn�t stack up.� Lucius
sighed and stepped into the small bistro Draco had
chosen.� He was still fifteen minutes
early, but he had plenty to think about.

��

�� He was
distracted all through lunch and Draco definitely
noticed.� Lucius
explained it away by telling a partial truth: he was preoccupied by the Netherwood case and wondering why the killer had not been
caught.� Draco
accepted that and patiently led the discussion.

�� He learned
that Narcissa had at last explained to her son her
aversion to mind healers.� Then, last
weekend, she accompanied him to see Healer Newbery.� By Draco�s
accounts, Narcissa had found it to be challenging,
but undeniably beneficial.� She wanted to
go back and was, like Lucius, considering her own
mind healer.

�� Lucius asked how Draco was doing.� He couldn�t claim that he paid attention to
every word that came out of his son�s mouth after that, but he could tell by
the way he rambled on, his face alight, that he was happy.� What a difference a few months made.

�� Father?�

�� Hm?�

�� Did you
hear what I just said?�

�� Er��

�� A flash of
annoyance crossed his son�s face.� �I said that I think something might be
going on between Mum and that Auror, the one who�s on
the case.�

�� Dawlish?�

�� Yes.�

�� Lucius frowned.� �Why
do you say that?�

�� He�s
always at the house.� And considering
what little progress has been made on the case, I�m sure they�re not discussing
it.�

�� Have you
seen anything?�

�� It was Draco�s turn to frown.�
�Well, no, but I just get the feeling��

�� I don�t
doubt you.�� Lucius
drummed his fingers on the tabletop.� �Interesting.�

�� Interesting?�
Draco repeated.�
He looked confused.� �You aren�t
mad?�

�� Why would
I be?�

�� Draco opened his mouth, but quickly shut it again.� He looked down at his plate.� Ah.� Lucius understood in that moment.� Draco had still
been holding out some small hope that his parents would reconcile.� He didn�t realize that they already had.

�� Draco,� he said, �your mother and I are finally where we
were meant to be.� We function best as
your parents and as friends.� We tried
for almost twenty-five years to be something else.� It isn�t meant to be.�

�� His son
sighed.� �I just want the both of you to
be happy.�

�� I am very
happy, Draco.�
Once your mother finds someone, I�m sure she will be, too.�

�� Draco wrinkled his nose.�
�But an Auror?�

�� Well,
there�s no accounting for taste, I suppose�after all, your mother married me,� Lucius
pointed out with a smirk.

�� Draco laughed, and with a shake of his head, he let the
subject drop.

�� He had too
many things to think about.� The
encounter with Pound had filled his head near to bursting.� Now, the tidbit about Narcissa
and Dawlish had given him a headache.� Lucius rubbed his
temples and sighed.� He had to make sense
of it all.

�� His first
trip would be to the Apothecary.� He
would talk to the Potions Master or Mistress there and get a straight answer
about Polyjuice.�
Then he would know if he really had to be suspicious of Pound or
not.� If the answer was yes, then he
would be going to see Dawlish anyway.�

He didn�t know what he would say to
the man, but it was safe to admit that he felt some degree of protectiveness
toward Narcissa.�
He wasn�t so na�ve as to think that she had never been with any man
before him, but he was almost certain that she had never been in love.� The potential for a man to toy with her heart
now was very high.� If Dawlish wasn�t serious about her, it could end in
heartbreak.� Narcissa
didn�t need any more of that.

Of course, Draco�s
suspicion could be just that � a suspicion.�
He was protective of his mother since the war and bore his father�s
ingrained mistrust of law enforcement, for he knew how easily it could be
corrupted.� He had seen countless Death
Eaters infiltrate the Auror ranks.� Dawlish�s attention
to his mother would be very unwelcome.

Though, most men could hardly be
blamed for paying attention to Narcissa.� She was beautiful.� No one had ever dared to hit on her when she
was with Lucius, but now that she wasn�t, he would be
surprised if she could walk ten feet in public without eyes following her.� A few bold men might even approach her.� Lucius tried not to
smile at the thought of how she would react.�
Narcissa was very much about the more staid
and traditional methods of romance.� Then
again, if the right man came along, he knew there was enough fire in her to
throw all that out the window.

The more he thought about it, the
more he hoped that she could find someone who lit that fire.� Hermione had certainly lit his.� Romance was wonderful, but passion trumped
it.

Marietta sat at an outdoor caf� beneath a
heat lamp watching the world go by.� They
had given her the day off today since she had essentially worked non-stop on
that double homicide for almost a week.�
It had been a messy crime scene and there was a lot of evidence to
process.� The Minister had praised her
for a job well done and she accepted the day off without struggle.

She was smiling today.� Ever since her late night conversation with Draco Malfoy, she had felt all
right.� Some residual guilt had always
lived in her when it came to the events of Hogwarts; however, it had been
resolutely buried beneath her rage about what Granger had done to her.� After Granger�s explanation of the countercurse, that guilt had welled up in force, not to
mention a fair share of anger and self-loathing.� In the end, she had done it to herself.� ��

�� Cho had said it best after the altercation that had ended
her fledgling relationship with Harry Potter.�
The Asian girl accompanied her back to the dormitory, where she picked
up her hairbrush and stroked it through her hair in silence until she gathered
her thoughts.

��

�You
know, Marietta,�
she said, �my family was under pressure, too.�

�Cho��

�Do
you think the Ministry is right after all of this?� You�ve met Harry.� He isn�t a liar.� What�s going on here has nothing to do with
improving Hogwarts.� They want to shut
him up, and all of his supporters, because they�re afraid of the truth.� Surely you can see that!�

�That
isn�t the point!�

�It�s
exactly the point!� If war comes, do you
think your parents would want you to just give in to the enemy the second they
made a threat?�

�There
isn�t going to be any war, Cho,� she responded
coldly.

She
knew her mistake the moment it came out of her mouth.� Cho�s face
wobbled.� �Oh,� she said softly.� �So Cedric died accidentally, did he?� And the whole setup -� Harry�s name was smuggled into the
Goblet of Fire for nothing?� And how about the attacks at the World Cup?� The Death Eaters are just kicking up now for
nostalgia�s sake?� There�s going to be a
war, Marietta.�� She slammed her hairbrush down on her bedside
table.� �And when it comes, I�ll know
where to find you � cowering in some dark hole!�

�� That had
been the end of her friendship with Cho.� She�d requested a transfer to a different
room and it had been granted within a few days.�
The other girls in the dormitory hadn�t a clue what had gone on between
them and didn�t pry.� Unfortunately, none
of them were as friendly with her as Cho, and she�d
spent the rest of the year � indeed, the rest of her Hogwarts career �
relatively friendless.� When even Luna Lovegood wouldn�t talk to you, you knew you were at the
bottom of the Ravenclaw food chain.

�� The worst
part was that Cho was right.� She hadn�t returned to Hogwarts for seventh
year.� When the war broke out, she had
gone to South Africa
with her parents.� All the battles, the
ups and downs, had been very distant, indeed.�
Cho hadn�t been so cowardly.� She had fought in the Battle at Hogwarts.� She had seen Voldemort,
the wizard who took her first love away from her, fall.

�� It made her
feel very small.� However, those thoughts
had also given her the first lead on what she could be sorry for.� Three nights ago, she had sat in the bathtub
and said to the humid air, �I�m sorry, Cho.� I�m sorry I hurt you,
sorry I ruined our friendship and whatever you had with Harry.� I�m sorry.�

�� She meant
every word, and when she got out, she looked in the mirror.� Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed
like some of the scarring beneath her right eye had receded.� The next day she repeated the process,
soaking the essence of blood and lab sterility out of her in the tub.

�� I�m sorry,
Harry Potter, for being one of the people who doubted you when you were right
all along.�

�� And she definitely
wasn�t imagining it.� The splotches
across her left cheek were gone.� Last
night she had slid into the bath with a buzz of excitement.

�� I�m sorry
to everyone who got hurt in the Department of Mysteries.� I�m sorry I interfered with your training so
that you weren�t ready when you got there to fight the people you knew were a
threat even if no one else, including me, accepted it.�

�� She had no
idea whether or not extra sessions of Dumbledore�s Army would have changed the
outcome of that night, but she did know that Neville Longbottom�s
nose had been broken, and so had Ginny Weasley�s
ankle.� Hermione Granger had almost
died.� And, the rumors said, Harry Potter
had lost someone very dear to him.� She
could be sorry for all that, even if it was, at best, an indirect consequence
of her actions.

�� But
Hermione Granger knew her magic; she�d said that the spell could be duped in
that way.� Marietta had never felt as much relief as she
did last night, staring at herself in the mirror.� For the first time in years, clear, pristine
skin stared back across her cheeks, freckled and flushed from the hot
bathwater.� There was still some scarring
on her nose, but already this was such an improvement.

�� She needed
one more apology.� That was why she was
here, thinking over a cup of fragrant jasmine tea.� The apology to Cho
had been obvious.� Harry
Potter, too.� The third had been
less blatant, and she was drawing a blank on the fourth.� What else had happened as a result of that
one stupid decision?

�� Marietta jumped slightly
as another person suddenly took the seat across from her.� Blinking, she quickly glanced at the other
tables.� Two were free; why was this
person insisting upon sitting with her?

�� Marietta Edgecombe?� the
woman asked.

�� Yes�� she
replied with some trepidation.

�� The
dark-haired witch took out her wand.� �Muffliato.�

�� What does
that do?� Marietta
asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.�
She�d never heard of that particular charm.

�� Garbles your conversation so those around you can�t overhear it.� Very useful.�� The witch crossed her arms over her
chest.� �Particularly
since I am here to have a serious conversation with you.�

�� Marietta looked around
once more.� No one gave any indication
that they thought it was strange that another witch was sitting with her, or that they�d noticed at all.� She turned back to the other woman.� �I�m sorry, but who are you?�

�� That�s not
important.� What I want to know is why
you are trying to ruin Hermione Granger�s relationship with her significant
other.�

�� Marietta studied her.� She was older, but not old, and rather
pretty.� �Her significant other?� she
repeated.� �You mean Lucius
Malfoy?�

�� That is
who I mean, yes,� she responded in clipped tones.

�� Marietta opened her mouth,
but realized that she didn�t know what to say.�
She wasn�t trying to upset Granger�s relationship� was she?� No, not with him.� It was her relationship with everyone else
that it would ruin.

�� I haven�t
done anything,� she said at last.

�� And it
makes you feel very powerful, doesn�t it, to hold something over their
heads?� To watch them squirm?�

�� Marietta was unprepared
for the malice in the other woman�s voice and the coldness in her eyes.� �It�it isn�t about power.�

�� Then what
is it about, Marietta?�

�� Revenge.� She knew that was the truth.� �She did a rotten thing to me.�

�� The other
witch sat in silence for a long minute.�
Then she leaned forward.� �Are you
really telling me that you never once thought that you did a rotten thing, betraying all your classmates?� Nevermind that you
had the means to fix it all along��

�� And what
she�s doing isn�t rotten?� She�s a Muggle-born sleeping with a pureblood supremacist, a former
Death Eater, a person who tried to kill her friends!�

�� Oh, the
politics of the war suddenly matter to you?�
It comes a little late, don�t you think, considering that you spent the
entirety of the conflict safe and comfortable in Johannesburg?�

�� Marietta felt her face
coloring.� This woman wasn�t the first
person to bring that up.� Her family,
like all who had fled the fighting, were no longer
taken as seriously as they had once been.�
They were viewed as cowards, too afraid to take a stand for one side or
the other � though she supposed that the ones who had sided with Voldemort were in worse straits.�

�� I had no
choice,� she said through her teeth.� �I
was just a kid.�

�� So were
many of the people who fought on the frontlines, Hermione Granger included.�

�� They sat in
a frosty silence.� Marietta chewed her lip.� It was definitely a point of soreness for
her; she knew that even if she had been given the choice, she would have
remained hidden away in South
Africa.�
Ravenclaws were not known for their courage.

�� The woman�s
face suddenly softened, just a flash of empathy.� �I am not here to harm you.� I�m just here to make you understand what
you�re doing.� There is vengeance, and
then there is cruelty.�

�� What she
did to me wasn�t cruel?� Marietta
snapped.

�� It was
petty, but not cruel.� She gave you the
means to fix it.� Will you be able to do
the same when all the friendships in her life are ruined?�

�� The redhead
sat, fuming.� No.� There was no taking it back.� If she revealed Granger and Malfoy, the shunning would be instantaneous.� Her friends would renounce her with the
vehemence that all Gryffindors possessed, and his
family and associates would do the same.�
The strain of it would probably ruin them.

�� Hermione
gave you what you wanted.� She told you
the countercurse.�
By the looks of things, it�s working.��
The dark-haired witch steepled her fingers and
thought for a moment.� �The two of you
are even.� If you reveal them, you are
the instigator, and you know as well as I how clever she can be when her back
is against the wall.�

�� Marietta recognized the
vague threat.� Granger had made no move
to do anything to her, but if pressed she would defend herself.� She had proven that already.

�� The woman
made to stand up, gathering her cloak about her.� �Bear in mind, also, Miss Edgecombe, that
those who stand in the way of love often lack it.� How can you ever expect to find the love of
your life if you spend all your time analyzing DNA samples and trying to ruin
the relationships of others?�

�� She turned
to leave.� Marietta couldn�t help but snort.� It was a sad, derisive sound.

�� Honestly,
who would want me?� I�ve looked like a
freak all these years.�

�� The woman
turned back to her, her face thoughtful.�
�I know people who were torn up by werewolves, who lost an arm or a leg,
even people who have lost their minds�all of whom are in deeply loving
relationships.� They don�t let their
differences get in the way.�� Now she
looked openly sympathetic.� �But if you
are afraid of yourself, why shouldn�t others be afraid, too?�

�� Marietta sat numbly, the
words repeating over and over in her mind.�
The other witch dug in her pocket, laid some galleons on the table, and
then strode away.

�� Draco took his time getting back to the Ministry.� He was on the second shift today and still
had about an hour before he started work.�
Wandering around Diagon Alley was mindlessly
comforting; he liked to stop by the Quidditch supply
store to see all the new equipment and marvel at how sophisticated it became
with each passing year.� After that, it
would be a quick stop at Flourish and Blotts.� His social calendar wasn�t exactly exploding
and he had been using books to keep himself busy lately.

�� The Quidditch store was packed nearly wall to wall.� He quickly gave up on it, detouring towards
the book shop.� As he held the door open
for an exiting couple, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

�� Draco Malfoy?�

�� He steeled
himself and then turned.� �Yes?�

�� The man
facing him was a jovial sort, short and a bit overweight with white hair.� He smiled.�
He reminded Draco a little bit of Horace Slughorn.

�� Excellent,
I thought it might be you.� I had the
pleasure of bumping into your father earlier and he mentioned he was to meet
with you.�

�� Right.� Draco controlled the odd glance he wanted to give the man
and got to the point.� �Can I help you
with something?�

�� Possibly.� Could we
retreat to a less chaotic area?�

�� He did have
a point.� They were standing directly in
the doorway of the book store, obstructing access and egress.� Without answering, Draco
stepped away, heading for a small outdoor caf� nearby.

�� He took a
seat.� Just before the other man sat, he
could have sworn he saw that redhead from the Ministry.� A moment later, though, she was gone; he
realized it could have been anyone.� Draco shrugged.

�� Now I can
make a proper introduction.� I am
Aloysius Pound, editor-in-chief of the Critiquill
magazine.�

�� Draco shook his outstretched hand.� He�d heard of the magazine; his father had
mentioned it offhand during one of their conversations about the Netherwood murder investigation.� �You already know who I am,� he offered,
still uncertain as to why this man had approached him.

�� I was
thinking, Mr. Malfoy, after
I spoke with your father�� he tapped a finger on the table, �have you ever
considered writing a book?�

�� No,� he
replied succinctly, quashing the urge to laugh.�
He could pen a coherent essay, but that was about as far as his writing
talents went.

�� I ask
because it seems that right now, memoirs are very popular.� Have you ever had a chance to tell your
story, Draco?�

�� What�s to
tell?� he murmured.

�� Growing up
in one of the richest, purest families in the whole of the wizarding
world?� Being recruited to join the Death
Eaters at sixteen whether you wanted to or not?�
Surviving a divisive war?� Indeed,
what�s to tell?� Pound replied.

�� I�m not
going to disparage my family in print,� Draco shot
back coldly.� �So if that�s what you�re
hoping for, you�d best move on.�

�� Certainly
not,� Pound amended.� �I only seek to
give you a chance to tell your story to the public on your own terms.� People are forever putting words in your
mouth, skewing the truth, aren�t they?�

�� He frowned.� That was true enough.� No one had ever heard his side of the story,
save for the Wizengamot and the few witnesses at the
post-war trial.� Everything had been
closed to the public.� Rumors flourished,
of course - in the absence of a definitive statement from him, they were what
defined him these days.

�� Just think
about it.�� Pound pushed a business card
across the table.� �If you�d like to
discuss it more, the card doubles as a Portkey.� You just need to hold onto it and say
�memoir� and it will bring you to my office.�

�� Draco just looked at the card, so stark and white against
the metal table.� Pound pushed back his
chair with a scrape and nodded.�

�� Good day, Draco.�

�� The Potions
Master, a tall Indian man, had been very helpful.� He�d assured Lucius
that Polyjuice did not cause
the drinker to take on every single characteristic of their target; just
because you were in a person�s body
did not mean you knew how to behave exactly like them.� The best Polyjuice
impersonators took months to observe their target, picking up on little
mannerisms so that they could imitate them later.

�� By nature
of working at the same establishment as Pound, it was possible that Bartholomew
could have made all those
observations.� Lucius
frowned.� That didn�t change the fact
that the man was continuously claiming his innocence.� He swore up and down that he had not at any
point brewed or ingested Polyjuice.� He also vehemently denied any involvement in Netherwood�s death or Lucius�s
attack.

�� Dawlish had mentioned that they were going to question him
under Veritaserum.�
Lucius picked up his pace, heading for the
Ministry.� That had to happen today.

�� Hermione
yawned.� Her professor had cancelled
class for the day, leaving her and her classmates to study the spinal cord on
their own.� It was not the most
stimulating of topics; she was fighting sleep, and the warm bundle of Crookshanks in her lap didn�t help.

�� Just as she
was drifting off, her book open to diagrams of vertebrae and spinal tracts, a
sharp knock sounded at her door.�
Hermione jumped.� Crookshanks meowed his displeasure
at the sudden movement.� She smiled; he
would be quite put out, then, when she got up to answer the door.

�� It was
Andromeda.� Hermione hugged her and
invited her in.� After a cup of tea and
the usual questions about Teddy, the older witch got to the point.

�� I spoke to
her.�

�� Marietta?�

�� She
nodded.� �She�s�a bit of a sad girl,
isn�t she?�

�� Hermione
nodded in return.� She�d thought about
it; Marietta
was lonely.� Smart, but friendless.� Marietta
was what Hermione might have been if she had never befriended Harry and Ron.

�� The countercurse is working,� Andromeda continued.

�� So she
does know how to apologize.�

�� It seems
that way.�

�� They sat in
silence for a moment.� Hermione scratched
between her cat�s ears.� �I guess the
real question is whether or not she knows how to forgive.�

�� Indeed.�� She paused for a moment, as if she was not
sure of her next statement.� �Do you?�

�� The walls
of her flat were impersonal.� They always
had been, but she never noticed until now, when she stared at them in utter
confusion.� An angry part of her wanted
to mail her forensics report to the Daily Prophet and fuck all the
consequences.� The rest of her was awash
in unfamiliar emotions.

�� Marietta got up and staggered
to the loo.� It
didn�t matter that she had showered only six hours earlier.� A bath would put order to her thoughts.� The hot water always did.

�� She didn�t
look at her reflection in the mirror as she undressed.� She knew what she would see.� Frizzy red hair, fair skin with freckles,
blue-green eyes, delicate collar bones, breasts that she had always found a bit
too small, a mostly-flat stomach with an outie belly
button, slim hips, skinny legs, and high-arched dancer�s feet.� A Muggle man in South Africa
had told her that she should have been a ballerina.� She didn�t agree; a dancer needed grace and
she had never considered herself particularly graceful.

�� Graceful
women had friends.� They didn�t work in
forensics, spending their days hunched over blood samples and pulling DNA from
pubic hairs.� They went to clubs and had
boyfriends or girlfriends or both.� They
certainly didn�t hide from themselves, and in doing so, hide from everyone
else.

�� She climbed
into the tub, sinking down into the froth of raspberry scented bubbles.� The hot shock of the water dashed everything
from her mind for a blessed moment.�
Then, once she was used to it, it all came flooding back.

�� Quite
suddenly, she knew what her last apology had to be.� Tears sprung to her eyes.� She drew her knees up to her chest and tried
not to sob.

�� I�m sorry,
Marietta, for
isolating you.� For
burning your bridges and then being too afraid to build new ones.� For being such a bloody coward��

�� Hermione
re-read her words.� She was reluctant�but
if this was what it took, then she was glad to do it.

Marietta,

I�m sorry about the
curse.� It was never meant to last.

Tabula rasa?

~Hermione

�� She sent
it, not really expecting anything in return.�
But about eight hours later, when she was once more dozing off over her
anatomy and physiology textbook, there was a tap at the window.� Hermione let the owl in and relieved it of
its sheet of parchment.

��

Hermione,

I destroyed the
forensics report.� It�s not worth risking
my job, the one thing I�m any good at, and you gave me what I wanted.

Sorry I told
Potter.� I hope he�ll come around.

Tabula Rasa.

~Marietta

�� A smile
spread across Hermione�s face.� They were
safe.� She grabbed for a sheet of
parchment to tell Lucius but quickly realized that it
was late.� He would be in bed already and
leaving a personal letter to linger until he woke was like asking for someone
else to read it.� She would send the note
in the morning.

�� Little did
she know, he was awake.� He�d been waiting up for a letter from Dawlish.� He visited
the Auror after the trip to the Apothecary to tell
him what he knew and to insist that the Veritaserum
be administered as soon as possible.� Lucius could tell that Dawlish
was dubious about the whole thing, but he acquiesced.�

�� And here it
was.� The owl flew through the open
window.� He reached for the bird eagerly
and gave it the treats he�d stashed on the desk for when it arrived.

��

Lucius,

Another wrinkle in the
investigation � Bartholomew�s telling the truth.� He didn�t attack you, he didn�t murder Netherwood, and he neither brewed nor ingested Polyjuice.� Unless
he�s found some way to dupe the Veritaserum, he�s not
our man.� I�m starting to think he�s as
much a victim as you and Netherwood.

I think your instinct
about Pound is a fair one, but I can�t bring him in on a hunch alone.� We need a reason.� To arrest him a second time for the same
charge would invite ridicule and litigation.

�� The next
paragraph of the letter was written in invisible ink.� Wondering what he was about to read, Lucius took out his wand and pressed the tip to his
finger.� Though he was far from a fan of
bloodletting, especially in light of his current condition, the recipient�s
blood was the only thing that could render this type of ink visible.� Once touched to the paper, the words fanned
out, tinted red.

Now, you mentioned
that you encountered Pound in Flourish and Blotts.� If you were to perhaps twist the
circumstances and tell me that he hexed you in the book shop (details are
unimportant), I would have enough to justify an arrest.� I don�t like to skim the law like this, but
perhaps a little Veritaserum will solve the mystery
and prevent anyone else from being hurt.�
And I know you have the lawyers to shoot down a lawsuit if we�re wrong,
whom you would most certainly lend to your co-conspirator, yes?

�� Lucius released a snort of laughter.� Sometimes he was a bad influence.� Or perhaps Dawlish
was a little more devious than people thought.�
The rest of the letter went on in regular ink.

Contact my office via floo in the morning and we�ll discuss our options.� Give my regards to the family.

Dawlish

�� Give his
regards, indeed.� That was new.� Perhaps Draco was
right about the Auror and his ex-wife.� With a sigh, Lucius
placed the letter in the fireplace and fanned the cinders with a spell.� Sleep would be elusive tonight, but he would
try.� Perhaps a nightcap was in order to
coax him into slumber.

�� Draco was in the kitchen, munching on something he ought not be eating after midnight.� Lucius said nothing
and padded over to the liquor cabinet.�
He couldn�t preach when he was relying on alcohol to fall asleep.

�� Rough night, Father?�

�� Can�t
sleep,� he replied, measuring out a finger of very strong whiskey.

�� You should
have a go at my gym.� That�ll put you to
bed.�� Draco
smirked around his massive ice cream.

�� Lucius rolled his eyes.�
He�d peeked inside the so-called gym; it had dozens of machines in it
that Lucius couldn�t even begin to know how to
operate.� It was unlikely that he�d emerge
in one piece.

�� You�re
undoing all your hard work with that,� he pointed out, gesturing at the
dessert.� Draco
merely shrugged.� Lucius
knew it was useless; there was no cure for the Malfoy
sweet tooth.�

�� He stood
across from his son and downed the alcohol, grimacing as it burned.� He couldn�t fathom how people made this a
habit.

�� Oh,� Draco said, gesturing with his spoon, �you know that Pound
guy you mentioned?�

�� Lucius blinked.�
�Aloysius Pound?�

�� Yeah, the
editor of that fancy magazine.�

�� What about
him?�

�� He came up
to me today.�� Draco
dug in his pocket and produced a white paper rectangle.� �Said that I should write a memoir--�

�� And then,
inexplicably, his son was gone.

�� He felt the
tug of the Portkey and cursed.� Draco had forgotten
that �memoir� was the password.� Son of a bitch.� He
was going to appear in Pound�s office after hours and probably be stuck there
until it opened.

�� When the
swirling, compressing sensation stopped, another one rapidly flooded in � the
feeling of landing right on his tailbone.�
Draco saw stars and barely bit back his cry of
pain.� Hell, that
hurt!� He wouldn�t be able to sit for a
week.

�� What kind
of office was this, anyway?� The floor
was concrete.� The ceiling soared high
above him, crisscrossed with bulkheads.�
This was a warehouse, and he was stuck deep within it in a nondescript
aisle lined with boxes.�

�� At least he
thought it was an aisle.� Upon standing
and limping about to try to find its end, he met only more boxes.� Further exploration told him that he was
quite literally �boxed in�; he had a rectangle of space, perhaps twenty yards
by five, and was hedged in by boxes that were stacked nearly to the ceiling
with a stability that only magic could manage.

�� What the
hell?� he murmured.� He wasn�t
claustrophobic so his quarters didn�t immediately alarm him.� However, Draco was
unnerved by the silence of the building around him.� There wasn�t a soul in this place.� Who knew how big it was?� How often workers made it to this corner of
the building?� There was no loo, no food, and no water.�
If left here long enough, he could die.

�� What was
Pound playing at?� Why would he do
this?� This had to be some kind of mix up.� What reason did he have�

�� Draco exhaled.� All
of that was unimportant.� What was
important was that he found a way out.�
He sat, then thought better of it, and turned onto his stomach to think.

�� He was left
to stare at a bowl of melting ice cream.�
Lucius�s glass slipped from his hand.� It shattered all over the floor and a stray
shard nicked across his shin, but he barely noticed.�

Pound had targeted Draco, seeking to raise the stakes.� It was undeniable; Pound was the killer.� He didn�t know how, he didn�t know why, but
he did know the truth when it slapped him in the face.

�� Dawlish fell out of bed when the Howler detonated.� Good God, who the hell was that, and why did
he sound like the devil himself?� When
his brain had gotten over its shock, the words began to make sense.

�� HAS HIM,
IT WAS A PORTKEY, AND NOW MY SON HAS BEEN PULLED INTO THIS.� WE NEED TO FIND POUND NOW!� HE IS OUR KILLER!� I SWEAR TO MERLIN IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO
DRACO--�

�� His
incineration spell hit the shrieking red envelope just in time.� Sighing, he pulled himself off the floor,
knowing he was bound for Malfoy Manor once more�and
this time would be infinitely less pleasurable since he wasn�t going there to
take tea with Narcissa.

�� He had
tried everything he could think of.� Disapparition was blocked.�
The Portkey didn�t work in reverse.� Attempting to climb the boxes was dangerous
and proved impossible because of how precisely they were stacked.� He tried to levitate himself over top of
them, but couldn�t get more than six feet off the floor.� Then he�d tried moving the boxes; six feet
was enough room for him to go under.�
Unfortunately, the boxes were damn heavy and it took everything he had
to raise them a mere two inches off the floor.�
Then he�d tried to summon a broom.�
There had to be a broom in this place, right?� But nothing came soaring over the boxes.

�� He did have
the sense to point his wand at his backside and cast a pain-relieving
charm.� The throbbing there had proved
very distracting.� Even with a clear
head, he was running out of ideas.

�� He supposed
he could try to burn his way through, but the thought made him shudder.� Draco would never
forget the uncontrollable nature of fire.�
He had seen it engulf the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts with
unfathomable speed.� Worse, he had seen
it devour Vincent alive.� His former
friend�s ashes were likely still mingled among the ruin.

�� No fire,
then.� It could rage out of control and
he might end up cooking himself.� It was
better to wait until morning.� Then
perhaps someone would come and all his worry would be for nothing.

�� Lucius was pacing like a madman.� Narcissa was pale
and drawn, her spine rigid where she sat on the drawing room couch.� Dawlish could feel
his heart throbbing rapidly in his chest; he�d had too many cups of tea.

�� Pound was
not at his home.� He wasn�t at his
ex-wife�s.� He was not at the Critiquill headquarters.�
Simply put, he was nowhere and it was driving them all mad.

�� An
early-morning owl briefly interrupted their tense strategizing.� It was for Lucius.� He took the letter, pale eyes scouring
it.� Those eyes slipped shut for a moment
when he was done.� Thank Merlin�the
blackmail situation with Hermione had been resolved.� But that seemed so unimportant right now�

�� What is
it?� Hostage demands?� Dawlish asked

�� He shook
his head.� Then he crumpled the
parchment.� �Is it some law of the
universe that when one thing gets better, another must get worse?�

�� Both of his
companions stared at him.� Lucius tossed the note into the fire and they watched it blacken
and disintegrate.� Neither voiced any of
the questions they surely had.� Now
wasn�t the time.

�� Okay,
where else could he be?�

�� Lucius snapped his fingers in a sudden epiphany.� �The warehouse!�

�� What?�

�� The warehouse!� The
place where they make the books, the one he brought me to!�

�� I thought
you didn�t know where it was,� Dawlish said
cautiously.

�� It doesn�t
matter.� I can Apparate
there if I picture it clearly enough.��
He pulled out his wand, obviously meaning to do just that.

�� Absolutely not, Lucius.� You splinched
yourself last time.�

�� I had less
than a second to prepare since I was about to be crushed.� I think the circumstances are a little
different.�� He closed his eyes.� The image of the paper-sorting machine
flashed into his head, as vivid as if he had just seen it a moment ago.� He could get there.� He knew he could.

�� He�s
really going to do it,� he heard Narcissa say in
warning.

�� Lucius, you idiot--�

�� Pop.

�� They landed in a heap.� At the last moment Dawlish
had grabbed his arm, which he expected, and at the very last moment, Narcissa had caught the
sleeve of Dawlish�s robe, which he didn�t expect.� Lucius turned to her, ready to admonish her because Merlin, with such a
precarious hold she could have been splinched.

�� Narcissa, you shouldn�t have--�

�� Another
voice layered over his, speaking the same exact words.� Lucius and Dawlish exchanged an awkward glance.

�� Don�t tell
me what I should and shouldn�t do,� Narcissa huffed,
effectively silencing them.� She stood
and brushed off her robes.

�� I�ll be
damned,� Dawlish said as he did the same.� �That�s
the machine he said he�d put your arm in?�

�� Lucius nodded, eyes flashing about the area to get his
bearings.� He missed the Auror�s grimace.� He
was too busy taking in how large this place was.� His last visit had not been conducive to real
observation of his surroundings.

�� It was a
massive structure.� To their right the
production equipment splayed out in a tangle of metal and magic.� That area alone was probably as large as a Quidditch pitch.� To
the left were rows and rows of boxes, ready to ship, just like the ones that
had nearly crushed the life out of Lucius.� The rows stretched on endlessly.� He couldn�t see the far wall at all, and Lucius had a stomach-jolting sense of d�j� vu. �This was like being in the Hall of Prophecy in
the Department of Ministries.� It just
went on and on forever�

�� We should
split up,� Dawlish said.� �Or better yet, go back and call for backup.�

�� Nothing is
stopping you from doing that,� Lucius replied shortly.

�� I have to
find an exit so I can figure out exactly where we are.� Location spells are very finicky if they
can�t reach the sky.�

�� You find
an exit, then.� Narcissa
and I will search for Draco.�

�� Dawlish looked torn, and Lucius
was certain that it had nothing to do with him.�
In truth, he wished Narcissa wasn�t here, too;
he didn�t want any harm to come to her.�
Then again, he tended to forget how fearsome she could be when
provoked.� The abduction of her son went
well beyond provocation.

�� All right,�
the Auror relented.�
He flicked his wand at them and two rows of writing appeared on his
wrist.� The letters and numbers pulsed a rapid, yet subdued green.� �Your vitals,� he said by way of
explanation.� �If you get in trouble I�ll
see your heart rate, respiration, and blood pressure rise and know that you
need help.�

�� What about
you?� Narcissa asked.

�� He flashed
a strained smile.� �I can take care of
myself.�

�� A foot
prodded him.� Instinct took over and Draco wheeled backwards, scooting away from the
none-too-gentle wake up call.� He nearly
screamed at the pain of the forgotten tailbone injury.� Leaning on the side of his hip afforded some
relief as he tried to catch his breath.

�� There he
was � Aloysius Pound.� He stood in the
middle of the cardboard prison, arms crossed over his chest.� There was no trace of the jolly man who had
accosted him outside of Flourish and Blotts.� How the hell had he gotten in?� There was a way to escape, it was certain,
but Draco was willing to bet that Pound wasn�t going
to surrender it out of the kindess of his heart.�

�� I took the
liberty of depriving you of your wand,� the older wizard said in a flinty
voice.

�� Draco dragged himself to his feet.� �What the hell do you want?�

�� Just to
show your father how serious I am.� He�s
rather thick, is he not?� Can�t take a
hint��

�� What are
you on about?� he spat.

�� Pound
ignored the question.� �A businessman
never forgets his associates,� he murmured, rubbing his left forearm.� Then he grinned.� �Daddy�s here, come to save you, dear
boy.� Aren�t you lucky?�

�� The tone of
his voice was chilling.� Draco swallowed and took a step back.� His apprehension was justified; a moment
later a wand flashed in the dull fluorescent light,
and his body was no longer his own to control.

�� They were
searching quietly, stealthily.� Narcissa was intensely focused in that way a mother could
be when her child was in danger.� Lucius was having a little more trouble keeping his
thoughts in check.� D�j� vu was
destroying him today; the memories of tearing through Hogwarts, corridor after
corridor, looking desperately for his son during the final battle, clawed at
his mind.� He had sworn then that he
would not put his family in danger ever again.

�� I know
you�re here, Lucius.�

�� The voice
echoed ominously, ricocheting off boxes and bulkheads.� He stopped short.� He could feel Narcissa
against his back.

�� Come out
and let�s talk, old friend.�

�� Old friend?� He
exchanged a look with Narcissa, one that was mutually
confused and suspicious.� He hadn�t known
Pound until this whole mess began.� Or so
he hoped�

�� No harm
will come to you.� Just keep in mind that
I have some�collateral.�

�� Rage
colored his vision.� His son was not collateral.� Lucius felt Narcissa�s hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard.� He turned to her, and whispered so low that
it was barely audible.� �Stay here.� When you can get to Draco,
take him and go.�

�� She nodded
solemnly, recognizing that she alone had the element of surprise on her
side.� He trusted her not to lose her
head.� Narcissa
reached out to clutch briefly at his hand, and then she let go.

�� Lucius took a deep breath and set off down the row of
boxes, walking towards the voice.� He
didn�t have to go far.� There was a
circle of sorts at the end of the row; boxes rose all around like some kind of
cardboard Stonehenge.� His stomach dropped out.

�� Draco was up there.�
He was standing atop a stack of those boxes, easily a hundred feet
up.� His toes were over the edge.

�� One wrong
move, Lucius, and he�ll jump.�

�� The
certainty in Pound�s tone told Lucius all he needed
to know.� Draco
was under the Imperius Curse.� He wanted to believe that Draco
could fight it, but nobody really could.�
That was all a myth.� The most
anyone could do was resist a command for a few seconds, and even that took a monumental
force of will.

�� Your wand.�

�� Lucius set it on the floor, his eyes never leaving Draco.� Pound
summoned it and the wand clattered across the ground until it lay at his
feet.� For a moment Lucius
thought he would stomp upon it, but he only bent to pick it up and tuck it in
his pocket.

�� What is it
that you want?� The
identity of the author?� Lucius asked coldly.

�� Pound
chuckled.� �Oh, no.� I figured that out.� I admit it took longer than it should
have.� I was looking in the wrong
places.� All along I thought it was
someone I worked with�rather than someone I worked against.�

�� What on
earth are you talking about?� he snapped, his frustration evident.

�� Pound
walked in a slow circle.� His slow stalk
was reminiscent of the way the Dark Lord would orbit his prey as he made a show
of thinking what he ought to do with him, when in reality his mind was already
made up and everyone knew it.� Lucius kept his breathing even and his body loose.� He was not afraid of this man.

�� There were
a lot of clever young men rising in the Ministry in the late seventies, weren�t
there?�

�� Lucius didn�t bother to answer.

�� And you
were one of them.�

�� His eyes
tracked Pound.� The man couldn�t stop
moving, like a predator in captivity that was purposely starved.� It was true, Lucius had cleaved his way through the ranks very quickly,
buoyed by his innate cleverness and capacity for persuasion.� But the wheeling and dealing of the Ministry
had lost its charm quickly, and the best thing he could do during the scandal
after the Dark Lord�s �death� was voluntarily leave.� His claims of Imperius
were accepted; if he stayed on and continued to behave in the same exact way,
faith in his innocence would be jeopardized.�
And what point was there in working at the Ministry if one could not
bend the rules?� Besides, they were just
as easily corrupted from without as they were from within�

�� I knew my
charms worked.� But sometimes they only
work so long, and that was the only explanation for what was in the book.� There were details only one of you would know,�
Pound rambled.

�� One of us?� Lucius asked softly,
cautiously.

�� Yes, one
of you, the young and powerful men who shaped the Ministry then�but you, Lucius, were not on my side.�

�� He combed
his mind, trying desperately to remember anyone who had been his opponent at
the Ministry.� Most didn�t dare to oppose
him, even then.� He had an unusual
combination of factors on his side: those being that he was usually right
fiscally, if not morally, and that people wanted him to like them.� So much power, and for no real reason but
blood�

�� I thought for certain it had to be one of
them, and if they remembered the plotting at the Ministry, what else would they
remember?�

�� What else,
indeed?� Lucius
was still at a loss.� He had no idea what
the man was going on about, but the quieter he stayed, the better the chance
that Pound would think that he did.� That
was, perhaps, the only power he had.

�� The
trouble is, they are all dead or in prison, with the exception of two.� I found them.�
They had no memory of me, as I had made it years ago.� How, I wondered, could there be a person who
knew these things when everyone was silenced?�

�� Not
everyone was silenced,� Lucius responded evenly.� Anything to keep the man
talking.� He knew Narcissa was listening.

�� Exactly.� I went
after Netherwood to find out who it was.� He was very unhelpful.� But I suppose he had to be, Lucius, since you subjected him to an Unbreakable Vow.�

�� Oh, Pound
knew, all right.� It hit Lucius like a punch in the stomach.� He had to play cool, though.� This was the old familiar game.� �Would you have acted differently?�

�� Certainly not.� I
should have recognized then the strategy of my old enemy from the Ministry
days, but I didn�t.� I came after you
still thinking it was one of them, one of the boys.� But then I reread the book, Lucius, and I
remembered something.�� A smile spread
over his face.� �I was not the only one
who was proficient at memory charms.�

�� Pound
touched a hand almost compulsively to the nearest box.� Lucius would bet
that it was his book inside.

�� The Dark
Lord sent me to observe you, to recruit you if I thought you had promise.� I watched you very closely.� I didn�t think you were much, to be honest;
you have a brain in your head, Lucius, that I can�t
deny, but I saw little evidence that you had the proper�temperament to serve
the Dark Lord.� And of course your
outmaneuvering me in the Ministry left me with a bad taste in my mouth.� Until�� he breathed, eyelids dipping in some
memory that he found pleasurable.� �I
followed you home one evening, but you didn�t go home.�

�� He should
have known.� He should have known it was
some connection to Voldemort.� Nearly everything bad in his life bore a
tendril of union to that monster.� Lucius clenched his jaw, wondering what he was about to
hear.

�� I saw you
stalk a man, a Muggle, with the same ease that I
stalked you.� I saw you abduct him.� And then I saw you destroy him, Lucius.� I knew right
then that you were perfect.� I revealed
myself to you and extended the invitation to meet with the Dark Lord.�

�� I don�t
know what you�re talking about.�� And
really, he didn�t, because his head had gone fuzzy from the Amnesiac charm.

�� Of course not.� I Obliviated you like all the others, but I never thought to
erase your memories of the Ministry.�
That was a mistake.� And so was
assuming that you would allow me to keep the knowledge of what you did to that Muggle.�� He grinned
and brought his hands together in three short claps.� �Very good, Lucius.� Very
smart to Obliviate me, the only witness to murder.�

�� You speak
madness,� he returned scornfully.

�� DON�T
PRETEND!� Pound thundered without warning.�
�Don�t you dare act like you don�t know what I mean.� I tried to warn you, Lucius,
even when I didn�t know you were the author.�
I tried to send a message to you through Netherwood.� You didn�t listen.� You kept on.�
Now something has to be done about it.��
He raised his wand and Lucius�s eyes jerked
back up to Draco.�
�Because, old friend, I did not Obliviate Voldemort and every Death Eater known to me in order to be
discovered this far down the road.� I did
not give up my position as his right hand and Potions Master to suffer the very
consequences I sought to avoid.� I will
not go to prison.� I regret nothing, but
I will not rot in a cell at the whim of the spineless mudbloods
and blood traitors that run this world.�
You alone have the knowledge to convict me.� What shall I do, Lucius?�� He flicked his wand and Draco�s
right foot lifted jerkily.� �Tell me,
what shall I do?�

�� Leave my
son out of this!� He�s done nothing to
you!� Lucius returned angrily, his heart in his
throat.

�� Oh, but he�s
the only thing that can get a guarantee out of you, isn�t he?� The only person who means
enough?�� Draco
teetered on the edge of the boxes, balanced on one foot.

�� Obliviate me again.� I won�t fight.� Please, don�t harm my son.�

�� Obliviation doesn�t work, you�ve proved that.� Not secure enough for my tastes.�� Pound licked his lips.� �How about your strategy, Lucius?� How about an Unbreakable Vow?�

�� Fine,� Lucius said shakily, stepping forward and extending his
right arm.� �Do it.�

�� His skin
crawled when Pound�s arm slid along his, hand locking about his wrist.� That custom wand hovered over their entwined
arms.� This was foolish, he knew, because
Pound could put any stipulations on this that he wanted.� He could make Lucius�s
life pure hell.� He could well and truly
silence him.� The cruelest of Unbreakable
Vows made the adherents afraid to speak for fear of slipping, of ending their
own lives.

�� Do you
swear that you will never again speak of--�

�� And just
then, some kind of alarm went off.� Lucius jumped.�
Pound�s hand was out of his in a flash.

�� Oh, Lucius, you brought friends, didn�t you?�� Pound�s face twisted into cold anger.� �That just won�t do.� It just�won�t�do!� he shouted.� His wand slashed through the air, and high
above, Draco�s foot stepped out onto nothing.

�� No!� he
screamed, but his son was already falling.�
He had no wand.� Narcissa, Merlin, where was Narcissa?

�� STUPEFY!�

�� ARRESTO MOMENTUM!�

�� The spells
were shouted at the same time in two very different voices.� Red light hit Pound squarely in the
face.� He went down as if clotheslined, head cracking on the stone floor.� A second later Narcissa
came out of nowhere, lunging forward; she and Draco
collapsed in a heap, skidding briefly to thump against the boxes.� Mercifully, they remained securely stacked.

�� It happened
so fast that he could scarcely process it.�
Dawlish was binding Pound with magical
restraints.� Draco
was pulling his mother to her feet, frantically asking if she was all right.� As if under the Imperius
himself, Lucius drifted towards the incapacitated
man, the one who had tampered so efficiently with his memories.� Pound thought he had remembered, but the
reality was that Lucius would have gone on blissfully
unaware of Aloysius Pound and his former connection to him if Pound�s paranoia
had not gotten the better of him.

�� Here.�� Dawlish again,
holding his wand out to him as he sat none too gently atop the Death Eater cum
magazine editor.� Dazedly, Lucius took it.�
Other Aurors began to flood into the space,
armed to the teeth.� �The alarm triggered
when our backup arrived.� There was no
one else with Pound, right?�

�� Not that I know of.�

�� Dawlish sighed, extracting another wand from Pound�s
pockets.� �Is this your son�s?�

�� Lucius nodded and took that as well.� Draco was currently
being smothered half to death in his mother�s bosom.

�� All right.� I�ll take
him in.� When the three of you have been
checked out, you can come down to the Ministry to give your statements.� The kidnapping charge will hold him until
then.�

�� Lucius nodded again, still a bit stunned.� �I�thank you.�

�� It�s my
job,� Dawlish said affably.� �And believe me, no
one is happier to have caught this nutter than me.�

�� Lucius should have felt at ease now that Pound was in
custody, but he didn�t.� He would be a
fool to think that Narcissa and Draco
hadn�t overheard his conversation with Pound.�
They now knew that he was the author and
a murderer � though the latter could not be proven.

�� Neither
seemed inclined to talk about it.� Narcissa was delirious with joy that everyone had come out
of the situation unharmed.� Draco was patiently tolerating her even though he was tired
and nursing a broken tailbone.� The
healers would put it to rights as soon as they got to St. Mungo�s.

�� But he knew
the time for a conversation would come, especially with his son.� He wasn�t looking forward to it.� He could lie to a lot of people, but no
longer to Draco.

�� All of this
made him think twice about the book he was trying to finish.� The precautions he�d put in place for the
first one hadn�t been enough.� He didn�t
know what else he could do, short of not publishing at all.� How could be sure that there weren�t other
Aloysius Pounds out there?� And why had
he ever thought it was okay to put so much incriminating behavior down on paper?

�� He knew
why.� He had never anticipated surviving
this long.� If he was discovered, it
wouldn�t matter, for he would be long dead.�
It made sense at the time.� Lucius shook his head; depression made
people do strange things.

�� He released
a heavy sigh.� The legal system was
inherently two-faced; he knew how quickly this could turn against him.� And Merlin, if it got out that he was the
author�

�� A sudden,
very sharp headache bloomed behind his eyes.

�Father?� Are you all right?�

He looked up into Draco�s concerned glance and told the truth.� �I�ll be fine when all of this is over.�
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Hungry Thirsty Crazy