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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
- 33
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            It
was only after he was gone that she realized what bothered her about the
encounter. Lucius had not acted
that way - distant yet present, joking yet sad, intense, full of opposites - in
months. It was like seeing a flash of the man he�d been when they
first arrived in Italy.

            Something
was troubling him. Maybe during
his mission of purifying the Manor he had stumbled upon something particularly
disturbing? Or perhaps he meant to
go to his mother�s estate and finish what he started. He had said he didn�t want her to go with him, and assumed
correctly that she would insist on accompanying him anyway. Perhaps he thought stealth was his only
option. Then again, it was
entirely possible that she was reading too much into it and he was just tired
and displeased to be pulled away from her.

            In
any case, she couldn�t floo to the Manor to see if he was there, and she had no
idea where his mother�s estate was in Australia. All she could do was wait for him to contact her or return. It was a feeling she didn�t relish; it
reminded her so much of the day he had narrowly escaped a self-inflicted
death.

            Hermione
settled for a letter. She pulled
out a fresh sheet of parchment and wrote in precise quill strokes: I hope whatever is bothering you is easily
resolved. Next time, talk to me
about it. Awaiting your
return. Love you.

            His
mind was warfare. It raged, every
bit as vile and bloody as a real battlefield, and he couldn�t keep still. He had long since given up on trying to
ease the pain of the headache that threatened to split his skull in two. He simply had to endure it if he was
ever to reach a decision.

            There is no decision, Lucius!

            But
there was, because it boiled down to escaping a lifetime of pain, fear,
suffering, and mistakes or walking away from the love of his life, and wasn�t
that prospect full of pain, fear, suffering, and mistakes? It cycled over and over in his head,
mocking him with its perpetuation.

            Just because you may not find her doesn�t
mean you won�t find anyone. You
just won�t have to wait until you�re 45!

            He
didn�t care about that. The fact
was that he hadn�t been ready for this until now. He didn�t know how to love at twenty, thirty, or even
forty-four. Perhaps changing the
past would change that, but didn�t the sages say that true love only came along
once in a lifetime? He would still
be matched through an arranged marriage in this alternative world. What were the odds that he would truly
love whoever became his betrothed?

            What does it matter?

            Oh,
it mattered. He knew now just how
much.

            What have you become? You are a slave to this, to one
woman. Are you so eager to be a
slave again?

            Lucius
went very still. This happened to
him even before this - he had moments where anxiety and paranoia burgeoned in
him. It was why it was so
difficult for him to relinquish control in any situation. Inevitably, his mind drifted to
Voldemort, for whom he had given up so much as to be mindless. Not mindless...fearless. But in the end, the two were the same.

            It
had taken him years to untangle his mind after the Dark Lord. Years, and still he battled the
occasional snarl. It was hard for
him to trust that anything else that demanded so much release and abandon
wouldn�t have the same results. He
was twined so strongly around Hermione that any change in the status quo would
leave him reeling. He knew it and
most of the time he successfully ignored it.

            Not
now. He couldn�t stop the cascade
of thoughts.

            You would give up the best opportunity of
your life for this woman? Would
she do the same for you? Probably
not, Lucius. She�d leave you
because she has some sense!

            And
she would do it rightly...

            You see, you�re just as brainwashed as you
were with him. You�d do anything
for her, wouldn�t you? You�d
endure a rape!

            His
hands began to shake.

            When will you ever control your own
life? When will you stop letting
others dictate what you do?

            �I�m
not,� he said out loud. �I�m not.�

            Then do this, you fool. Don�t you want a life where you�ll
never have to make this decision?

            Yes,
but to have that life, he had to make the damned decision! Lucius groaned and put his head in his
hands. On and on it went, with no
end in sight.



            His
father was moody. Draco could see
it; their joint therapy sessions had granted him the ability to read the very
slight variations of expression that breached his father�s control. Though, in fairness to him, Lucius
didn�t bother with nearly as much control anymore. That was part of the reason Draco was able to forgive
him. At last, he was human.

            Draco
was off from work and had purposely planned nothing so that he could
relax. However, that was
impossible to do when his father was like this. All the man did was pace, sit, stare into space, stew, sigh,
wince, fidget, and in general appear as if he was waiting for a very ill friend
or lover to come out of emergency surgery that had only a 50% chance of
succeeding. At first Draco left
him alone, sure that he�d snap out of it.
But by hour four, it was clear that it wasn�t going to happen.

            For
his own sanity, he had to distract him.
He meant to go for a fly anyway.
It was beautiful outside and he felt mildly guilty for spending the
morning in the house. Grabbing his
broom, he walked into his father�s study.

            �Father,
would you like to go for a fly?�

            For
a moment Lucius looked like he would say no, but then he took a deep breath and
blinked, as if he had just been awakened from a deep sleep.

            �Yes. Yes, that would be nice.�

            Draco
had forgotten how good a flier his father was. He had learned from a very talented man. It hadn�t just been money and influence
that landed Draco on the Slytherin quidditch team his first year.

            He�d
always wondered why his father never played quidditch. He would have been good enough. It was just one of many, many questions
that he would likely never know the answer to.

            He
was having trouble keeping up with him.
Though his father�s broom was older and he was in theory heavier (though
perhaps not by much), he was outdoing Draco�s newer, flashier broom. That irked Draco; he�d spent a lot on
it and a ten-year-old broom was mocking the purchase. He sighed and gunned the broom, flattening himself against
the polished wooden handle for better aerodynamics. He knew as well as anyone that it wasn�t the broom that was
important. It was the person who
flew it.

            He
pulled up parallel to his father.
Lucius was also flat against his broom, his cloak whipping behind
him. In spite of the colder
temperatures this far off the ground, Draco was sweating. With the way he was flying, he was sure
his father was, too.

            Quite
suddenly, Lucius pulled up, soaring toward the clouds. With a curse Draco pulled up also. He had to fight the unforgiving
headwind; it whistled and howled around him and he could see only the white of
the cloud he was about to plunge into.
Then he did and he could feel the little droplets of water condensing
against his clothes and his goggles.

            When
he emerged, the air was calm. All
the wind that had howled beneath the clouds was gone. He couldn�t see a damn thing because his goggles were fogged
over. Draco heard a muted voice
and all of a sudden, the layer of vapor disappeared to reveal his father, wand
pointed.

            �You�re
crazy!� Draco said, pulling in gulps of the crisp, thin air.

            �It
was too windy down there.�

            Draco
couldn�t disagree with that. That
was half the reason they were both sweating and breathing hard. The wind had made the brooms very hard
to control. Catching his breath,
he surveyed their spot above the clouds.
The sun was beginning to arc west.
That surprised him; it was much later than he thought.

            �This
was only supposed to be a short fly.�

            At
first Lucius said nothing. Draco
looked at him as he swung his leg over the broom and sat sideways on the handle
– behavior that would have earned Draco a definite censure some time
ago. Well, if his father could do
it, then he could, too.
Cautiously, Draco swung his leg over and mirrored his father�s
position. This really was a much
more comfortable way for a man to rest on a broom.

            �Do
you have somewhere to be?� Lucius asked a moment later. �I don�t want to inconvenience you.�

            He
shook his head. �No, it�s my day
off and I�ll probably just stay in tonight.�

            �Such
exciting lives we lead.�

            �Oh yes.� Draco examined him, eyes sweeping over his father�s face
that was either mildly sunburned, windburned, or both. Even now he looked distant and
anxious. What on earth was
bothering him? Draco took a deep
breath and decided to take the plunge.
�What�s on your mind today?�

            Lucius laughed, but there wasn�t an
ounce of humor in it. �Mistakes,�
he said. �All the ones I�ve made
already and the ones I�ll inevitably make in the future.�

            Draco blinked and tried to think of
something to say. He was
unaccustomed to such direct honesty, especially from his father.

            �Well...that...that sounds like
torture,� he recovered after a minute.

            �It is.�

            �Maybe I�m oversimplifying things,
but if it�s torture, why dwell on it?�
Draco picked at a tiny splinter on his broom. �You can�t change the past. You can only learn from it and try to use that knowledge to
prevent mistakes in the future. At
least that�s what Healer Newbery says.�

            He was trying to be helpful, but a
pained expression crossed his father�s face. It was unnerving.
Draco tried to figure out where he had misstepped; it hadn�t been his
intention to make things worse.
However, as quickly as that wounded look appeared, Lucius smoothed it
away and looked up to meet his eyes.

            �Yes. You�re right.�
He offered a weary smile.
�I�m not sure how you ended up so smart, with me as a father.�

            Draco shrugged. �Mum�s pretty smart.�

            This drew a genuine grin from
Lucius. �Aye, she is. That must be it.�





            Draco invited him to come into the
gym. It wasn�t the first time he�d
extended the invitation, but it was the first time Lucius accepted. He knew the only way to get any sleep
when night fell was to exhaust himself.
The long, slightly reckless fly had put a dent in his energy but his
mind refused to turn off.

            Once Draco showed him how to use most
of the machines, he set to wearing himself out. In a very short time he saw why Draco liked to do this; it
provided something else to focus on.
For two blessed hours his brain was empty.

            �What�s this sudden interest in
fitness?� Draco asked when they were finished, handing him a towel.

            �Just curiosity,� Lucius
replied. He was amazed at how
sweaty he�d become; he hardly noticed until he stopped. It would work to his advantage, though,
as a hot bath before bed would make him drowsy.

            �You�re going to be sore
tomorrow. I might have some muscle
poultice somewhere...�

            �I�ll be all right.� He said it distantly. Muscles aches held no sway over
him. Once upon a time, he�d found
the power to go to work, care for his child, and lead an outwardly normal life
when every inch of his body screamed from Cruciatus. A little self-induced soreness wouldn�t faze him.

            �You sure?� Draco asked.

            Lucius knew he wasn�t really asking
about the muscle poultice. It was
that other thing. And though he wasn�t sure at all, he
said, �Yes, I�m sure.�





            Lavender was supposed to be
soothing, and while it was true that his body very much appreciated sinking
into a soft bed after the bath, his mind refused to capitulate. Lucius couldn�t keep his eyes open, yet
his brain raced on. This time it
circled around Draco.

            Would he ever know this kind of
relationship with his son if he changed things? He and Draco had become close only through mutual
strife. Before, when Draco was younger,
their relationship had been that of an idol and a worshipper. It was a step up from the way Lucius
had related to his own father, yet
it was still far from functional or caring. Who was to say that he wouldn�t repeat the same mistakes if
he fulfilled the Time Turner request?

            He only had his own father as an
example of how to parent. While
he�d always known that he did not want to be like him, he hadn�t known any
other way to relate to his child.
His approach was softer, more doting, even coddling, some would say, but
no less harsh. When Draco didn�t
meet his expectations he was quick to shame him. In some ways that was worse when Draco thought he was on par
with Merlin himself. At least
Lucius had expected it from his own sire, and thus been prepared for a routine
tongue-lashing (or more).

            Abraxas would not change if Lucius
went back in time. He would raise
his son exactly the same. But
perhaps...perhaps if the young Lucius was never so terribly poisoned against
Muggles, he would be able to weather his parents and grow into someone
less...empty. And if there was
more kindness in his heart, more capacity to seek and understand love, he would
raise Draco differently if and when he came along.

            If.

            Lucius swallowed. He hadn�t thought about that until
now. Doing this could mean
deleting his own son, the one person that had pulled him through some of the
worst years of his life simply by existing. More than Hermione, more than a long path to happiness, his
greatest creation - someone he loved even when he had no idea what love meant -
was at stake.

            And that was when the second voice
in his head went silent with apprehension, because even it loved Draco.







            �I couldn�t explain this parchment
to you if I tried. This is the
most advanced form of arithmancy in existence. Very few can fathom it.� The Unspeakable�s voice was professional, yet
sympathetic. �I�m sorry, Mr.
Malfoy. I know this is a confusing
time for you.�

            Lucius wished that he could see the
man�s face. Odd for a person once
so enamored of masks. He looked
down at the mess of letters, numbers, and symbols in front of him. They were just another mask; they
covered the twists and turns of temporal magic, shielding the answers he
sought.

            �The arithmancer isn�t available
for an appointment?� he asked, already knowing the answer.

            �She�s very busy, understandably,
and it�s our policy not to allow direct contact with petitioners. She must remain objective while
completing her calculations.�

            �But I need to know what they
mean. I need to understand how
they are calculated.� Lucius felt
urgency building in his gut and tried to keep it out of his voice. �I can�t possibly make this decision
without having some insight into what will happen afterwards.�

            �You know the outcome will be
favorable.�

            Lucius closed his eyes in
frustration. �What does that
mean? It isn�t enough
information. Favorable could mean
I am not raped on that day, but it happens the next week anyway. Or it could mean my entire life is
rainbows and daisies from that point forward. Could you take that kind of chance?�

            The Unspeakable shifted. Until now, they had both avoided
discussion of what Lucius�s Time Turner request contained. Now Lucius had put it out in the open.

            �I do understand your feelings,�
the other man said. �Truthfully, I
was surprised your request was approved.
I have never seen one more than ten years old achieve a positive
result.�

            �Then it must be an error.� A part of him hoped it was. It would lift the incredible burden of
choice from his shoulders.

            �It�s not an error. She calculated it three times to be
sure. That�s why it took so long.�

            Lucius saw that his hands were
shaking. He wasn�t having much
luck containing the nightmarish combination of frustration, confusion, guilt,
and outright grief that boiled within him. He put the quivering appendages over his face and flinched
at how clammy they were.

            �How?� he said through his
fingers. �How am I supposed to
make this choice?�

            There was a long pause. Then the Unspeakable leaned
forward. �I will tell you what I
tell everyone who has been in your place.
There are three things you must remember about time travel. One, everything that is meant to happen
has happened already, regardless of whether it�s in the past or future. Two, trust your instincts because they
know better than your brain what is right and wrong. And three, there is always another option.�

            �And that is?� Lucius asked
wearily.

            �The choice not to make a choice.�

            Another long paused ensued. Lucius listened to the cavernous roar
of silence all around them.

            �People really just...walk away?�

            �The request expires in six
months. If you can push it from
your mind for that long, the decision won�t be yours anymore.�

            �I couldn�t push it from my mind to
sleep last night. I�ll die before six months is up.�

            �If that�s the case, you�ll make a
decision and carry it out.� To his
surprise, the Unspeakable reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. �I can�t offer you anything more, Mr.
Malfoy, and I am no happier about it than you.�







            He couldn�t possibly read every
arithmancy text the Malfoy library contained. Even if he could, it would be pointless; he had never even
taken the subject in school because Ancient Runes had interested him more. If he wanted to understand what he had
seen on the parchment down in the Department of Mysteries, he would have to go
through six years of post-University schooling and an apprenticeship just like
that poor arithmancer.

            It was at that moment, surrounded
by a stack of books and a bewildered House Elf, that he realized his quest for
answers was futile.







            He left the Manor two days
later. There were no answers to be
had, and though it was nice to spend time with Draco and Narcissa, he felt only
half-complete without Hermione. Awaiting your return, her note had
said. Even though she knew he was
hiding something from her, she wasn�t angry or demanding or distrusting. In time he knew he would cave to
her...but until then, he was endlessly grateful that she didn�t appear to need
an answer.

            She was at class when he returned
to the villa. All was just as he�d
left it, save for a pair of her shoes forgotten beneath his desk. Apparently she had taken advantage of
his absence to study on it. He
smiled, imagining her curled in his chair with that serious yet enraptured look
on her face. It still surprised
him that he found her bookworm tendencies so endearing.

            He wished she was home. He wanted to hug her, kiss her, smell
her hair. It would only be a few
more hours, but it seemed too long to be alone.

            That was how he ended up down in
the kitchen. Jo-Jo was his only
option for companionship as Paolo was not answering his mirror flashes, and she
didn�t seem to mind, though she did give him a look bordering on hysteria when
he asked her to teach him how to cook something.

            �It�s not because I don�t like your
cooking,� he said quickly, recognizing that such a harmless request could cause
a nervous breakdown in a House Elf.
�Your cooking is wonderful.
I just want to do something nice for Hermione.�

            Jo-Jo�s eyes lit up as if the
previous moment of devastation had never occurred. �Oh!� she squealed.
�Master Lucius is so romantic.
Mistress Hermione will be most pleased!�

            �That depends what I put on her
plate,� Lucius answered wryly. �I
have never cooked anything before.�

            �It�s very easy! Master Lucius will be brilliant!�

            And he couldn�t convince the elf
otherwise even though he burned himself twice, confused the measuring cups, got
food in his hair, and nearly dropped a sharp knife on his foot in the course of
preparing a meal Jo-Jo could probably make in her sleep.





            He was home. Hermione could hear him talking to
Jo-Jo as soon as she stepped through the door.

            �I know it�s not supposed to look
like that.�

            �It�s beautiful!� Jo-Jo assured
him.

            �Beautifully deformed, perhaps,� he
snorted.

            �What�s beautifully deformed?�
Hermione interjected, approaching the dining room. Lucius whirled, caught off guard, and offered a sheepish
smile.

            �Er...your dinner.�

            She glanced past him at the
table. It was laid out with a main
dish that wasn�t immediately recognizable, as well as some green vegetables and
Italian bread. It smelled
amazing.

            �What is it, Jo-Jo?� she asked.

            �Ask Master Lucius!� the elf
replied, looking ready to explode with joy.

            Hermione looked back at Lucius,
confused by Jo-Jo�s extreme perkiness and the wizard�s quiet chagrin. Then it dawned on her. Lucius had sauce in his hair, a smudge
of flour on his trousers, and a bandage around one finger. He had probably intended to clean up
and change before she got home, but her class let out a bit early.

            �Did you cook this?� she asked incredulously.

            �I attempted to,� he replied. �But it was more Jo-Jo�s doing. I sort of stood there and alternated
between dropping things and injuring myself.�

            �Do not listen to him, Miss
Hermione. Master Lucius is a
natural.�

            Hermione had to laugh at the
expression that crossed Lucius�s face.
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. �Thank you.�

            �Don�t thank me until you�ve eaten
it and survived,� he mumbled.

            A flood of love washed over her and
she kissed him again, more deeply this time. Jo-Jo immediately fled; she had learned how quickly a kiss
could turn into something more between her humans and tried her best to avoid
witnessing it, not because it bothered her, but because those kinds of
relations were meant to be private.

            Lucius and Hermione were oblivious
to her departure. Hermione was
glad that he was home and felt warmed from head to toe by his
thoughtfulness. She wrapped her
arms around his torso and squeezed.

            �You�re a sweet man no matter how
you try to pretend that you�re not.�

            �Hmph,� he replied, his face in her
hair. �More likely a bitter old
man with occasional outbursts of sweetness.� He returned her tight embrace, lifting her from the floor
for a brief moment.

            �Is everything taken care of?� she
asked. Hermione was still curious
as to what had pulled him away, and more so, what had made him so moody a few
days ago. However, there was no
evidence of that mood now; he seemed in good spirits, if a little embarrassed by
his own romantic gesture.

            His hands traced soft patterns on
her back. �For now.�

            Though she was dying to interrogate
him, Hermione controlled herself.
She got the sense that if she pushed him, he would only pull farther
away; he wasn�t ready. For
whatever reason he needed to keep this to himself and she had to trust
him. He had trusted her
unconditionally with so many things throughout the course of their relationship
and she had to extend him the same courtesy now.

            She released him and smiled. �Shall we eat?�

            �At your own risk. I�ll draw up a waiver while I change.�

            Hermione took him in - the dried
sauce in his hair, the shirt with the top three buttons undone, the slight
uncertainty in his face - and realized he was nervous. It was a complete mystery to her how
this man had existed all these years, unable to show his true self. That cold, arrogant exterior wasn�t him
at all.

            �No waiver necessary,� she said,
and picked up a fork.







            It turned out that while his first
culinary creation wasn�t outwardly appealing, it was quite good. Not to be outdone, Hermione returned
the favor and tried to cook a few days later. General consensus was that his first try was better. That lit a fire in Hermione, perfectionist
that she was, and they began to cook dinner together once a week.

            Jo-Jo moaned about being out of the
job, but she seemed to genuinely enjoy teaching the hapless witch and wizard
that encroached on her territory.
One night, while they were attempting a homemade minestrone, salad, and
freshly baked bread, Hermione said, �You know, Jo-Jo, you should put your
recipes together in a book.
They�re all so delicious.�
Lucius nodded his assent as his mouth was full - he was notorious for
eating as he prepared, and thus being halfway full before the meal was even
finished cooking. No matter how
Hermione and Jo-Jo scolded him, he was caught nibbling every time.

            Neither had ever seen a House Elf
blush before. Jo-Jo reddened to
the tip of her pointy ears and stuttered, �Oh, Master and Mistress are too
kind, but Jo-Jo is nothing special.�

            �No, I think Hermione is onto
something. I could help you try to
publish it, as I�ve done that song and dance,� Lucius countered.

            Jo-Jo twined her hands together
nervously. �Well, it is just
that...Jo-Jo does not know how to write.�

            �What?� Hermione said, aghast.

            �Jo-Jo also does not know how to
read,� the elf admitted, her shoulders sinking in shame.

            �That can�t be,� Lucius said. �We�ve given you written lists and you
always come back with the correct things.�

            �Jo-Jo asks the other elves at the
Manor what they say.�

            It was on the tip of Hermione�s
tongue to demand why Lucius had taught his other elves, but not Jo-Jo, how to
read and write, when she recalled that Jo-Jo wasn�t originally his.

            �Bellatrix and Rodolphus must not
have taught their elves,� he said, reaching the same conclusion.

            Jo-Jo nodded. �Mistress Lestrange said �nosy servants
have no place being literate�.�

            Hermione�s hand tightened around
the wooden spoon she was holding, to the point that her knuckles went white and
the spoon quivered. �That bitch!�

            �I second that,� Lucius
muttered. �Jo-Jo, tomorrow I want
you to go to the Manor and tell Tibby that she is to start teaching you to read
and write as soon as possible.�

            �No,� Hermione said. �We�ll teach you, Jo-Jo.�

            Lucius glanced at her, surprised. Her face brooked no argument, at least
none that he wanted to give lest he spend the next week sleeping on the couch.

            �It�s fair, isn�t it?� Hermione
went on, eyes flashing. �Jo-Jo
teaches us how to cook and we teach her how to read and write. Then you can write your cookbook,
Jo-Jo.�

            �Really?� the elf squeaked, eyes
wide.

            �Really. Right, Lucius?�

            He would much rather have delegated
the task to the other elves, but disagreement with Hermione in this state
wasn�t an option. Grudgingly, he
stuffed another cucumber slice in his mouth and said, �Right.�





            A week later he watched Hermione
sit at the table with Jo-Jo going over the basics of the alphabet. The elf listened raptly and was a quick
study. But then, he should have
expected that, since her illiteracy meant that she had done almost everything
by memory for her entire life.

            A thought that had entered his mind
many times strayed in once more.
Hermione would be a wonderful mother. She was so kind, so patient, so giving...any offspring of
hers would have a blissful childhood and would surely grow into wonderful
people. A spear of pain ricocheted
through his chest. If she stayed
with him, she would never be able to have children.

            He looked down at his hands, unable
to chase the thought away. He had
never expected their relationship to last this long and was not eager to have
more children as he�d screwed up royally with the first one, so thoughts of
children hadn�t intruded. Now it
seemed like they were both in it for the long haul and guilt crept up on
him. It was just another sacrifice
she had to make to be with him...

            �Lucius?�

            He startled out of his morose
thoughts, unsure of how long he�d been wallowing in them. It must have been a while because Jo-Jo
was nowhere to be seen and it had grown much darker. Hermione was looking at him expectantly.

            �Hm?�

            �Are you all right?�

            �Yes,� he lied. �Just lost in thought.�







            �So?� Lucius said over his lunch.

            Tiresias raised an eyebrow. �So...what?�

            Lucius sighed. �Your date with Andromeda. How did it go?�

            A horrified look crept across the
healer�s face. �I told you about
that?�

            �Yes, after the dinner party.�

            He winced. �I was drunk. Shame on you, Lucius, for taking advantage of me. And all that time you were warning me
about your ex-wife!�

            �I didn�t do anything! You volunteered the information!�

            �I did?�

            Lucius chuckled. �Yes. You asked me why I never told you that Narcissa has an
attractive sister.�

            �Ugh. I am never going to one of your parties again.�

            �You are avoiding the question,�
Lucius pressed. �How did the date
go?�

            �Did you really come all the way to
Vancouver for this?� Tiresias asked.

            �No. I have to ask you something else, but this first.�

            Tiresias sighed as if Lucius was
asking him to do surgery on himself without anesthesia. �It was fine.�

            �Just fine? Did you kiss her?�

            �You, sir, are a gossip.�

            �It�s Hermione that wants to know,
not me,� he fibbed.

            �You can inform her that gentlemen
don�t kiss and tell,� Tiresias retorted smartly.

            �All right. Will there be a second date?�

            �Er...there already has been. And...maybe a third,� the healer
admitted.

            Lucius smiled calculatingly. �Has she met the dog?� When he had first begun to see Tiresias
regularly after the war, he�d thought that Gerald was a person. The way Tiresias talked about him was
enough to make it sound like ol� Gerry was either his roommate or his
boyfriend. When Tiresias invited
him over for dinner one night and he met Gerald in all his canine glory, he had
laughed so hard he nearly cried - and back then, that was a rarity.

            �Yes, Gerry likes her,� Tiresias
said into his glass of water.

            �Well, with his blessing, surely
you can get married now.�

            �Shut up.�

            Lucius grinned and let it
slide. He had all the information
he needed to know. A few minutes
passed during which both men ate their lunches in comfortable silence. Eventually Tiresias recovered from his
embarrassment and spoke up.

            �What else did you want to ask me?�

            Lucius glanced around out of old,
paranoid habit. There were two
other groups in the restaurant, but they were far enough away that they
wouldn�t overhear. Nonetheless, he
leaned forward and lowered his voice.
�I wanted to ask you about having children. Is there any way, with me like this?�

            Tiresias was momentarily taken
aback. Then he recovered, his eyes
lighting. �You and Hermione want
to have a baby?�

            �Keep your voice down!� Lucius said
anxiously. �No, that�s not
it. I just want to know.�

            �Well, there is always adoption.�

            �Tiresias, no one in their right
mind would let me adopt a child.
No one in the wizarding world, anyway.�

            The healer frowned. �Other than that, I�m really not
sure. I would have to do some
research...ask around. If there�s
a way, I�ll find it for you.�

            �Thank you.�

            �Of course.� Tiresias leaned back in his chair,
appraising the wizard across from him.
�You know, it�s funny you asked about Gerry. I think he misses you.
Since you�re here, you should come over for a while and see the old
fellow. We can research, too.�







            And so it was that he went home
much later than intended with dog hair and drool on his trousers, mind buzzing
with what he�d learned. There was a way, a Muggle method. It was very expensive and involved a
great deal of science that Hermione would understand better than him, but it
didn�t matter. He could give
Hermione children if she wanted them.
She didn�t have to sacrifice motherhood.

            He was happy, so much so that
Hermione didn�t know what to make of it over the course of the next few
days. He wasn�t sure why that tiny
bit of knowledge made him feel such joy; he had no intentions of having more
children. It was just nice to know
that if Hermione desired a family with him, he could oblige. There was nothing he couldn�t give
her...except, perhaps, a public relationship, and that seemed less and less important
with each passing day.

            He settled back into life with her,
and slowly, all the angst of the Time Turner request began to fade from his
mind. There were only five and a
half months left.







            He thought about it at times -
those dangerous minutes and hours where his mind was not otherwise occupied -
but if Lucius was good at anything, it was structuring his life around a
convenient denial. All he had to
do was keep himself so busy that he didn�t have time to dwell on the Time
Turner request, or anything, really, save eating, sleeping, and Hermione. With more work to be done at the Manor,
the cleaning of his mother�s estate, the continuing partnership with the
Ministry, and dealing with the public, his plate was full. He fell into be each night exhausted,
but no less thankful to have Hermione at his side.

            She warned him every now and then
that he oughtn�t burn the candle at both ends. He had to remember that he was sick and exhaustion could
lower his immunity. Lucius wanted
to soothe her and slow himself down, but it wasn�t possible; if he did, his
mind would catch up.

            He considered a pensieve. Why couldn�t he just remove the
memories of the Time Turner request from his brain, let them ferment in the
pensieve instead of his head...his very soul? Ah, but as with the initial event that started it all, that
left too much chance for discovery.
No matter how well he hid the pensieve, there was always a chance that
it would be found, and after the events with Aloysius Pound, he very much
preferred to keep his memories in his head.

            Besides, he had decided not to
decide. Banishing the memories
made a different choice; it was a staunch no, and he wasn�t ready to go that
far. Ambivalence he could do. Flat-out rejection he could not; it was
too permanent.

            So on and on he burned - spending
time with Hermione, cleansing the darkness from his home, putting order to the
estate he would give to his son, speaking to the media, writing by candlelight,
teaching a House Elf how to read, visiting Tiresias and Paolo and Elisabetta,
attending therapy with Draco, lunching with Narcissa - and he knew he would get
down to the wick soon. As the
months flew by, he hoped that he would make it. It would all be worth it. One morning he would wake up and be able to lay in bed,
idle, and he would think to himself:
Once upon a time I could have
changed things, but those days are in the past, and there they will remain.

            He kissed Hermione�s temple. She was already asleep, her breath slow
and even. She had an exam
tomorrow. Lucius wrapped his arms
around her and held tight.

            There
they will remain.







            Lucius had taken to sleeping later
in the last few months. Even so,
he still had circles under his eyes sometimes. He was working too hard. It worried her, but he seemed so content in spite of it, and
Hermione was firmly of the school that said not to fix something that wasn�t
broken. She let him be and just
enjoyed the flow of their lives together.

            Today she was tired because of the
exam. It was easy and she knew
she�d aced it, but the physical act of sitting and thinking for two hours was
exhausting and she was looking forward to a little nap. Surprisingly, Lucius was still in
bed. He was sprawled on his
stomach, one leg sticking out of the blankets.

            Smiling, Hermione stepped out of
her shoes and gently climbed on top of him. He was slow to wake, but a small smile plucked at his lips
once he did.

            �Good morning,� he purred. �Need a good luck kiss before your
exam?�

            �I�ve already taken it, but I�ll
take a kiss anyway.�

            �What? What time is it?�

            �About half past ten.�

            �Bugger,� he muttered. �I meant to go do some work in
Australia.�

            �What are you doing to that house
that�s taking so long?� she asked, playing with a strand of his hair.

            �I want to give Draco a blank
slate. I want the house to truly
be his, rather than something he inherited from a stranger. Considering how atrocious my late
mother�s decorating taste was, this is proving to be an arduous task...�

            �Why not let Draco do the work?�

            �I�m stripping it, not redecorating
for him. If he wants it to be
presentable he�ll have to do it on his own.� Lucius chuckled.
�I am not a glutton for punishment.�

            �I�m not so sure about that,�
Hermione replied under her breath.

            Lucius turned, dislodging her from
his back. Once he was on his side
he reached out to pull her against him.
�I am gluttonous only when it comes to you. That�s not a sin, is it?�

            Hermione squirmed at the tickle of
his lips against her neck. �No.�

            �Well, now that we�ve established
that...� His hands slid beneath
her shirt, sparking little electric currents against her skin. �I believe I owe you a kiss.�







            They were still in bed ninety
minutes later when Jo-Jo appeared with the day�s mail. She was now charged with reading the
front page of the Daily Prophet to them; she rarely stumbled over the words
anymore. Hermione listened
intently because Jo-Jo was so proud of herself when she read. Lucius wasn�t listening at all. He was preoccupied with the attempt to
neck her into a second bout of sex.

            Thankfully it was a slow day and
there wasn�t anything of much substance in the Prophet. Jo-Jo finished quickly and made a hasty
exit, and it was a good thing she did - Hermione felt Lucius�s hand sneak
beneath the blankets and stray between her legs. Her resistance was fading at an alarming rate. All she had wanted when she climbed
into bed was a nap. Amazing how
plans changed.

            Smiling, she let him seduce her
into round two.







            He moved quietly about the room in
search of the mail. Hermione was
asleep, presumably tired out by the exam and the excessive shagging. For once she had looked tired instead
of the other way around, and so he was determined to let her sleep as long as
she wanted.

            There it was. Jo-Jo had left it on the chair by the
fireplace. Lucius scooped up the
mess of parchment and brought it to his desk. He was expecting some correspondence from the Australian
company he was paying to redo the landscaping at his mother�s estate. Though it was getting to be winter down
there, it was still warm, and landscaping had never been his specialty. He had enough to do inside that it only
seemed fair to let someone else worry about the outside.

            Sure enough, the company�s estimate
was among the stack. It was
reasonable and the company had a good reputation - he�d checked with some of
the locals - so he felt comfortable sending them a letter to confirm. At last those hideous half-dead
rosebushes would be gone, and the pool area would no longer resemble a jungle.

            He was ready to toss the mail aside
until he got to the last envelope.
He saw the return address stamp and cursed. What did the Department of Mysteries want with him? The Unspeakable had said they would
leave him alone...

            Perhaps it was just a notice to
alert him that he only had six weeks left. They had sent a similar one at three months. Yes, that was all it would be. He could throw it in the fireplace and
forget about it.

            But it wasn�t a typed form. It was handwritten and clearly
personalized. With growing dread,
he read the looped cursive.



            Mr.
Malfoy,



            I
feel that it is my duty to inform you that there has been a development in
regards to your Time Turner request.
It would be in your best interest to come to the Department of Mysteries
as soon as possible so we can discuss it.
Please ask for Unspeakable #47 when you arrive. I have had a word with the Aurors in
advance so as to prevent any obstruction or delay. Thank you.



            47





            Fuck. It sounded like it was important, whatever it was. Lucius ran his hands through his
hair. Maybe the arithmancer had
run the numbers again and it turned out that his request wasn�t so favorable
after all...

            He could only hope. With a sigh, Lucius stood and went to
put on some better clothes. It
wouldn�t do to show up at the Ministry in Muggle pajama bottoms.







            Nobody stopped him when he
arrived. The ride down to the
ninth level was a solitary one, full of whirs and clicks and pings. Lucius meditated upon the decoration in
the lift to keep himself calm. The
last time it had been updated, it was clearly the art deco age. It was funny, sometimes, how the
magical and Muggle worlds bled together.
Funny, also, that he had never noticed it until the Muggle world was brought
into his life via his illness...and Hermione.

            He stepped out into the forbidding
tiled hallway. In the polished
tiles, he looked like nothing more than a pale blur, his hair reflecting off
the imperfect surfaces. His shoes
clicked and echoed as he tried to remember which way to go for the reception
desk. There was one, but as the
design down here hardly made any sense at all, it was difficult to find.

            Eventually he located it. He could tell that the person behind it
was bored even though he couldn�t see his face. Disinterest was plain in his body language.

            �May I help you?�

            Lucius cleared his throat. �Yes. I need to speak with Number 47.�

            �Just a moment.� The Unspeakable pressed a button behind
the desk and leaned down to speak into a microphone Lucius hadn�t noticed. �Number 47, please report to the front
desk. You have a visitor.� Once he was done with the page, he
looked up at Lucius. �You can have
a seat. He�ll be with you
shortly.�

            Lucius�s bottom had barely touched
the chair before a man in black strode in.

            �Mr. Malfoy, thank you for
coming. I was hoping you�d respond
quickly.�

            �Your wording left me little
choice,� he replied.

            �I apologize if it alarmed
you. It was necessary to get you
here as soon as possible. If
you�ll follow me?�

            Lucius nodded and allowed himself
to be led into the bowels of the Ministry once more. However, they were not going the same way they had last
time. As he walked, a strange
feeling of deja vu hit him and he stopped short.

            The Unspeakable looked back at
him. �Mr. Malfoy?�

            He licked his lips. �Where are we going?�

            �Into the Hall of Prophecy.�

            Deep breath. �Why there?�

            �Because it�s essential that you
see something.�

            �In the Hall of Prophecy.�

            The Unspeakable hesitated, sensing
his discomfort. �Yes.�

            The headache was beginning. He didn�t want any more surprises. He just wanted to be left alone, to
ignore this mess. Lucius wished
that he had thrown the letter into the fire. He wished that he had never put the request in at all.

            �Please, Mr. Malfoy. I know it was your desire to keep your
distance. I wouldn�t have asked
you here if it wasn�t of the utmost importance.�

            Slowly, he nodded. Though he couldn�t see the other man�s
face, he could hear the edge in his voice. Whatever awaited him was serious.

            �All right.�







            There were thirty-six globes on the
table arranged in rows of six.
Before them sat one more, cloudy and menacing. The Unspeakable gestured for him to sit. Lucius did so, warily eyeing the
prophecies. Prophecies had gotten
him in trouble before; he did not like them.

            �What I�m about to tell you doesn�t
leave this room, Mr. Malfoy.�

            �Of course not.� His heart began to throb a little
faster in anticipation of what he would hear.

            �In the last four weeks, we have
noticed a pattern in the prophecies being made. Every single prophecy on this table foresees an attack.�

            �What kind of attack?� he asked,
immediately curious.

            �A resurgence of anti-Muggle and
anti-Muggleborn forces. The last
stragglers of Voldemort�s regime, most likely.�

            �I thought most of them had been
hunted down.�

            �Most that we knew of. I�m sure there are many who have laid
low. We have no idea who is out
there, or what they�re planning.�

            �The prophecies...what do they say
will happen?�

            The Unspeakable sighed and shook
his head. �They�re vague, like all
prophecies are. Poetry that�s open
to interpretation. However,
there�s one thing that is unmistakable: they foresee the death of some very
important people.�

            �Who?�

            �I can�t tell you. But this is serious, very serious. It could throw us back into
full-fledged war.�

            Lucius chewed his lip. �I don�t suppose they tell you a date.�

            �No. There are no time indicators at all. But we do have one hope.� He reached out to pick up the prophecy
that stood alone. �Take this.�

            �What?�

            �Take it.�

            Lucius looked at his outstretched
hand. �Why?�

            �Because we�ve determined that it�s
about you.�

            He blinked. Then he backed the chair away, shaking
his head. �No. No, I will not live my life by a
prophecy. I have learned that
lesson.�

            �I understand your reticence, but
please, if you value the ones you love, you will take it.�

            Lucius stared at him, emotions
roiling. Prophecies...what massive
trouble they were. He had his
doubts whether anyone could really see the future with any clarity, and whether
those who concerned themselves with prophecy did not, in the end, bring things upon
themselves because the suggestion had been planted in their head. The prophecy about Voldemort and Potter
had played out exactly as stated, but who was to say if it would have if
neither had ever heard it? The
Dark Lord made it all happen, and once the chain of events started, it couldn�t
be stopped. And he, Lucius, was
dragged along the whole way, stuck in the web of someone else�s misguided
clairvoyance. How could he put any
credence in a prophecy now?

            All the same, how could he walk
away from it, if it concerned those that mattered most to him? Would they let him walk away if it was connected to this looming attack? Feeling ill, he reached out to take the
glass orb.

            The clouds within it swirled and
undulated. Then a thready voice
began to speak.





            �Through
struggle and toil he must choose

            Which
he can bear most to lose

            The
circumvention of a cruel fate

            Or
the victims of the culmination of hate



            By
one he shall find release

            From
all pain, suffering, and disease

            By
another he shall float forever

            In
the shadow of love�s ruined endeavor



            But
he who wrestles with the choice to go back

            May
yet remedy more than one attack

            If
by choosing to spin time�s arrow

            He
casts a stone in the great river�s flow



            To
remember or forget, he debates

            To
accept or change many fates

            Unbeknownst,
he holds the key

            To
glory and to agony.�







            The globe slipped from his
hands. The Unspeakable was there
to catch it. He held it as if it
was a golden egg, and set it down gently on the stand.

            �I transcribed it,� the Unspeakable
said softly. �If you need to read
it.� He placed the piece of
parchment on the table. �I�ll give
you a moment.�





            He read it so many times that it
lost all sense. Lucius wanted to
believe that there was some way to refute the conclusion he was reaching. Time and time again, there wasn�t. Though the prophecy�s wording was
obscure, its message was plain.

            He had to go through with the Time
Turner request. Somehow, it was
related to the attack that the other prophecies foretold. If he went back, the attack would be
less severe or possibly even be prevented, and those that might die otherwise
would not.

            Victims
of the culmination of hate... Hermione was Muggleborn. If she was not a target in this plot,
he would eat his gloves. Blood
traitors, too, would be targeted.
That meant Draco, Narcissa, him...they
were all on the list. If he didn�t
go back and change things, he would lose everyone that had ever mattered to
him.

            But how? How did one journey back in time have the power to alter so
much? It was all
circumstantial. Why should he
believe some prophecy? He ought to
throw the damn thing against the wall and take pleasure in its shattering.

            No. He would do nothing that could potentially endanger the ones
he loved. He would rather lose the
fragile life he had built than be forced to see them die. Any chance of saving them, any chance
at all, had to be taken. And it
was not just one prophecy. Thirty
six sat on the table, all pointing towards the same thing.

            �Hello?� he said into the vast
silence. �Forty-seven?�

            The man materialized out of
nowhere. �I�m here.�

            �I have to go forward with it.�

            Lucius heard the other man
exhale. �You don�t have to do anything.�

            �Of course I do. What kind of man would I be if I just
let terrible things happen when it�s in my power to prevent them?� The question hung in the heavy air and
Lucius realized how strange it sounded coming from him. It felt uncomfortably noble. He groped for the comfort of
self-interest. �Besides, it�s
obvious that my loved ones are targeted.
If this is the way to save them, then I will do it gladly.�

            �I didn�t bring you here to force
your hand. Please believe me when
I say that.�

            �I do.�

            �There is so much at stake, Mr.
Malfoy. So much.�

            Lucius closed his eyes and
breathed. �I know.� Swallowing all the apprehension that
rose in his gut, he said, �When can I schedule my appointment?�

            �It can be as soon as
tomorrow. Given the circumstances,
you take priority.�

            Tomorrow. Merlin. He felt
light-headed. �I...that�s too
soon. I...�

            �You can get back to me.�

            Lucius nodded. �I�ll have to.�







            The warm familiarity of the villa
should have been torture. It
should have shredded his heart to walk its aged halls. Yet he didn�t feel the grief he
expected; he felt only a curious pained exhilaration. The choice had been made, and the price was one he could
bear. He could stand never to know
this bliss with Hermione - he already had, for many years - but he could not
stand the thought of her death.

            Pain hit him so exquisitely that it
brought tears to his eyes. Losing
her, truly losing her, would destroy
his soul. He had to protect her no
matter what.

            He brushed the tears away and sat
on the edge of the bed. She was
sleeping peacefully, curled up in the blankets. He had only been gone an hour. It felt like an absence of centuries.

            Reaching out, he pushed the curls
away from her forehead. Hermione
stirred. Then her doe eyes cracked
open.

            �Mmm, what time--� she trailed off
when she caught sight of his face.
�Lucius, what is it?�

            �Hermione,� he answered, his voice
uneven, �we need to talk.�
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