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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
- 4
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- 6
AUTHOR�S NOTE:� PLEASE
READ THIS!� Ok, I am doing something at
the end of this chapter that I�m fairly sure has never been done before.� I�m also fairly sure that some of you may not
like it, but once I wrote it, it felt too right to change.� As I say with many of my fics, DO NOT ASSUME ANYTHING.� Nothing.� I know that�s
hard � I�m the same way, and I jump to conclusions and try to figure out what
the author is doing or where he/she is going.�
But please try not to make assumptions about how this story is going to
pan out based on this chapter alone! �Now
that I�ve alarmed all of you, some review responses:

LaBib � Haha thanks for the offers, I�ve got my own way to
be rid of Narcissa.� Ron,
too.� Rat poison might be more
fun, though.� Yes, the bodice-ripper
comment is Lucius talking and not me.� If
I didn�t think that smut/romance had merit as a genre and talented writers to
go with it, I wouldn�t be here.� As for
Lucius and the �throne�, I didn�t mean for it to be taken that way!� Doesn�t everybody read in the loo?� I know I do� *coughs*� So you can consider his bowels entirely
normal.� It�s so bad, though � every time
I write anything about being �blocked� now, I think of the double-entendre and
chuckle to myself.

Ravenna
� It is about blood purity, too � that was how he was raised and his experience
only added fuel to the muggle-hating fire.

And on with the show�

Dreams can be
deceiving

Like faces are to
hearts

They serve for sweet
relieving

When
fantasy and reality lie too far apart.

- Fiona Apple, �Slow
Like Honey�

He didn�t wait as long this
time.� Nor was he so gentlemanly; she
knew before she felt the tug of apparition that it was his hand clamped over
her mouth, his arm wrapped tightly about her waist.� As soon as they appeared wherever he had
taken them, he pulled his hand away.� It
was as if he had read her mind; she had been about to close her teeth around
the fleshy part of his thumb.� Ah, yes �
he could read her mind now.� And she his.

But as he released her, she heard
nothing from him.� She whirled.� Disorientation made the world spin farther
than her body and it took her a moment to focus on him.� He was without his robes, a tad disheveled,
his sleeves rolled up and wrinkles in his pants that could only be noticed if
one was truly looking for them.� His face
said that he hadn�t slept.� There were
ink stains on his fingers.� Lucius Malfoy
had been writing.

He looked the slightest bit
crazy.� Perhaps it was only the hint of
red in his eyes, the way a few strands of his hair were out of place.� As she looked, his hands came up to smooth
his pale locks in a gesture that was full of self-conscious frustration.

�It worked.�� His voice was dry and hoarse.

�What�?� she asked.� Hermione wondered if he had eaten, but it
didn�t seem likely.

�I�m not blocked anymore.�� He twitched almost imperceptibly.� Agitation was plain on every inch of him and
at last she began to feel his mind.� It
was racing, restless, full of sentence fragments she couldn�t understand.� �At least I wasn�t.� Thirty-six pages.� Now��

Nothing.

Hermione blinked.� It wasn�t Lucius Malfoy in front of her; it
was one of those chronically misunderstood people, an eccentric artist driven
insane by his own talent.� She half expected
him to pull out a knife and cut off his ear.�
The man had to sleep!� Now she
took in his desk; there was a quill bent in half, a blank page with one splotch
of ink on it, an upset brandy glass.

�How long have you been awake?� she
asked.

�I don�t know,� he snapped.� �It doesn�t matter.� You have to do it again.�

�Do what again?�

He crossed his arms.� �Enrage me.��
Enrage me, his mind went
on.� Make
me so angry I can barely see.

She took a step back.� �Why on earth would I want to do that?�� I don�t
have a death wish.

�Because it worked, silly girl, it worked!�
I came back and I was able to write.��
Sure, I broke almost everything in
this cottage first, but that was easily fixed, and--

�But you just said--� she
protested, trying not to listen to his railing thoughts.

�Yes, yes, that�s why I brought you
here.�� He looked annoyed.� �You had no objection to inciting my wrath
before.�

�It isn�t healthy, Lucius,� there,
she had said his name even though it felt colossally strange. ��There has to be another way.�

His brow creased.� He was listening to her thoughts, which were
quickly becoming as chaotic as his own.

�You�re afraid I�ll hurt you.�

�Won�t you?� she challenged.

�No,� his mouth said, but his mind
betrayed him. �Maybe.

Steeling herself, Hermione walked
over to the fireplace.� She took a
handful of floo powder and looked back at him.�
�Get some sleep, Lucius.�

The effect of the Vow�s magic was
becoming worse.� She could feel him at
the edge of her mind now, always there, like a fly trapped in a hot room.� And when she slept�gone were the hazy dreams
of Olympian gods.� As horrific as some of
them had been, in the wake of the things he
saw in his dreams, she wished she could have them back.

She knew the dreams were his
because she dreamt in color and he in black and white.� It was slightly ironic, considering his
ruminations on black and white.� And
there was no sound; his mind at night was a silent movie and it was all the
more disturbing for it.�

There were disjointed images of
everyone she had never wanted to see.�
Voldemort, two people she assumed, by their resemblance, were Lucius�s
parents, Snape, Bellatrix LeStrange, Narcissa and Draco (those dreams were the
worst because he was watching them be tortured), and a man that looked a lot
like Mundungus Fletcher and smelled about as good, because yes, she could smell in his dreams and frequently
did.� Tobacco, alcohol, mint, citrus, grass,
something floral, gardenia perhaps, and a familiar smell that jolted her
because she realized that it was a scent that had always hung about Draco �
perhaps whatever he�d put in his hair or some type of cologne.� Her senses had noticed it and filed it away
in her subconscious without her even knowing.�

In fact, she began to be able to
identify what kind of dream it would be by whatever scent wafted to her
imaginary nose.� Tobacco and alcohol were
always either his father or that muggle vagrant and she wished to God that she
didn�t have to witness either.� She could
tell even without words that his father had been a cold, overbearing man and his
guilt at having been the same to Draco overflowed in those dreams.� As for the vagrant, well, she was in his mind
for those, feeling his childlike agony, and she hoped with all she was worth
that she had not triggered them with her insensitive comments.

The mint dreams were senseless
things.� If anything was recognizable in
them, it was the occasional stretch of corridor from Hogwarts.� Sometimes there was Snape, his black, unreadable
eyes constant in a body and face that changed with age.� His feelings there were ambiguous, confused,
possibly guilty but unsure if he had anything to be guilty for.� Lucius had a lot of guilt, it seemed.� It was a good sign.

Citrus was his mother.� She had raised him kindly, if formally.� She was as much a subject of his father as he
had been and she felt his conflict.� He
wanted to loathe her for what she had done.�
He wanted to, but he couldn�t, but yes he could, oh, yes he could�

Grass was the worst.� Surprisingly those dreams were not about what
had happened to him on that country lane.�
They were Death Eater dreams.�
Voldemort swam before her.� The
Dark Mark blighted his pale arm.� He did
evil things.� He maimed, he killed, yes,
he raped � and he hated himself but could not break the fierce addiction to
causing pain and receiving it.� It was,
she suspected, better than feeling nothing at all�

Gardenia and that weird cologne
were the peaceful dreams.� They were stable,
quiet, gentle, and happy, because
sometimes he could feel happiness around his wife and even more around his son.� She was beginning to suspect that only Draco
had kept him living.� Lucius might have
been perfectly happy to die violently in the service of the Dark Lord, if not
for his son.

He must not have known that his
mind was leaking into hers at night.� These
were exceptionally private things.� Her
dreams were rarely so specific or so revealing; usually they were just a
jumbled combination of whatever she had done and thought of in a given day.� They had been disturbing of late, the visions
of Hades and Charon, but nowhere near as disturbing as his.� Maybe he knew and didn�t care and luxuriated
in the inane disorder of her dreams.

During the day she didn�t hear him,
but Hermione dreaded the time of night where she became so tired she could no
longer keep her eyes open.� Tonight was
just such a night; her eyelids were drooping and the prospect of another
evening spent in the ether of his nightmares was almost too much.� She wished she had paid more attention when
he brought her to that cottage.� She
might have been able to find it again.

And then what would she do?� Oh, she just might ambush him while he was
asleep in bed, torturing her with these images.�
She�d hold her wand to his neck and tell him that if he did not remove
the Vow she�d go after Draco.� He had
been smart enough to factor in harm to himself, but not to anyone else.� And if he thought for one second that she
wouldn�t do it, he was, once again, dead wrong.

She had no idea where the cottage
was, though, and she�d never be able to catch him off guard during waking
hours.� Hermione was confident that she
would see him again.� Maybe by that time
he would be as maddened by the connection as she was.� At this rate she was going to have to ask
Harry to teach her Occlumency and that would lead to a boatload of
uncomfortable and potentially deadly questions.�
There was no guarantee that it would work, anyway, because Lucius had to be an Occlumens, even if he
wasn�t a Legilimens, and she was strolling through his deviant mind every night
regardless.

Sighing, Hermione gave in and slid
beneath her covers.

It smelled like apples.� This was new.

Hermione opened her eyes and she
was looking down at � herself?� Yes,
herself, and she was making a strange face.�
She mistook it for pain at first.�
Why wasn�t she wearing any clothes?�
Then she was flooded with mortification.�
That was no expression of pain!�
She was�she was watching herself during lovemaking!

How?� What?�
But most importantly, who?� Whose
eyes was she looking out of?� It couldn�t
be�but the tendrils of pale blond hair in her peripheral vision confirmed it.

Lucius
was dreaming about her!� Dreaming about having sex with her, more accurately.� Merlin, did she really look like that or was
it his imagination?� Her mortification
burgeoned.� Irrelevant!� Completely irrelevant!

She made the grievous mistake of
reaching out toward their connection, intent upon severing it somehow.� There had to be a way.� But as she neared it, the images became more
intense and it was not just sight and smell; she could taste and feel as well�

She gasped with the passion of
it.� She tasted her own skin under his
tongue as he leaned down to leave a scorching mark on her neck.� There was something incredible happening in
her groin.� This was as close as she was
ever going to get to understanding what sex felt like for a man.� My God, no wonder they liked it so much�

She tried to be offended, tried to
be disgusted, but it was impossible.� He did want her.� It wasn�t just a mind game!� Oh, sweet Merlin, he was on the move, he wanted
to�!

Hermione jerked awake.� She had propelled herself out of sleep with
sheer willpower.� She simply could not
take the combination of him dreaming about pleasing her orally and how hot it
made her to think about him actually doing it.�
She thumped her hand into the mattress in frustration.� Five minutes in his fantasy and she was
wishing she could march into that cottage for an entirely different reason than
before.

She tried to calm herself.� There was nothing to be done for it; the incongruous
arousal he had inadvertently sent her could not be denied.� Ron was at his latest round of auror training
so of course she was alone.� It was times
like these she fervently hated monogamy.

It was 4:22 am.� She had been asleep less than three hours and
Lucius bloody Malfoy had woken her up with a sex dream.� Well, there was no harm in thinking about it,
right?� There was nothing wrong with
thinking about him with his tongue between her legs�

Oh, God.� It was unbearable!� Abandoning the vestiges of her control, she
let her hand sneak into her knickers.�
She was too practiced at this, lately.�
Merlin, she was dripping.� Did he
really have that effect on her?� She
tentatively trailed a finger over her clitoris and found it swollen and
extremely sensitive.� Yes, it seemed he
did.

She found her image of him as she
circled the responsive little bud with the pad of her finger.� There was the pale crown of his head, his
hair spread across her thighs, those devilish blue eyes, and that tongue, that
provoker of agony and ecstasy, tracing his name across her center�L, U, C, I,
U, S�

Two minutes.� That was all it took.� She shuddered, bit down a cry, mindful of the
fact that her flat shared a wall with the neighbors, and her mind was like a
rowboat in a gale as she came.

She lay in its fading waves,
breathing hard.� Holy hell, this was
going to be a problem.� She wouldn�t
survive if he kept having dreams like that.�
This tempest had to be sheared by a cold north wind, blown out of its tropical
pocket of steamy fuel, before it could become the storm of the century.

For the first time, she tried as
hard as she could to enable their connection.�
She needed to find him.� She had
barely slept in three days; she was so paranoid that his mind would stray back
to that lovely encounter. �It hadn�t thus
far but even the chance wound her more tightly than a cuckoo clock.

She puzzled over her lunch that she
was actually a little worried about him.�
That last encounter�he had been himself, but a more manic version.� If he kept on that way he�d make himself
sick.� Whatever he was trying to write
was eating him alive.� Could there be
something worse than the things in
Faim?� She hoped not, but knowing what
she did, it was possible and even probable.

��Oh,
Lucius.� Never did she think she�d feel
bad for him, that unfairly beautiful package of hate.� But she didn�t just feel bad, she felt awful.�
Hermione didn�t delude herself into thinking that he cared; more likely
than not, he itched to be rid of her, she who knew so much.� But if that was the case, why didn�t he just
break the Vow?

She sighed.� She imagined that in his mind there were two
options.� One, he could suffer her
presence and her knowledge, but ensure that his secrets remained secrets.� Or two, he could release her from the Vow and
in doing so release himself from the obligation of existing in the same space
as someone who knew, someone who
could point a finger at him and extol how wrapped up he was in his own
illusions � although only at the risk of her telling someone else.� She wouldn�t, of course, but he would never
trust her.

Well, that was not strictly
true.� She did want to tell someone else.�
She wanted to make them understand.�
The world saw him as she had before this; a vile man, callously sure of
his own superiority, with no scruples and no care for anyone but himself.� Hermione knew better.� He would go to hell and back for his
son.� She wasn�t sure about his wife; he
cared for her but she occupied a space of ambivalence in his mind.� It was amazing that he could care for anyone,
though.� For so long he had operated
purely on self-preservation.

She was too easily overlooking his
litany of crimes.� One traumatic
experience didn�t excuse a lifetime of brutality.� There were things he could have done.� He could have talked to someone.� If he had known that muggle�s name, and he
must have because he read the report of his death in the newspaper, he could
have reported him.� He could have had
legal recourse, even though he had made the mistake that many victims did �
destroying all the evidence.� But what
nine-year-old would have any concept of that?�
And by the time he was old enough to understand, whatever statute of
limitations existed would have run out.�

His parents might have known
better.� Oh, how she wished he had just
gone to them.� She didn�t understand how
any parent could condemn his or her child for being in the wrong place at the
wrong time and being harmed by an adult that was clearly sick or evil or
both.� Yet she hadn�t known his parents.� She had no idea how traditional purebloods
operated, save for what she had witnessed from him and Draco.� Would he have condemned Draco for that?� No, her gut said.� No, he would have found that depraved muggle
and killed him slowly and painfully and without any remorse at all � regardless
of whether his own terrible violation had ever occurred.� She didn�t want to think about what he would
have done if he had ever caught up with his own attacker�

So he had been fenced in by old
prejudices, the polarization of childhood thought, the inability to understand
that love usually trumped shame and expectation, that most parents, when faced
with the derailment of their perfect image, would gladly abandon it to protect
their children, as he had�

Her soup was cold and the cafeteria
was clearing out.� She had three minutes
left of her lunch break.� Hermione
sighed.� Whenever she got to thinking
about this her appetite disappeared.� It
was worse when she thought about his crimes.�
What had been done to him was bad, but the hate he must have felt when
he, too, became sick, when he could not stop himself from doing it to others,
sweet Merlin�

She wished she could dive into his
head and scramble things around.�
Technically, she could, but that meant being close to him � being
subject to his wrath. �And he could do
the same to her, though he wouldn�t churn up anything interesting.� Her life had been mercifully mundane; being
tortured by Bellatrix LeStrange and seeing some of her favorite people die in
the war were as far as her trauma went.�
Yes, those things were pretty bad, but she had gotten the proper
treatment and she had been old enough to understand why.� She had weathered that
storm and come out mostly whole on the other side.� He, on the other hand�he was a pretty
high-rise built on a foundation of cheap sand filler, filler that would
disintegrate into mud and topple him when the world shook.�

And the tremors were
beginning.� The tremors, their name be Hermione Granger�and perhaps the kindest thing she could do was to push him into a full-blown
earthquake and reconstruct him on stronger ground� �

But could she survive that?� Could she live through the collapse?� Because he would know � he would know what she was doing and hate her for
it and perhaps the pieces of him were too small to pick up, too badly damaged
to rebuild�maybe he couldn�t be
rebuilt.� Maybe it would destroy him
forever.

Perhaps that was what the books
were about.� Perhaps he was trying to get
it all out and then he would let himself implode.� His affairs were in order; his fortune was
intact, his heir no longer in danger, his line assured�except for the telling
of his story, Lucius Malfoy�s work was done.

Oh, no.� He was not going to get off that easily.� She wouldn�t let him.� He still had a lot to atone for and so much
squandered potential; he�d lived less than a third of his lifespan and she was
not about to let him waste the rest.�
Hermione�s eyes narrowed in determination.� The next time she saw him she was going to
drive a pillar into his cornerstone.� Let
him try to fall, then�

But as always he surprised her.� When she trudged back down to her office, he
was there.� He filled the small room with
his fickle aura and it seemed like there was barely enough room for both of
them to exist inside.

�Lucius.�� She had become entirely comfortable with his
name now in spite of the fact that he had still not referred to her as
Hermione.� He might never do that.� But �girl� or �Miss Granger� were vastly preferable
to what he used to call her.� His eyes
were on her as she detoured around him and sat in her chair.

He looked better.� Yet he was not entirely himself.� His face still spoke of exhaustion and was a
bit more shadowed.� He had lost weight;
not much, five pounds at most, but she knew to look for it and therefore she
could see it.� Otherwise he looked his
normal shade of impeccable.

He dropped into the visitor�s chair
and stared at her for a moment.� Their
connection was curiously quiet, or maybe it just seemed that way because the
last time she�d been near him, his mind had been about as calm as a hurricane.

�Are you ready for your vacation?�
he said, startling her out of her thoughts.

�What?� What vacation?�� Hermione chuckled.� �I�d know if I had a vacation coming up.�

�You do.�

She looked at him more
closely.� Even through his tired
expression, she could find a note of smugness.

�What did you do?� she asked
slowly.

�You�ve been working far too hard,�
he responded, a smirk tugging his lips.�
�Everyone in the department is just delighted that you�re taking a
break.�

�I�m not taking a break.�

He gestured with his cane.� �I suggest you look in that folder on your
desk.�

With a feeling of muted horror she
opened the manila folder.� It was a
vacation request � two weeks, starting tomorrow � signed and dated and
notarized.

�You forged my signature!�� You
git!

�Yes.� It was quite effortless.� You shouldn�t leave important documents lying
around.�� All too easy for gits like me to appropriate
them.� Don�t worry, I made sure it got where it
needed to go afterwards.

She had no clue what to make of
this.� Was he trying to be nice?� Was he trying to acknowledge the stress he�d
put her under?� Or was it something else?

�Lucius, I don�t understand.�

�It�s simple.�� He closed his mouth and raised his eyes to
her.� They were a little frightening in
their sincerity.� The universe is either punishing me or rewarding me.� It has made you my muse.� I can�t accomplish anything without you.� You are my Calliope.

Hermione was stunned.� This was all about him, as everything
was.� His muse?� His Calliope?� Was he out of his mind?

Calliope
is the muse of epic poetry.� Last I
checked you weren�t writing an epic poem.

I
like to think that the subject matter is epic and my writing could be
considered close to poetry�humor me.�

In spite of his wry tone, she
frowned.�

It
has nothing to do with me.�

It
has everything to do with you.� I was
stuck even before you came into the picture.�
The moment I met you, interacted with you, I was able to proceed.� But in your absence�

You�re
wrong, Lucius.� Writing isn�t easy.� There are writers who suffer blocks that last
years.

There was a short pause.

I
haven�t got years.

Hermione�s breath caught.

�What�what do you mean, you haven�t
got years?��

He shifted uncomfortably in his
seat.� His eyes were skittish now, fixing
everywhere but on her.� �I have�acquired
something�in my travels.�� He sighed
heavily.� �Wizards do not have a name for
it yet.� They thought we were immune.� I usually like to prove people wrong, but not
this time��

�Lucius, what is it?� she asked,
genuinely afraid of the answer.

�Just a little thing,� he said
softly.� �A little thing the muggles call
HIV.�

Her brain stalled.� It stalled fantastically.� Hermione was very still.� She couldn�t believe what had come out of his
mouth, and with so little hesitation!�
Perhaps she had imagined it?�
No.� No�across from her, he was fidgeting
patiently, hiding a great many emotions while he waited for her to come back to
herself.� She finally did with a
tremendous intellectual jolt.

�How long?� Are they sure?� There are medications, pills.� You can live decades!�� She shook her head in wonder.� �Magic folk really don�t get it?�

He tempered her outburst with the
same patience he had in her silence.�
�Since Azkaban � it was so kindly given to me there.� Yes, they�re sure.� And until now, no, magic folk did not get it.�

So kindly given?� Did that mean�?� Oh, she knew what went on in prisons!� She wanted to bomb the place, to burn Azkaban
into a pile of damp North Sea ash for what it
had done to him.� Again she wondered if
he had considered suicide; if she was him, she would have ended her life at the
earliest convenience.� But she wasn�t
him.� She was beginning to suspect that
she might never plumb the full depths of his strength.�

This explained an awful lot, namely
why he hadn�t been tossed right back into prison after the war.� She would bet her Christmas bonus that he had
somehow made it so that they were
paying him to keep it quiet.� She could just imagine the wardens of Azkaban
having to explain what HIV was and how one got it to the greater wizarding
public.� It would be a great embarrassment
to reveal that a very significant outbreak of a disease that was formerly
relegated only to muggles had begun in their domain.� Add that to the fact that they had allowed it
to happen to a member of high society and it was a recipe for disaster.� In spite of his incarceration and affiliation
with the Dark Lord, opinions of Lucius Malfoy still ran high for reasons she
couldn�t quite understand.� She supposed
he was very good at damage control.�

It accounted for the changes in him,
too.� He was still arrogant, yes, and
definitely had not abandoned his greater persona, but there was a calm to him that had never been there before.� He didn�t spout those pureblood
prejudices.� He cared less for his
image.� He didn�t waste his energy on
such trifling things anymore.

It also explained why he wrote the
first book and why he so badly wanted to finish the second.� It was the second half of his life, which he
sensed was running out.� She had wondered
why he had not simply snuck up on her and obliviated her, choosing instead to
lock her into the Vow.� She realized now
that he wanted somebody to know.� He wanted someone to understand, someone to
talk to as he faced a lonely, secretive, drawn-out death�

Do
NOT look at me like that!� His mind�s
voice snapped like a whip in her head, sharp and angry.� Hermione jumped and met his smoldering
eyes.� Oh.� Oh, she was pitying
him.� Shit.� She tried to quench the thoughts, to wipe the
expression from her face, but it wasn�t working.

Azkaban
may have been the best thing that ever happened to me, because I can finally
see through the fog of rage and prejudice�I can finally see my own hypocrisy.� Now I am the mudblood�

�There,� he said.� �There, do you see?� Just sitting here with you��

She was still stuck on his
confession.� �You�re not a�� but she
couldn�t force that hateful word out, so she changed paths.� �How are they treating it?�

�Muggle drugs.� There are no magical treatments yet.�

�Is it working?�

He shrugged.� �I�m still here.� The�other one is already dead.� It was aggressive.� Treatments didn�t work.� Though he did not have the money or the
healers that I do, and presumably, he had it longer.�

�There�s no one else?�

�There may be.� They�re in the process of checking.� I know that I did not pass it on��

Hermione tried to breathe evenly.� It was difficult.� Her emotions were not entirely solidified and
they reeled through her mind like half-formed fireballs.� This was unreal.� Her inner Gryffindor sprang to life, roaring
with the will to fight.� �Those�those
pills work.� Some people have lived twenty
years or more on them.� Like you said,
you have the money, so you can just keep taking them.� And witches and wizards have cured almost
everything else.� They�ll find a
way.� You�re not going to die,� she said
firmly, wanting to believe it.

No,
his mind said.� No, I am tired of fighting.� When
I finish the book I am going off the drugs.

Lucius�

I
have made up my mind.

It
will be long and drawn out and painful.�
As if physical pain held any sway over him�

I
know.� It is no less than I deserve.

His words, so calm and sure, hit
her like a sucker-punch.� She recognized
the feeling that was boiling up inside her.�
It was her inner heroine clawing to the surface, having scented someone
that needed saving�

You
want to go before you�ve even had a chance to live?� You want to go before you see your son get
married, before you see your grandchildren?

He was quiet and his fingers toyed
with the hem of his robe.� She thought
she might have gotten through to him, made him reconsider, but she was
wrong.� For a moment later he stood up
and said,

�They are better off without me.�� He smiled ruefully.� �Pack your bags, mademoiselle.� Tomorrow we are off.� ��

Author�s Note 2.0:� Don�t
hate me.� I know,
I�m giving poor Lucius a tough go of it.�
One could argue, though, that this is karma coming back around on him
for his misdeeds.� Again I say�assume
nothing.
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