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

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
A/N - For anyone who's curious, I've worked out that each of these chapters takes me about 6 hours of editing (though some have taken more,) including reading through out loud. And that's on top of the initial two drafts! o.O There was me thinking I could write a quick fanfic!
A couple of minor changes since the first posting, for anyone that's curious.

5. Safe House
A streaming white comet fell from a heavy sky, overripe with snow. It coalesced into an Auror in a brown, camouflaging cloak.
'Smile, Miss Granger,' Lucius said lightly. 'For Ministry purposes, naturally.' She didn't.
The Auror snapped a magical polaroid with a miniature camera, the type carried for instant photographic evidence and with a muttered incantation, he embedded his magical signature into the picture and shrunk the evidence into a warded pocket of his robes. He acknowledged Lucius with a nod as other Aurors landed like hail.
The atmosphere quaked as the wards shredded. The Aurors dived through the frozen ground like ghosts trailing ectoplasm. There were shouts from underground and then - screams. She startled when Lucius grabbed her hand.
'Come, Miss Granger,' he sniffed.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and tried to visualise the Manor but all she could see was the poor, skinless boy.
All those people. Reduced to lab-rats in cages. What on Earth are they developing down there?
She took a deep, slow breath to steady her nerves but it rattled into her lungs, shaky and telling. People were known to splinch if they apparated in pain or distress. She swallowed down the urge to be sick and willed herself calm.
'Any time you like,' Lucius drawled critically.
They materialised just outside the iron gate. As they crossed the threshold and the wards tingled over her skin, Hermione tore the silver bangle off her wrist and threw it at him in helpless anger. She threw up in the bushes. Tears streamed down her face and wet her collar. She choked out a broken laugh in sudden realisation.
'You bastard. You can't even cast against me and I let you bully me into walking away! We should have helped them!'
Lucius was undisturbed, his frozen expression nonchalant.
'That's what Aurors are for, Miss Granger,' his lips tilted up in the barest, arrogant smirk.
She spat the foul taste from her mouth and turned on him. She seized him by the lapels of his expensive jacket. His soft, fur-lined robes radiated warmth into her fingers and provided relief from the bitter cold. Despite his advantage in bulk and height, she shoved him across the narrow entryway path and against the privet hedgerow with the tip of her wand at his jaw.
His face morphed like an actor coming out of character. A cold, wild animal reared up behind his eyes. He threw her against the very solid gate and pinned her at the throat with his cane. He was suddenly all she could see.
'Malfoy!' she choked as she felt the oncoming ache of oxygen deprivation.
He was heavy and strong. Once, she'd imagined him a bit of a layabout with servants to do everything – even wipe his aristocratic arse. She'd underestimated him. His knuckles went white on the cane. He didn't seem to recognise her.
'Stop!' she gasped.
Her wand clattered on the gravel and rolled to bump his boot toe. His expression grew back. He released her suddenly and stepped back. Hermione threaded her fingers through the swirling iron motif and sagged. She gasped for air until the ache dissipated and her panic died. Lucius leaned on his cane one-handed, his expression seized somewhere between guilt and fear. No doubt for his freedom, she thought.
'I warned you never to touch me!' he snapped, tiredly. He sounded nearly apologetic behind his mask of immovable Malfoy pride.
Hermione snatched up her wand. Her eyes flashed fire and courage.
'Miss Granger-' he snapped, his voice a whiplash warning.
A moment of absolute silence followed. Lucius drew his wand. It was the calm before the storm and the same expression his ex-wife wore before she hexed her partner senseless. Hermione's hex bounced off his shield. He countered with a rudimentary leg-locker in the hopes of avoiding a more inventive fight. She deflected it into the hedge. It shredded a few evergreen leaves that scattered like dead, green moths at their feet. They fluttered in the passing of three minor hexes in quick succession that made both wary of the other.
He's fast, she thought, breathlessly. Faster than Harry or Ron.
She hit him with a jinx she'd modified at home. He staggered and gripped his calf in silent fury.
'Don't start what you can't finish, girl!' he yelled.
His hair fell loose. She ducked under his Stupefy. He snatched her retaliation out of the air with a savage flick of his cane.
She remembered his duel with Sirius. She'd gawped at the aurors as they performed their magic wordlessly. She researched for hours afterwards, eager to learn everything she could about wordless and wandless magic. She read until her eyes bled.
'Rosaline was right,' Lucius straightened. His hair was wild, his eyes cold. He mocked her with a smirk. 'You do have claws.'
Incensed, Hermione hit him with a mix of her own that elicited a choked yelp as it burned through his clothes and adhered itself like molten plastic to the skin of his ribs where it sent out stinging pain. He doubled up with a curse.
'You little-' his teeth flashed as he panted. Hermione levelled her wand at his nose triumphantly. Her hair was messy, her eyes full of tears but her lips were set in a hard line.
Lucius burst upright and swiped her wand arm aside so hard that she heard the crack of bone over her yell. She grabbed for her wand as it hit the gravel. He grabbed the back of her coat to haul her up and deliver what could have been a threat to never raise her wand to him again. She hit the path on her knees, collapsed and rolled before he could react. Their wands met, tip to tip. She panted and clutched her wrist to her collarbones. Lucius' eyebrows ascended in surprise. Her gaze was full of anger, hate and pain but he couldn't see overt fear in there. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that her courage, though foolish, was quite impressive.
No wonder Potter and Weasley survived the Dark Lord, he thought.
Hermione's wand glowed threateningly. She held the hex back to spit her insult at him;
'The fact you even know people like Horace proves you're nothing but a monster at heart! All you care about is your freedom. You don't deserve it. Then to threaten me, use me, so you can keep you hands clean?!'
His lips lifted into a cold, but triumphant smirk. 'You forgot our little arrangement did you?' he held up his wrist to show her the bangle. 'Haven't quite got the hand of the reins, Miss Granger. I'm glad to see I can still intimidate you, even without magic.'
Hermione shook her head vehemently. 'There were children down there. You're disgusting.'
Lucius' face darkened.
'You fool! I was told tales of your intelligence. How greatly they were exaggerated! What, may I ask, would happen to my chances of using other less...savoury...acquaintanceships in the future, if we're caught clearly helping the Ministry!'
He arched an eyebrow questioningly like a Father reprimanding a very young, stupid child. Hermione shook her head. Tears dripped onto her blouse. She was bruised everywhere, even inside.
'You didn't even blink,' she whispered. 'How can you be so cold!'
'I'd be of very little use to the Ministry or the...victims...if I had a nervous breakdown at the first sight of gore,' he made it sound like an accusation.
'We should have helped them!'
'If you believe we could have liberated the test subjects alone whilst simultaneously defending ourselves you're not just naïve, you're stupid,' he spat, spitefully.
His ribs hurt like she'd taken a white-hot brand to them. Who knew the little firecracker packs such a punch?
A sudden up-welling of exhaustion sapped his resolve to continue their pointless confrontation. He lowered his wand as the first few flakes of evening snow drifted down to settle on his Ermine-trim cloak. He looked at her wand pointedly. She followed suit. He gave up trying to straighten completely and concentrated on breathing steadily.
Hermione put her head down on the gravel. Her wrist was so swollen that her normally ample cuff was tight. Tears ran from the corner of her eyes, chilled the shell of her ears and dampened her hair. Snowflakes landed on her lashes. For a brief, enchanted moment, Lucius found her beautiful in a natural, unadorned way. He sighed a foggy breath in resignation. He'd lost plenty of duels in his life and won a few too but it had been years since the last clean draw. He had to concede a grudging respect for her ability.
Brightest witch of her age, indeed, he thought. Perhaps so.
'It might be prudent to avoid shredding each other in future, Miss Granger? Since we have to work together,' he added, as though the thought was very distasteful.
'Maybe if you stopped being an arsehole,' she snarked unashamedly.
'When you use your brain, I'll be only to glad to comply,' he said waspishly. He clutched his ribs more tightly. 'Where on Earth did you learn such dirty tricks?'
'Running from you and your friends in my seventh year!' she shot back bitterly. 'Damn it, Malfoy. I think you broke my wrist.'
She picked herself up one-handed and retrieved her wand.
'What vicious concoction have you hit me with?' he groused.
'Something I invented when Harry and I were on the run,' she admitted. 'After Ron left. It's a modified stinger jinx, but much more potent.'
She raked a hand through her hair.
'Actually I was going to apply to have it added to the Defence syllabus,' she glanced at his ribs and sighed. 'Now I think it might be a bit severe for even Seventh years. We need to keep this between us, Mr Malfoy.'
'Afraid of losing access to your precious book?' he sneered.
'Of course,' she rolled her eyes sarcastically, 'I mean, I have so much more to lose here than you do.'
He made a derisive noise.
'Azkaban keep a cell open and waiting, Miss Granger, or haven't you heard? This time I'm sure they'll swallow the key.'
Hermione reached for the hand that covered his injury. He tugged himself away.
'I don't require your inexpert medical care.'
'If you want to burning to stop any time tonight, you'll need the counter-curse. I designed it for use on Deatheaters. It's not supposed to just wear off and it's resistant to most rudimentary healing spells.'
'How...Slytherin...of you.'
'We were just trying to survive,' she said darkly.

oOo
Misty snipped Hermione's sleeve away expertly. With a series of elvish spells, she mended the fractured bones and then wrapped her wrist in bandages with industrious, practised little fingers. A pain draught took away the residual discomfort and brought down the inflammation with magical efficiency. It helped her mood too.
Her custom hex had singed a hole the width of her palm in Lucius' expensive clothes.
'Take this off,' she gestured to his jacket.
'If you want to get my shirt off, Miss Granger, why don't you just ask?'
Hermione shook her head. 'Don't flatter yourself. I doubt you've got anything under here that'll make me go weak at the knees.'
He made a derisive little noise that said believe what you want.
'If you were aiming for my balls, you missed,' he groused, as he obeyed her stiffly.
She dug through his waistcoat and soft, ivory shirt to find the sizzling, glowing stinger. It looked like a tiny net of green electric wires. The skin was blistered and pinched. She pressed her wand to it and murmured the counter-curse. The net dissolved into smoke. He winced. She found some small, un-Gryffindor satisfaction in being the architect of his well deserved pain, for once. She'd probably cost him more tonight in finery than she spent on food in a week but she wasn't sorry.
'Let Misty help with your bruises, Miss!' Misty hopped onto the arm of the sofa and gave Hermione a reassuring smile.
They began to fade away slowly as Lucius fetched himself a drink. Life at the Dark Lord's whim wasn't easy on the body but he was stiff and sore in places he'd forgotten. Perhaps I'm getting old? he mused. Then he scoffed; Don't be ridiculous. He put it down to over-abuse.
The purple beads on her favoured bag clinked together dully as she folded her hands on top of it.
'You ask an awful lot of me. You could just tell me where we're going so I know what to expect instead of arrogantly expecting me to follow you blindly.'
'Following is a valuable skill,' he took a healthy swig of Brandy and smirked coolly. 'Perhaps you should learn it.'
'Perhaps you should learn to lead,' she countered, angrily.
'At least I don't live my life under the illusion that the world is made of sugar drops! One day, when those rose tinted spectacles are ripped off, I want to be there to watch you cry.'
'I don't have rose tinted glasses!' she hissed, exasperatedly. 'Don't make out I'm a stupid little kid!'
He leaned in.
'But you give me so much to work with!' his eyes travelled her, toe to face. 'A naïve, foolish, unworldly, unsophisticated little girl, convinced she can get by in the world by reputation alone!'
Her mouth fell open. 'That's rich coming from you, you self-important, pompous, conceited, overbearing old goat! God, you're the most annoying man I've ever met!'
'Insufferable little swot,' he countered calmly.
'Ignorant, chauvinistic pig!' she stood up to face him.
'Insolent wench,' he hissed, so close to her face that she could feel his breath on her lips and smell the Brandy in his glass.
'Arrogant...arsehole!' she threw her hands up.
He smirked. 'Really, Miss Granger. Once you have to resort to expletives, the argument is plainly mine.'
Hermione bit back tears. He feigned surprised sympathy; 'Why Miss Granger, you look like you might cry. It seems my bite is worse than yours.'
Hermione shook her head vehemently.
'That's not fair. This,' she gestured to her tear-filled eyes, 'Does not mean you win. It just means you're willing to resort to childish tactics to get the last word and I think, that's absolutely pathetic.'
Hermione stalked away. She's sooner that, than let Malfoy see her cry out the fear, panic and frustration.

oOo
Lucius lay in bed, twirling his fast warming toes gently against the sinfully expensive Egyptian cotton sheets, lulled into relaxation by the predictable, delicious movement. A jab of responsibility lanced through his heart when he remembered her beautiful, hazel eyes, full of tears. He'd never, ever admit it aloud but for a moment there in the study, he'd fought a valiant battle with the almost irrepressible urge to hug her. It wasn't that he wanted to be close for proximities sake. Her vulnerability reminded him terribly of Draco.
He regretted rarely showing the boy more love. A hug, a whispered encouragement. So much could have been different for their family if they'd been able to show how much they cared.
Narcissa would have hexed me for using her natural emotions as a weapon, he thought smugly. A poor way to win an argument, he admitted.
Lucius left his curtains open at night so the dawn woke him naturally. The snow came down in wild flurries. He wondered briefly if she'd reached her Safe House in one piece and fought the urge to care.
He remembered clearly the day the Dark Lord invaded Malfoy Manor. The final wall came crashing down when Draco crawled into his Father's arms and sobbed like a child. That night, when Narcissa came to bed, she found Father and Son entwined, still fully clothed, puffy-eyed and pallid, both exhausted. She crawled in with them and held Draco through his nightmares. Lucius woke to meet her glittering eyes over Draco's head. She wouldn't cry for fear of waking him.
In that silent exchange more was communicated than through a whole conversation. Lucius decided the Dark Lord could go to hell even if it cost he and Narcissa their lives but living without his only son simply was not an option. Lucius found his courage.
His urge towards the Granger girl wasn't quite so paternal.

oOo
Hermione startled awake to complete darkness. Kreacher had a nasty habit of extinguishing every oil lamp and every incantation she set up before bed to provide a night light. She hated total darkness. It reminded her of the time spent on the run, living in constant fear for her life. A fresh, cold draft blew under the bedroom door and gave her goosebumps. She sensed something was wrong.
'FIRE!' screeched Kreacher. 'My poor Mistress!'
'Lumos!' Hermione snatched up her wand.
There was a sudden bump and a yell.
'BURGLARS! THIEVES!...' wailed Kreacher.
Footsteps chased mumbling and banging from one end of the house to the other. Cooking pots clanged on the bare stone floor and Kreacher smacked against the kitchen wall with a yelp. Hermione grabbed her beaded bag and coat and hauled the bedroom door open. Her wand-tip glowed with a cruel, painful jinx.
Black smoke wound in beautiful convections up the stairs to bounce off the ceiling. She choked as she staggered down the stairs and found the living room aflame. The fire spread too quickly to the parlour, crisping the oil paintings and consuming the ancient furnishings. Kreacher stumbled out of the dark kitchen doorway with blood on his head and murder in his eyes.
'Miss!' he yelled, as a figure dressed all in black spilled out of the first floor guest bedroom and pointed his short, twisted wand at her.
She let the hex go. He pitched forward with a scream and hit the ground floor with a heavy thud. Fire licked against his robes. Hermione spun to find a wand at her throat with no time to spare.
A surge of magic knocked the burly man into the wall. He left a smear of blood from his broken scalp as he slid down to pool at the radiator. Kreacher panted.
'Thank you,' Hermione whispered to him.
A third figure disapparated from the second floor bathroom with a pop. The wards screamed an alert. Kreacher ran frantically about the living room but for every pocket he put out, another sprang up. He stumbled on the edge of a smouldering rug, coughing and sputtering. The fire licked the ceiling and melted the plaster. It came drifting down like a rain of embers. He jumped around, patting himself desperately.
'Kreacher!' the heat was unbearable. 'Aquamente!' she yelled, but the spell only doused the elf and she didn't know one to put out a whole house fire.
Defeated, she staggered down the front steps and bent double at the boundary fence to the park. She coughed until her spine hurt. Kreacher blinked into existence on the roadside, singed pink and dizzy. He fell to his skinny knees in the standing water and sobbed. She sensed it wasn't his own injury that upset him most. He gestured to the house like a preacher reaching for God.
'Granger!' Madeleine grabbed Hermione by the hand. 'Don't let go, for Merlin's sake.'
She disapparated. The Ministry Atrium was silent. Madeleine looked worn out, her grey hair loose and tousled. 'We need to get you to another safe-house, Miss Granger. Tonight,' Madeleine stepped forward. Hermione noticed the absence of Hex but didn't comment.
'What the hell's going on?' Hermione whispered. 'Those wards should be impenetrable!'
'We don't know,' Madeleine said simply. 'That's Merlin's own truth, Granger. The Minister's waiting.'

oOo
Lackwit looked as tired as Hermione felt. He gestured to his guest chair when she entered.
'Have a seat Miss Granger. You've had a rough night.'
Fading adrenaline towed exhaustion in its wake. Lackwit's messy blonde hair fell into his eyes. He'd obviously apparated in to attend to this. Probably doesn't want to front the blame if something happens to Hermione Golden Trio Granger.
'Sit down, Mads, for God's sake,' he sighed at the Auror. 'You're making me tired.'
Madeleine slid into a spare chair and waited. Lackwit knitted his fingers together on the desk and leaned forward. His sparkling blue eyes, dulled a little by tiredness always reminded Hermione terribly of Dumbledore.
'Lucius Malfoy, Miss Granger. Has he been cooperative so far?'
Hermione sensed this 3am question and answer session was about more than just the recent attacks on property and person.
'Well,' she licked her lips. 'To be honest, yes. He's a complete arse, obviously. And an intolerable snob, of course.'
Lackwit smiled apologetically. 'Aside from his personal character flaws. He's been otherwise...gentlemanly?'
'Yes,' she admitted. Can I really blame him for fighting back when I shot the first hex? Best the Minister never finds out about that.
'I'm sure you know we have a very limited number of Safe Houses available. So far the strongest wards haven't kept this...group...out. People are still on edge, Miss Granger. Very few are brave enough to volunteer their homes. There are still plenty of Deatheaters out there, despite what the papers say. I think we should consider a different arrangement. Malfoy Manor is protected by very old, powerful magic. So powerful in fact, that when Lucius was sent to Azkaban we were unable to get inside to seize items of interest without his help,' admitting that seemed to trouble the Minister greatly but he continued; 'I understand you're still using the Malfoy library for private research?'
'Yes,' she said, with the sense that this was going nowhere she liked.
'Perhaps a brief stay at the Manor will give Potter's team the time required to complete investigations?'
'Is this really necessary, Minister? I already spend far too much time with Lucius Malfoy.'
'The Manor must be big enough for both of you,' Lackwith offered her a conciliatory smile. 'Besides. You do seem to be able to wear his temper. That's more I can say for most of the staff I've sent his way.'
He leaned back casually and hinted; 'I think some good publicity could go a long way for the Ministry at the moment. What do you say, Miss Granger?'
Oh of course, she thought in Lucius-esque sarcasm. It'll reflect beautifully on Lucius to help out poor victimised Granger in her hour of need. You sneaky, Slytherin Ministry bastard.
'OK,' she tried not to sound ungrateful.
She couldn't shake the feeling she'd been somehow extorted, or at the very least, manipulated.

oOo
Hermione waited in the Atrium while the Minister arranged the terms. A moment later, Lackwit turned off his office light and came to join them. He handed Hermione a sighed parchment and nodded.
'All sorted, Miss Granger. The Floo is temporarily active at the Manor. Madeleine. Goodnight.'
He stepped into the fireplace and disappeared into the flames. Hermione was about to follow when Harry stumbled out of the next grate along with Kreacher in tow. He brushed soot out of his hair and adjusted his glasses.
'Harry!' Hermione hit him running and wrapped her arms around his neck. 'Oh God, I'm so sorry about your house!'
'I don't care,' he shrugged as he gave her a squeeze. 'Are you OK?'
'Fine,' she said softly. 'Just reeling. I've been moved to Malfoy Manor, Harry.'
He sighed and let her go.
'I know,' he admitted. 'It was the only place we could find with wards stronger than Grimmauld place. I'm sorry, 'Mione. I wouldn't like it either. On the up side, Malfoy did let us put an alarm on the house, so if anyone tries to force the wards, we'll know. Do you want me to come with you?'
'It's probably best I go on my own. He's actually atrociously moody when he's tired.'
Hermione bent down to look at Kreacher. The elf met her eyes very briefly before he stared resolutely at a paving slab.
'If it wasn't for you, I'd probably be dead. Thank you, Kreacher.'
He deeply considered his response before saying, with considerably less animosity than usual; 'Miss is welcome.'
She turned to the fireplace. Harry touched her arm.
'Hermione. What they're printing in the Prophet is nonsense, right?'
She gawped at him. Her eyes filled with tears.
'Harry, for God's sakes! I'm not even a little bit interested in Malfoy. How could you even think that?'
'I know,' he nodded quickly. 'I just want to be sure you'll be alright on your own with him. That's all. OK?'
She swallowed down her tears and nodded.
'You know where I am, right?'
She nodded. Hermione stepped into the Floo and waved him goodbye. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling of deep, painful betrayal. How could he believe that stupid rag of a newspaper? What a bloody swine!

OOo
Her early morning Floo journey was much less uncomfortable than usual. Perhaps the network is quieter, she thought, as she stepped into the Malfoy foyer. The Manor was surprisingly warm. Lucius waited at the foot of the grand staircase in a dressing gown that looked as expensive as his dinner jackets. Hermione brushed the soot off her coat.
'Mr Malfoy,' she sighed. She offered him the scroll.
'Ah. This will be the indestructible edict,' he said drily. 'How considerate of the Ministry to provide a paper copy. Lest we forget our duties.'
'I know you probably don't like this-' she started.
'Probably?' he enquired coolly.
'Fine,' she spread her hands wide. 'I don't either, as it happens.'
'You might have mentioned that to the lackwit,' Lucius nodded.
'Actually, I did.'
He snorted. His eyebrow arched eloquently. 'What the Minister wants, the Minister gets, I'm afraid.'
'What he wants is another of the Golden Trio on his books,' she said derisively.
'Quite,' he nodded. 'I believe he was in Slytherin.'
'I think he was,' she agreed lightly.
Misty apparated into their path, her big eyes wide with worry.
'Master! Will Miss be staying the night? Should Misty bring tea first?'
'Tea? At this hour?' Lucius snapped. 'Of course she's staying. Do try and use your brain, Misty.'
'Oh!' Misty clapped both hands over her mouth. 'Misty must make up the guest bed!'
Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose.
'And?' he prompted coldly. Misty gaped at him in horror. 'Why are you still here!' his shout echoed.
Misty squeaked in horror as she scrambled out of striking range and disapparated to find fresh sheets.
'I trust you remember the way?' he asked Hermione tightly.
'There are quite a lot of rooms here, you know. All the doors look kind of the same,' she said innocently. She delighted in keeping him out of bed just a bit longer, as payback for his earlier rudeness.
He gestured to the stairs.
'If you would then, Miss Granger,' he said drily. 'I'd like to sleep tonight. At your convenience, of course.'
By the time they reached the guest room, Misty had replaced the sheets.
'Goodnight, Miss Granger,' Lucius said, a little snappishly.
Hermione dumped her beaded bag on the dark wood bedside table with a dull little clunk. She heard something tumble inside and guessed it was her copy of Hogwarts; A History, a memento that she felt she couldn't be without. She pulled off her coat. Her PJ's stank of smoke. She peeled them off and climbed into bed naked. She could smell the fire on her hair and skin but she didn't want the trouble of a wash tonight. She inhaled the smell of steam-cleaned laundry. With her wand stashed safely under her pillow, she fell instantly asleep.

oOo
Lucius was in the morning room with the Daily Prophet open on his crossed legs when Hermione joined him at Misty's insistence. Trouble awaited the House Elf who served breakfast in bed. Hermione didn't want to be the cause of Misty's suffering.
'Good Morning,' she said as she slid into her usual chair. Silver cultery, she thought critically. A bit extravagant for breakfast.
'Good morning,' he folded the paper and offered it to her. 'We made the third page, Miss Granger.'
She took it warily.
...Golden Girl Granger persistently attracts trouble wherever she goes, this time, allegedly setting a Ministry Safe House on fire, causing substantial injury to a House Elf. Despite public protest, the Ministry continues to support Granger's work with Lucius Malfoy, once Deatheater, under the guise of rehabilitation, raising questions about Ministry spending...
Hermione closed her eyes in irritation.
'Rita Skeeter deserves to be covered in honey and offered as a bee-keeper's assistant,' she scoffed.
Lucius gave a sudden, genuine smirk and agreed; 'I must say, she was most unhelpful during my divorce proceedings.'
'I was told Pureblood marriage can't be dissolved. I thought that was kind of romantic at the time.'
'In cases of infidelity I'm delighted to say that they can,' he smiled. 'Quite the scandal.'
He accepted his boiled egg.
'Misty, another cup of coffee,' he commanded brusquely.
Misty snapped her fingers to pour his drink.
'Did you hands drop off in the night?' Hermione asked darkly.
Misty hid a duplicitous smirk behind her hand and scampered out of view.
'If you don't mind, Miss Granger, half past seven is far too early for your impertinence.'
She ignored him in favour of her scrambled egg until he set down his napkin delicately and wrapped his fair, spidery hand around his cane.
'Miss Granger. There are a few...ah...conditions, shall we say, to your stay. House Rules, if you like. Firstly, you're not to set foot in the West Wing-'
She snorted.
'Sorry,' she muttered quickly. She sounded a bit insincere.
He affected the expression of the perpetually unimpressed. 'And what, may I ask, is so funny?'
'I don't suppose you've seen Beauty and the Beast?' she asked hopefully.
'What on Earth is that?'
'It's er...a Muggle film. About a...girl and a...' she shook her head. 'Nevermind. The point is he says that to her.'
'How delightful,' he arched a brow. 'If I might continue?'
'Of course,' she forced herself not to smile. Misty peeked around the edge of the tablecloth with keen interest. Hermione avoided her eyes. There was a high chance of laughter, and later, rib pain, if the elf found this as funny as she.
'The elves will attend to your reasonable needs. Do not attempt to incite them to rebellion. There are plenty of unusual items around the Manor. Be careful what you touch. You may wish to consult myself, or an elf, before you become too curious about books in the Dark Arts section. Most are safe but I'd hate to make a guarantee.'
He took a breath.
'You're not to touch my desk. Or-' he held up a finger. 'Lay one finger on my paperwork. My personal rooms are locked and warded. If I find you in there, the consequences will be...memorable. Breakfast is served at seven thirty, lunch at one, and dinner at seven.'
'OK,' she nodded. The urge to laugh subsided. His chilly gaze fell to her skin-tight jeans and fitted t-shirt.
'I...imagine...that at Hogwarts it was considered quite acceptable to wander around in those. Unfortunately, the last thing I require at this crucial juncture in my business dealings is for potential associates to imagine I've hired a Muggleborn secretary or worse, a companion who flaunts her...derriere in tight clothing.'
'Excuse me!?' Hermione squawked.
'I think you understand me perfectly,' he closed his eyes softly. 'A dress would be most appropriate for company. One that's cut below the knee. Or at the very least, something that doesn't cling to your thighs so.'
She flushed. 'Don't you think that's a bit old fashioned!?'
'This is not a hotel, Miss Granger. Certain standards must be maintained. My associates have certain expectations and I will not have their sensibilities offended. Shoulder to knee is acceptable. Obviously, for formal occasions a bare back or shoulders are considered acceptable but only when you're accompanied by man-'
'What?!' she almost choked on her own tongue. 'That's absolutely archaic!'
'It's for your protection, Miss Granger. Honestly, did Hogwarts fail to cover basic Pureblood etiquette?'
He didn't wait for her to answer. 'Quite simply, If you choose to parade yourself in anything less, most Purebloods will assume I'm paying for your company and ask for your card. I doubt you desire that sort of reputation.'
She flushed so red she felt the heat.
'For dinner you'll require formal attire.'
'Every day?' she breathed, in horror.
'Of course,' he said, as if he'd never considered alternatives. He'd have a conniption if he saw a Weasley mealtime.
'And Miss Granger. Take those off,' he pointed to her trainers. 'They're quite ugly and they'll leave scuff marks on the polished floors.'
'Anything else?' she asked tightly.
'Yes,' he nodded. 'No takeaway!'
'You're...joking,' she looked at him in confusion. 'How do you even know what takeaway is?'
'Do you honestly think that I'm that ignorant?' he sneered. 'It's simply foul and the stench lasts for days. Under no circumstances.'
'Fine,' she sighed. 'Is that everything?'
He arched an eyebrow.
'No company.'
She closed her eyes in disgust. 'Maybe you could be a bit more specific, please?'
'Very well,' he leaned in. 'No friends, no parties and certainly, no boyfriends.'
'Oh my God,' she breathed. 'I really didn't need to hear that from you.'
He smirked. 'Don't mistake me, Miss Granger. I can't claim to care what you do with your own body. I'm more concerned for the safety and security of the Manor. Nor do I particularly want to...listen...' he grimaced.
'Is that everything?' she asked breathlessly.
'For now,' he nodded.

oOo
Hermione walked under the hospital hanging baskets, where tenacious Winter pansies bloomed brightly in adversity. She wondered if she should change her name to Pansy. It felt wonderful to be out and about and free of Lucius Malfoy, if only for the few hours it took to receive a skin treatment.
St Mungo's had an odd, tangy, familiar smell. Perhaps it was the disinfectant. It stuck in her throat and reminded her of half-waking days under anaesthesia after her burns. Lena was waiting for her behind her desk on the third floor. She showed Hermione into the familiar private cubicle and stood back with a smirk.
'The Prophet's had a lot to say about you recently, haven't they?'
Hermione shrugged off her cloak, feigning nonchalance.
'And almost all of it's lies.'
'It's not the first time, Hermione. Once they get hold of a juicy story, whether it's true or not-' she left it hanging.
Hermione smiled genuinely. She wasn't going to ask if Lena believed any of it because that could spoil her day. It was nice to sense her objectivity though.
'Glamours, if you would?' Lena prompted.
Hermione removed them with a flick of her wand.
'Well that shows a certain improvement,' Lena nodded. 'I've definitely seen worse, make no mistake. We might get them faded yet.'
Hermione didn't have to fake her enthusiasm. 'Really? I was starting to think i'll look like a pink and white tapestry forever. I hate going out like this.'
'Understandable,' Lena nodded. 'Glamours put a lot of drain on your magic, actually. Maybe not so wise in your position. Lie down. I've been working on something with a burns specialist as it happens.'
Hermione thought the mirror was enchanted. She turned her head left and right, trying to get a clear glimpse of the scars. Lena had blurred the shiny, pink skin with healthy cells like an artist gone over a pencil drawing with a fingertip. The result was a slight pinkening of her throat and cheek that more closely resembled a permanent blush than a burn.
A thin sliver of skin was missing from her throat where Lena had simply extracted the worst of the crinkled scarring. It felt a little tight but Lena assured her that more skin would grow in time.
Her hairless, cling-film arms were smoother. Though she could still feel the lines, they weren't so pink.
'I think, given a few more sessions, this will disappear,' Lena gestured to her cheek. 'Your arms might be a bit more trouble but I think we can at least normalise the colour.'
'I can live with that,' Hermione laughed and impulsively threw her arms around the healer. 'Thank you so much.'
Lena grinned and hugged her back.

oOo
That afternoon, Hermione wandered the Manor. She didn't need to stray into the West Wing to walk a mile. She gazed down on the spacious gardens from a secluded bedroom on the third floor. Someone had set about them with cutters and begun to restore the estate to tidiness. Hermione would be pleased just to see the broken plant pots removed.
Beyond the frozen Malfoy lake stretched acres of green fields that lead down long, gentle banks to the snaking silver band of a river. There was a church-like folly on the hillside that instantly set off her curiosity. She saw the reflection of sunlight in glass panels behind a row of fir trees. Probably greenhouses, she thought. She could make out the shape of a distant, private family graveyard. Her breath fogged on the glass.
She discovered that the marble staircases weren't the only way up and down. There were four spiral staircases, one in each wing, like the one down which Lucius had lead her to torment her with the drawing room. Most of the doors were warded but she found back entrances to the library, wine cellar and bedrooms.
She accidentally opened the door to Lucius' study. When she saw him sitting at the desk in his shirtsleeves, scritching away at his work she pulled the door closed as quietly as she could.
'Miss Granger,' he said, without looking up, as the latch clicked. 'Curiosity killed the Gryffindor Kitten!'
Hermione scampered away with a childlike smirk. She found the kitchen. Misty stood on a high stool at the counter, humming a tune as she happily chopped vegetables.
On the ground floor on the sunnier North side of the house, Hermione found an elaborate glass conservatory big enough to host a decent party. It was packed with flowers and warm-weather plants and protected by a thin shield charm. It was as warm as a summer day. Hermione wandered in and out of the flowerbeds, along the delicate gravel paths that lead to comfortable seating and an indoor fountain in the likeness of a tree. Water cascaded from the tips of coppery leaves and tinkled gently over clear, quartz stones. A swinging seat mounted on an ornate frame faced the expansive windows. She imagined reading on it and decided she needed to spend time in here soon.
She touched the fuzzy velvet leaves of a low-growing plant.
'If you've eaten all my strawberries, I shan't be happy,' Lucius took her off guard. She jumped.
'You get happy?' she murmured impulsively.
'Do be careful with that razor wit, Miss Granger. You'll cut me to shreds,' he sneered. 'I have guests arriving in one hour. See that you're suitably attired by then.'
Rifling through her sparse collection of clothes left her pink-cheeked and irritated. She sat down with a huff. Defeated, she put her work clothes on and ran a cursory smoothing charm through her hair. She tugged the door shut with a bit more force than necessary and stalked down to lunch.
The library was occupied by a dark haired woman who was much skinnier than Hermione and her tall, massively round husband. Their son stared at Hermione in open, arrogant interest. A silent, predatory swan slid along a shelf of questionable titles, running delicate, white fingers along the wood.
Checking for dust? Hermione wondered.
Her simple beauty was unencumbered by jewellery or - Hermione was disturbed to realise – makeup. She floated into the dining room when Misty called and cast a brief, appraising look at Hermione that flicked away without the barest hint of acknowledgement.
Hermione resisted the urge to smile as she followed. Well well, Mr Malfoy, she thought with rather cruel satisfaction. If this is a date, you have a nasty surprise in store for you.
Hermione allowed Lucius to pull out her chair. She felt it was easier than the argument that would certainly ensue later if she refused. She focused on her food but it was the first time since being forced to watch Ron stuff his maw like a starving pig that she'd sat down to a lovely meal and not enjoyed a bite. The ten year old to her left required prompting from his Mother for everything. In the end his Mother relented and cut up his food for him. After that he ate like a garbage truck.
Even I can chew with my mouth closed, she thought, uncharitably. That's more disgusting than Ron. At least Ron didn't spray his food everywhere. When a sliver of roast chicken landed near Hermione's hand she put down her knife and fork.
She felt the weight of attention on her. When she finally became uncomfortable she looked for the culprit. She expected the gorgeous blonde's scrutiny, perhaps a non-verbal accusation for her presence. She didn't expect the strange, appraising gaze of Lucius Malfoy. He indulged the tiniest smirk.
Hermione hovered on the first floor landing, as close as she dared to go to the stairs and listened. The tiny, incompetent child and his parents were long gone and predictably, the femme fatale hung behind to sneak in a few quiet words with Lucius. Hermione strained to hear them and wondered if the Manor would alert Lucius if she used magic to eavesdrop.
'-So sorry about your wife, Lucius-'
'-Expected-'
'-My Father would love to see you-'
'-The Ukraine is a long way, my dear, so early in my business dealings-'
Hermione scampered into the library ahead of him. She had a book open when she heard his footsteps, perfectly timed with his clicking cane. She sensed he was standing in the doorway.
'I must say, I do understand your lack of appetite,' he conceded lightly.
Hermione made a face. 'Honestly, that was the most disgusting thing I've ever seen and I've eaten with Ronald Weasley.'
'Quite,' he nodded.
'He got it all over me,' she faked a shudder. 'Please warn me next time they're coming. I think I'll apparate to the nearest pizza shop.'
His lips turned upwards.
'How did the Lady Olena strike you, Miss Granger?'
She guessed, by his expression, that he already knew. Shame, Hermione thought uncharitably. It'd be fun to watch him figure that one out.
'Any idiot could see she's a vampire.'
He grinned and played with the silver head of his cane.
'I do believe her Father hopes I'll fall hopelessly in lust with her fortune. What a disturbing thought. Even if I desired another arrangement, her virulent lack of character is quite off-putting.'
'Isn't that what you get for marrying for money?' Hermione prodded lightly. 'It's a very cold way to live your life.'
'It engenders lifelong happiness, Miss Granger,' he said sarcastically. He gestured to himself. 'Behold! Living proof!'
'I'm not going to comment,' Hermione laughed.
'Very diplomatic,' he smirked. 'I'm sure Misty would be only too happy to supply you with an...unpolluted...lunch, should you want it. I believe it's still warm.'

oOo
Her evening stolen by a sudden migraine. It began as a single point of throbbing pain behind her left eye and soon spread in a tight band around her skull. She stumbled to the loo, sweating and trembling and threw up. Every heave forced an agonising pulse into her brain. She managed to reach the library sofa where she lay down defeatedly to press her throbbing skull to the cool leather. She dozed, desperate to be asleep where it didn't hurt.
'Miss Granger?' Lucius' soft footfalls paused beside the sofa. He sighed; 'I imagine it didn't occur to you to take the potions when the symptoms started.'
'I-I forgot,' she mumbled.
Lucius rolled her unresistingly into his arms and lifted her. 'We must stop doing this,' his lips lifted in a dry smile.
She nodded as enthusiastically as she could and threaded an arm around his neck for fear he might drop her otherwise.
'It hurts. Flashes-' she whispered.
'Cover your eyes,' he suggested.
Hermione turned her face into his jacket. It helped past the bright windows.
He placed her on the soft, horizontal plain of her bed and closed the curtains with a flick of his wand. She squirmed.
'I'm going to be sick!' she rolled off the bed and ran for the en-suite.
She shivered violently, hugging the porcelain bowl for support. She'd never had an illness that made her feel so sick before, aside from that one unlucky time she'd acquired food poisoning from a seafood salad. The bathroom door opened gently. Lucius crossed the spacious room and crouched beside her with a hand on his cane. He held out the potions.
'How did you find them?' she asked quietly.
'You keep everything in that blasted purple bag,' he admitted. 'A simple accio, Miss Granger.'
She swallowed both and heaved. Lucius took hold of her gently and tilted her head back to touch his shoulder.
'Forgive me, Miss Granger,' he sounded genuine. 'I appreciate this may be somewhat...uncomfortable...for you. This used to help Narcissa.'
He stroked her hair. His gentle, rhythmic touch relaxed the muscles in her scalp and took some of the muscular ache away. She closed her eyes and tried not to question his motivation, or their proximity. He's trying to help, she realised. He's actually being nice. Just this once, I won't look a gift-horse in the mouth.
He laid his cane aside and pressed a warm hand just under her left ribs, over her stomach. He rubbed soothingly until her deep muscles began to relax. The nausea abated by a fraction. It was less sexual than if it'd been Harry but it still felt very intimate, perhaps because Hermione couldn't remember ever seeing Lucius touch another person – not even Draco, unless it was with that awful cane.
'Swallow, Miss Granger. I think we should try and keep that potion down.'
She swallowed. 'Again,' he insisted, when she heaved. 'Again,' he said gently, near her ear.
He rubbed gently, scalp and belly, scalp and belly, until she leaned into his chest in relief.
'Any better?' he arched a brow in mild question.
'Yes,' she whispered. She sounded unusually vulnerable.
'A few moments more,' he continued stroking.
'Mmmm,' she acknowledged.
He offered up a tight little smile where she couldn't see it. 'I do sympathise,' he said, genuinely.
Hermione relaxed.
'That's it,' Lucius cooed reassuringly.
He sounds like Dad might if he had the poshest Slytherin accent ever, she thought. It wasn't unpleasant. He smelled like skin and expensive, spicy cologne. He was warm and solid and human. She missed her parents so much. She missed Ron's bear hugs. She missed being held. She felt a bit pathetic admitting to herself that she was lonely.
Lucius' gentle attention actually made her feel slightly nurtured and curiously safe. It gave rise to a powerful desire for more.
Why shouldn't he care? she reasoned more logically. I could well be his key to freedom and he's not exactly going to jeopardise that, is he? He probably thinks he'll have better luck in my reports to the Ministry if he's nice to me occasionally.
'Up you get,' Lucius encouraged. He helped her to her feet slowly and holding her arms, lead her to the bed.
He removed her shoes with warm, gentle fingers and pulled the blankets up.
'Thanks-' she murmured.
The door clicked shut softly behind him. She buried herself in the eiderdown and dropped off quickly.

oOo
The sun streamed through her open bedroom curtains. Misty had obviously been in while she slept. The pain left behind an unpleasant queasiness and a slightly confusing, muzzy feeling. Hermione felt unsteady on her feet. She took a brief shower in the decadent en-suite and a leisurely walk up to the Morning Room. She wasn't concerned that she was already late. Lucius had finished his Daily Prophet and his breakfast but was disinclined to move.
'Would Miss like her usual breakfast?' Misty squeaked.
'Please, Misty,' Hermione smiled.
'How are you feeling, Miss Granger?'
'A bit muzzy,' she admitted. 'Much better though. Thanks to you,' she smiled, a tiny bit uncomfortably. 'And I was so sure you didn't care,' she risked teasing him.
He arched a brow but she sensed it was good humoured for once.
'It would hardly do to have you wind up back in St Mungo's, would it?'
She smirked. 'That would put a crimp on your social calendar,' she agreed playfully.
'Indeed.'
Hermione reached for the coffee pot.
'Ah, ah, ah, Miss Granger!' Lucius snatched it out of reach. 'Coffee could trigger a recurrence. Did you actually read the pamphlet? We have an evening affair to attend tonight. It would be helpful if you were fully recovered by then.'
Misty returned with scrambled egg and a glass of pumpkin juice.
'Formal?'
'Naturally.'
She sighed. 'I need to going shopping, then. I don't want to end up transfiguring my work robes again.'
Misty watched Hermione keenly. Hermione stuffed a forkful of breakfast into her mouth to appease her.
'Is whatever I buy going to end up ruined by flying hexes?' she asked drily, 'Or ripped when we have to run for it?'
His hand covered hers abruptly. It sent an unexpected jolt up her spine. Oh Merlin's balls, I'm attracted to him!
'Do you require Misty to cut that for you, Miss Granger? The scraping is intolerable.'
'No. Thank you,' Hermione said, with false sweetness.
'Something practical,' he finally said, 'And tasteful.'

oOo
Hermione treated herself to a sparse covering of understated makeup. She smiled at herself in the walk-in wardrobe mirror when it became clear that she no longer needed the glamour on her face. She piled her hair up and shimmied into an elegant black evening gown, acquired earlier from a pricey dress shop that she'd always wanted an excuse to visit.
If her gown survived the night, she'd use it for future events. She slid her feet into her black flats. Under duress she could hike up the elegant skirts and run for it. Not that she wanted anyone to see that.
Lucius waited in the foyer with his hair drawn back into a green ribbon which matched his waistcoat. His robes and cloak were nothing but the finest black fabric and silk-lined to boot. Hermione resisted the urge to inch self-consciously into view and feigned all the confidence she'd need. She took the marble steps slowly. Lucius's lips turned up in a little smirk. His discerning gaze travelled over her up-do and the few, sparse curls tickling her neck and face. Down the tasteful neckline, over her hips and down the leg that emerged from the knee-high split. He stared at her flats as though affronted.
'No, no. This won't do at all,' he tutted.
She folded her arms uncomfortably. He whipped out his wand and pointed it at her feet.
'Hold still, for Merlin's sake, or it'll be your feet I hit, not your shoes!'
She held her breath anxiously as he transfigured them into heels comprised of thin, glittery black straps. She stood a few inches taller when Lucius came to measure her against his shoulder. Satisfied, he sheathed his wand.
'This probably isn't a good idea. I'm actually terrible in heels. I only wear them when I don't have to walk far.'
He gestured expectantly to the foyer. She sighed. The first hint of unsteadiness earned her a sigh. The second, a tut. She spun.
'Let's see you do it better!'
'Never outside the Manor,' he smirked. He cast a stabilising charm and slipped his wand back into his cane. Resigned, she tested them again.
'Better,' she admitted grudgingly.
'Good,' he smirked triumphantly. 'Miss Granger. The event we're to attend is being hosted by none other than Francis Delamere.'
'The Delamere?' she queried quickly. 'The owner of Sine Diagnostics? As in...the patent holder of the Sine Test for Squibbery?'
'The very same. A recent merger with his German competitor has given him monopoly of the European market. He's also a qualified Potions Master.'
Hermione tilted her head back and sighed.
'Oh my God. I'm such an idiot! Why didn't I think of it sooner?'
Lucius arched a brow. 'Delamere has always been law abiding, even during the Dark Lord's reign. I doubt anyone would suspect him, Miss Granger. The Minister was very reluctant to grant us this investigation. I must say, I'll be surprised if Delamere has willingly come so close to Ministry affairs. He's certainly no Deatheater and he always struck me as a subtle, clever man.'
They apparated to the Delamere estate. Her head spun from the pull and tug of his mental suggestions on direction. The driveway was illuminated by floating candles. They resisted the chilly breeze that disturbed the dry leaves at her feet. She bent to fiddle with one of her heel straps uncomfortably.
'Merlins-' he hissed. 'Don't bend over like that!'
She rolled her eyes.
'You could just not look!' she countered. 'Merlin, they're cutting my toes off!'
'Try to be graceful, Miss Granger, though I appreciate that might be asking a bit much-'
'I think I can manage,' she said defensively.
He offered his arm.
'And do try not to maul anyone,' he added.
'I'll try,' she smirked.
'Mmm,' he made a noise of agreement.
A comfortable silence descended between them. Hermione found it reassuring. She didn't notice his brief, appreciative glance at her waist as they were welcomed at the door.

TBC...soon ;)
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The Xeoforce Equation