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The Kill Shot	By : Lizski Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 12732 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don’t own the world of Harry Potter, or the characters – I just borrow them on occasion. I’m most definitely not making any money off this.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter Five

Hermione walked into her dressing room and hunted around for her running shoes (under the desk, where she had kicked them out of her way the day before yesterday). She paused at the white linen shirt hanging over the back of the desk chair. This isn’t mine – oh. Oh! Her mind flashed back to the sleepy vision of last night: Lucius. In her bedroom. Naked. Or at least shirtless. She shook her head, trying to clear the image from her mind and failing miserably. Damn him. It should be illegal for someone who’s been in prison to look that good. It’s got to be Dark Arts, she thought, only half joking.

She wandered back into the bedroom and pulled back a corner of the curtains. The sky was grey and heavy with clouds, but it wasn’t raining. Yet. She walked into the dressing room and noticed that Dobby had brought her a light breakfast. And removed the white linen shirt. Her lips twisted into a smile; had Lucius thought the master bedroom was still his? She munched on a half an English muffin. Where did Lucius sleep last night? She knew the house-elves had prepared rooms for him, and she knew they weren’t in this wing of the house, but she couldn’t remember where Dobby had said they had put him. Apparently the majority of the elves had suggested someplace in the dungeons, but Dobby had overruled them and put him, ah, somewhere. I guess I should find out. Sometime. So I don’t accidentally stumble across him.

Reflecting on the weather one more time, Hermione pulled on a pair of running tights, a base layer, and a jacket, and after a moment’s thought, pulled on a hat and stuffed light gloves in the pocket of her jacket. She finished the English muffin before putting on her running shoes and heading out of her rooms.

I’ve got to check with Dobby to make sure he lets me know if the house-elves have any difficulty with Lucius. I want to go to St. Mungo’s to see Draco, and, damn, I should probably owl the Ministry to see about taking Lucius with me – he’ll probably want to see Draco. And I’ve got to get some presents to bring with me; Draco always likes getting presents. And I’ve got to. Stop it. That’s what I’ve got to do. I’ve got to go on my run, and then I’ll get to work. Hermione walked past the pool and through the formal gardens. She stopped at a gate in the hedge and unlatched it, stepping out onto one of the dirt paths of the estate. Her foot squelched in the mud as she began to jog. She tried to focus on her breathing and her cadence. Anything to push the image of the naked torso of Lucius Malfoy out of her mind.

***

When she reached the last mile of her run it started raining, and by the time she reached the hedge gate her shoes and tights were splattered with mud, and everything she wore was wet. She cast a quick “Scourgify!” to remove the mud and entered the garden, the rain starting to fall more heavily. She jogged through the garden and past the pool. She entered the house using the door by the pool and immediately took off her gloves, shoes, jacket, and hat. Conveniently, there were hooks on the wall for her wet clothes, and she hung them up, feeling slightly guilty that her shoes and the clothes would be washed, dried, and back in her dressing room tomorrow morning. On more than one occasion she had offered to take them to the laundry, but Dobby firmly insisted she couldn’t get to the laundry room even if she wanted to. Something to do with house-elf magic.

Before heading back to her rooms for a shower, she decided to stop in the kitchen and grab something to eat. She was still in her wet running tights and damp top, and she could feel a rivulet of water trickle from her pony-tail down her back, chilling her. However, if she went through the formal dining room it would just take a minute. And the house-elves would likely have something prepared for her already; when she went running on cold and damp days, they always did. She walked across the stone floor of the hallway and opened the door to the formal dining room. She walked in and stopped. The normally unused room was brightly lit. And Lucius Malfoy was sitting at the head of the table, tucking into a large breakfast.

Lucius looked up from his plate when the door opened. In his world, house-elves were silent and unseen. He wanted to smile but forced himself to smirk at the very wet witch dressed in – in – well, he had no idea what it was, but it was form-fitting and he liked it. He flashed on the image of her naked form that had been imprinted on his brain last night and felt a rush of lust. It had been a very long time since he had had a woman. And an even longer time since he’d had a young, athletic, attractive woman.

“G-good morning, Lucius.” She fought to keep the surprise out of her voice. “I didn’t realize anyone was in here. I don’t usually use this room,” she added.

“Good morning, Hermione.” He inclined his head. “Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

This is my house. Shouldn’t I be the one asking him that? “No. Ah, thank you. I ate this morning. I was just stopping in the kitchens to get something to eat after my run. I’ve got to take a shower; it’s cold and wet out there,” she said, glancing toward the windows. And I’d just as soon not stand here and chat.

“Ah. Yes. Running. What did you run from this morning?” His eyes sparkled with suppressed humor as they lingered on her.

“The rain,” she replied dryly, “and I lost.” Lucius was still studying her. She felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny; it was time to go. “Enjoy your meal. If I stand here any longer, I’ll be frozen.” She strode the length of the table, passing the blond wizard, and opened a door partially hidden in the wood paneling of the room.

Okay, that was a shock to the system. I guess I’d better get used to it. Still, it’s hard to maintain an air of authority when you’re dripping wet.

Lucius inhaled deeply as he watched her leave the dining room. Funny. He had never known that door was there. Is the Ministry kidding? By the gods, how am I supposed to maintain any self-control, alone in a house with a beautiful young woman? Of course , he mused, they’d throw me back in Azkaban if I dared touch a single dripping hair on her head. Without her consent, that is. He smiled. That’s the trick. I’ll have to get her to consent. On the other hand, what else am I going to do with my time?

***

After a long, hot shower, Hermione dressed in comfortable jeans and a sweatshirt. The rain was beating against the windows, and she didn’t want to venture back outside again today. This was a day to be spent in the warmth of the library.

She entered the library, happy to see that there was a large fire burning in the fireplace. You would think that after all these years I’d be used to the silent efficiency of the house-elves. And yet I’m still surprised by burning fires and turned-down beds. She stopped her musings suddenly. Lucius was in the library. In <b>her</b> chair, she noted. Half-moon reading glasses were perched on his nose and he was poring over the latest edition of the Daily Prophet . He was dressed much like he had been yesterday: black wool pants, a delicately embroidered black wool vest, and a deep crimson shirt. His hair was loose, and she couldn’t help but be reminded of his unexpected appearance in her bedroom last night, naked from the waist up.

Lucius dropped the paper and looked at her Hermione, who was still staring at him, her thoughts elsewhere. “Am I in your chair?” he asked with a half-smile.

Bastard. Please don’t let every encounter have to be a battle of the wills. “Yes. You are.” The wizard’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Me: 1, Lucius: 0, Hermione thought with a surge of pleasure. “But I’ve got work to do, so you don’t have to move yet,” she added with a smile.

“Forgive me,” he responded silkily. “I seem to keep forgetting that I am no longer the master of this house.” Lucius smiled ingratiatingly.

Hermione smiled broadly in reply, wondering how long The Battle of The Facial Expressions would last. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep reminding you.”

Lucius couldn’t help giving a genuine smile at that. “I’m sure you will.” He glanced down at the newspaper he had been reading and gave an exaggerated frown. “Do you know that I didn’t even make the front page? ‘How are the mighty fallen,’” he continued.

First Melville, now the Bible? Where did he find the time to read all this stuff? “‘And the weapons of war perished.’” Hermione finished the quote before letting her astonishment show. “When did you read the Bible?”

Lucius tilted his head toward the bookshelves of the library. “I’ve read pretty much everything in here.”

“Really?” The library was huge; when had he found the time? “When – how – when did you find the time? I thought world domination was pretty much a full-time job.”

The blond smirked but nodded. “It is. That is, it was. But I was young once, and had plenty of time to read then. And I rarely forget what I read.” He looked around the library. “It’s in here somewhere. It’s very old. Been in the family for centuries, I think. It caught my eye because of its age. Some interesting stories in there, although I liked the first half better than the second half.”

Why am I not surprised that you liked the Old Testament better than the New Testament? Oh yeah, because I’m still trying to get over the shock that comes with knowing you read the Bible at all. She fought back a smirk.

Lucius glanced back down at the newspaper. “I guess the world really has passed me by; I’m on page 7. Bottom of the page, no less.” His lips twisted into a wry smile.

“That was my doing, actually. I didn’t really want the publicity; we’d be inundated with Howlers of every shape and volume if the news had made a bigger deal of your release. I didn’t want to deal with that, and I assumed you would be happy to avoid that chaos, as well. The Ministry was happy to cooperate.”

“Why make any announcement at all, then?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t think the Ministry wanted to get all sorts of urgent owls the first time we leave the Manor telling them you had escaped from Azkaban, either. This way they’ve announced it, but it’s so low-key we should avoid notice from all but the most thorough readers.”

Lucius nodded, although the expression on his face was dubious. “I suppose,” he replied grudgingly.

Hermione sat down behind the large desk in the library and pulled out a sheet of parchment. As if on cue, an owl came into the room and deposited a letter in Hermione’s hands before flying to Lucius and dropping a scroll on his head. Hermione watched the owl fly away, not bothering to wonder how it had entered the Manor; owls, like house-elves, had their own magic and operated under different rules than the rest of the wizarding world.

Lucius turned to look at Hermione, who was opening her letter with a silver letter-opener. His letter-opener. No, make that his former letter-opener. “Speaking of thorough readers, why is Severus sending you letters?” As soon as he asked it, he realized how he sounded. Jealous. He wasn’t jealous. He just hadn’t been with a woman in a very long time, and now he was living alone with a very attractive woman. Whom he’d seen partially naked very recently. It was only natural that he’d be drawn to her. Especially since the Ministry had arranged it so he was unlikely to meet any women for a very long time to come, too.

“Not a clue,” Hermione replied absently.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Lucius responded playfully.

Hermione bit her lip to hide a grin. Damn him. He can’t possibly know I’m being plagued by visions of his naked torso. Can he?

“Fine. But I get to see yours first,” she responded in an equally playful voice.

“Any time, my dear. All you have to do is ask.” He stood up and walked toward the desk, an impish leer on his face.

Slightly taken aback by his response, Hermione replied with a quip. “I bet you say that to all the girls.” She struggled to put a stern look on her face while fighting an inexplicable case of the giggles. “Let me read mine first.”

Dear Ms. Granger,

I have not yet had the pleasure of formally welcoming you to your new home. I have a house-warming gift for you that I would prefer to deliver in person. Please let me know when it would be convenient to do so.

Your servant,

Severus Snape

Hermione read the letter twice. Why was Snape writing to her? Why did he want to visit the house? To check out the situation with Lucius, no doubt. He had never expressed any interest in her – professional or personal – in the past. Clearly this had been prompted by the Ministry.

She looked up to see Lucius holding out a parchment to her. She took it and handed him the letter she had received from Snape.

Lucius, my old friend,

I am impressed with your change of heart regarding cooperation with the Ministry. I hope that we can renew our old friendship.

Severus

Hermione looked at the letter and then up at Lucius. He was staring back at her. “I didn’t realize you and Snape were such good friends.”

The wizard chuckled. “I didn’t, either. While Severus and I, ah, travelled in some of the same, ah, social circles, we weren’t exactly the best of friends. I had more money, better connections, more status. Severus was, ah, envious. My guess is that since the tables have turned, so to speak, he’d like to rub it in my face.” Lucius shrugged his shoulders in acceptance.

“Probably,” Hermione conceded. She gestured at the letter Lucius held in his hand. “I guess that’s why he’s angling for an invitation. It’s not as though he and I are friends, either. Or have ever been friends,” she added, reflecting briefly on the complete lack of attention he had paid to her, despite her secret devotion to him while she was in school. “However, I’m sure the Ministry is going to want to send someone, at some point, to make sure that, erm, you’ve settled in. I guess Snape, er, Severus is as good or bad as anyone.” She paused. “I’ll deal with it; I’ll give you warning as to when to expect him.”

Lucius shrugged again, but felt something inside him relax. Hermione and Severus weren’t in a relationship. Somehow that seemed important.

***

Hermione stretched. She’d been sitting at the desk for three hours straight. First there had been a response to Severus to write, then a couple of letters to the Ministry, the latest update from St. Mungo’s on Draco’s condition (no change), and finally she buried herself in the newest edition of Ars Alchemia , the professional journal of the International Society of Potions Masters. Even though she wasn’t a member, she had been able to arrange a subscription to the Journal.

Sitting up, she noticed that lunch of a roast beef sandwich and a salad had appeared on the desk, and Dobby was standing at the corner of the desk, a stack of books towering precariously in his arms, waiting patiently for her to notice him.

“Dobby! What’s all this?” She indicated the books; she never failed to be amazed when lunch appeared when she was hungry, but at least she had seen it before.

“Miss is saying she is wanting things for Master Draco. Dobby is finding these books in the Room of Unused Things.” His voice trailed off as he peered at her hopefully from behind the stack of books.

“Uh. Oh, yeah. Definitely. Just put them down here. Thanks.” She looked thoughtfully at the stack of books. “Dobby, is there any wrapping paper around here? Draco likes to unwrap presents. I might wrap a few of them for him.”

The elf nodded vigorously, his pile of knitted hats swaying dangerously with each bob of his head. “Yes, Miss. Dobby is finding bows and wrappings. Dobby is making presents,” he added with obvious excitement, and he grabbed the entire stack of books back off the desk. Hermione thought to protest, but decided against it. Draco would be happy with whatever Dobby had unearthed, and Dobby was clearly quite proud of his find.

“Can I get some lunch?” came Lucius’ voice from the wing chair.

The house-elf stopped suddenly, the stack of books teetering dangerously before Dobby could steady the stack. He mustered his fiercest look, “is not asking nicely. You is not getting lunch.” The elf stomped off with as much fervor as he could muster while Hermione stifled a giggle.

“Dobby!” Lucius’ call came out as a demand, and there was no response. Hermione couldn’t help but snicker. “Dobby. Could I please get something for lunch? If it’s not too much trouble? Please?” Lucius’ voice was unnaturally pitiful.

“I is not thinking Mister Malfoy is sincere. But he is saying ‘please’ to Dobby for the first time, so Dobby is finding some lunch for him,” the elf replied haughtily, and Hermione smiled at him. He gave her a slow wink and left the room.

Moments later a hot but freezer-burned packaged meal showed up on the table next to the chair Lucius was sitting in. “What is this?” came the horrified cry. Intrigued, Hermione got up from the desk, her roast beef sandwich in her hand. She stood between the two wing chairs and peered at the black plastic dish and the barely-identifiable contents within.

Hermione couldn’t help herself; she burst out laughing. “Merlin’s balls,” she spluttered. “How on earth did you manage to get breakfast this morning?” she asked curiously while looking more closely at the congealing glop in the tray. It looked like spaghetti. Or maybe Chinese food. It was hard to tell.

The wizard glared at her. “I sat down at the dining room table and breakfast appeared. As it always has for as long as I have lived in this house,” he replied staidly.

“No doubt there are some house-elves who are still afraid of you,” she replied disapprovingly, her lips still twitching at the sight of the frozen dinner next to Lucius. “I’ll have to talk to Dobby about that.” She trailed off.

“Hermione,” Lucius said, his voice suddenly imploring. “Don’t. Or if you do, please do something so that I get regular meals. Real food. Even in Azkaban I was fed regularly. And it was recognizable food, too.” He paused, searching for words. “I’m a generally flexible man –” Hermione bit back a retort – “but, ah, apparently I am set in my ways about meals. It never occurred to me before. My entire life I’ve had food – substantive food – when I’m hungry. I get hungry, it arrives, I eat. I know this –” he looked around – “this isn’t my house any more, but –” he gestured to the disaster on the table next to him – “I don’t know how to deal with this –” He motioned again, this time at a loss for words, his brow furrowed in confusion and frustration.

Hermione found herself actually feeling sorry for him. “It’s a brave new world,” she began, and he looked at her blankly. “Never mind.” Really? This is all it takes to rattle the Daily Prophet’s“Most Influential Wizard” three years running? Before the acknowledged rise of Voldemort, that is. Mess with his food? If only the Order had known… “Okay. Let’s talk to Dobby.” The pale eyebrows rose in surprise, but he nodded slowly. “Actually, let me talk to him. You just smile and agree to whatever I say, okay?”

Lucius gave a half-hearted smirk but agreed, and Dobby appeared before them, an impish look on his elven face. “Dobby,” Hermione began, “Lucius is still adjusting to the, ah, changes around here. He’s trying,” she glanced at Lucius, and after a moment he nodded, “but it’s going to take him a while to get used to things. But he will say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.” She had to kick Lucius in the shin and he shot her a fierce look that she returned before he nodded. “And in return, if you can find someone who can take care of Lucius...” She trailed off.

Dobby gave Lucius a hard glare before looking back at Hermione, who was trying to stifle giggles. “Yes, miss. There is elves who can take care of –” The elf stopped suddenly and glanced back at Lucius – “mmph, him,” he finally squeaked.

Hermione smiled. “Thank you, Dobby. And would you please remove this, er, whatever this is?” She pointed to the unidentifiable food in the plastic tray. The elf nodded, but Hermione couldn’t help herself, “Dobby, what is this, anyway?”

“Dobby is not knowing, Miss. Elves is able to get Muggle food; we is just not always knowing what we is getting.” He looked at the plastic tray and shook his head. “Even when it is getting here,” he added, pressing his thin lips together. Hermione couldn’t tell whether he looked embarrassed or amused. Before Hermione could say anything else, the elf and the frozen dinner were gone.

Hermione giggled, and Lucius looked at her through narrowed eyes. “It’s called a frozen dinner,” she explained. “Like Dobby said, it’s a Muggle thing. They are the staple of dieters – people who are trying to lose weight – and people who don’t have time to cook.”

“‘Dieters’? That mess would certainly turn you off eating. I can’t imagine it would take too many of those before you stopped eating altogether.” The disdain in his voice was palpable.

“I think Dobby was just making a point,” Hermione replied, trying to keep a straight face.

Lucius raised one eyebrow at the now empty side-table. “Point taken,” he replied dryly. “I shall be more conciliatory in the future.” At that moment, a tray appeared with some poached fish, steamed broccoli, and a glass of white wine.

It was Hermione’s turn to raise her eyebrows. “Very nice. I guess Dobby has decided you’ve learned your lesson.”

Lucius gave a closed-lip smile, his eyes unreadable. He began to eat, and Hermione returned to the desk to finish her own lunch. When she was done she got up and pulled back one side of one of the curtains and stared restlessly at the rain outside. She really should return to cataloging the library, but the task seemed overwhelming at present. The rain was really oppressive.

“Why do you care about Draco so much?” Lucius’ voice broke through her mental ramblings.

“What?” Hermione had heard the question, but had been startled and needed a moment longer to formulate an answer.

“Why do you care so much about Draco? He’s not your family. It’s not as though you two were close at school. In fact, if I recall things properly, you were adversarial at the best of times,” he drawled in his classically aristocratic tone.

Hermione turned away from the window and walked over to stand in front of the fire. She turned around and faced the still-seated Lucius. “During the battle in the Varian Glen I caught a glancing blow from a Killing Curse, and I was in a coma for six months. Harry and Ron and the Weasleys came in to see me every day. There was a medi-witch who read to me every day, too. It wasn’t as though I was really aware of them. I mean, I have no idea what they said to me, but there was some part of me that knew there were people out there who cared about me.” Not that I’ve heard from them in a while, she added to herself. “There’s no proof that it helped me recover, but I can’t rule it out.

“Draco doesn’t, er, didn’t have anyone. When I found out what had happened to him, I went to see him. It turns out the only people he had seen were the staff at St. Mungo’s.” Hermione had been staring over the top of Lucius’ head, but she glanced at his face when she heard his sharp intake of breath, and caught the pained look on the wizard’s face.

“He’s a good boy,” she reassured him. “His memory is completely gone; he’s like a child. The staff is doing everything they can for him – which isn’t much. But he when I first saw him, he was so happy to see someone who wasn’t in medi-witch robes that I went to see him regularly. I could tell it made him happy to see someone who wasn’t medical staff, and I know how much human contact meant for me. Now I go see him because I enjoy the time I spend with him. And he seems to enjoy it, as well.”

She stopped, her eyes meeting Lucius’ grey eyes. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “What, ah, what do you – the two of you – do when you see him?”

“The staff doesn’t think he’s ready to go on outings yet. Although they’re hopeful that he’ll be ready soon. I was thinking about taking him to Fortescue’s for some ice cream.” She trailed off, her mind already working on the logistics of traveling with a wizard who had lost his magical powers. Regaining her train of thought, she continued, “I bring him books and toys and games. He is fascinated with the moving pictures in books, so I bring him children’s books. He’s, ah, he doesn’t remember how to read. So I read to him and he tries to follow along. He’s got short-term memory problems, too, so it’s slow going, but he gets very excited when he recognizes words and stories. And that makes it fun for me,” she added. “He also likes playing games – he loves it when the pieces move on their own.” She smiled at the memory of the last time they had played Candyland.

“So...the books?” Lucius asked, his voice shaky.

“I thought he might enjoy books from his childhood. I asked Dobby to look for them, since I didn’t have a clue where I might find them.”

“He didn’t have the best childhood.” Lucius spoke softly but firmly, his eyes focused on the fire. “Like me, he found refuge in reading. He would probably enjoy those books.” His eyes flicked back to hers. “When do you see him next?”

“Tomorrow. Would you like to join me?” she asked, anticipating his response.

“Yes,” he answered quickly. “I am allowed to see him, correct?” He seemed afraid that she might respond negatively.

“Of course,” she said, nodding to emphasize her answer. “I owled the Ministry this morning to let them know we’d be going. I assumed you’d want to come with me.”

“Yes, I do. Thank you again.” He looked down at the floor for several seconds as if studying the intricate pattern of the Turkish carpet. He finally looked up. “Thank you for having me released from Azkaban. And thank you for being a friend to Draco.” He paused, searching for his next words. His tone was much lighter when he spoke again. “I know you don’t use the formal dining room –”

“Well, with only one person I didn’t really see the point,” she broke in.

Lucius smirked. “You’re just not at ease in a formal room.” He raised his hands. “Don’t argue. You like comfortable clothes.” Hermione became uncomfortably aware of her jeans and sweatshirt. “It follows that you like relaxed settings.” He gestured around the library. “And I do, too. But I also like formal settings. Formal dress for dinner makes it more than a meal; it’s an occasion. If you would permit it, I would like to have a formal dinner. Just the two of us,” he added, anticipating her response. “To celebrate my release. To celebrate your new home.” A broad smirk lit up his face. “I’d like to have that honor before our ‘dear friend’ Severus does. Since this was once my home, I think it’s my right.”

Hermione smiled. “Okay. It sounds interesting. When exactly were you thinking of having this formal dinner?” She hadn’t heard back from Snape yet, but she expected that he planned to visit sooner rather than later.

“Tonight, of course. If the house-elves are willing to assist me, that is,” he replied. “Do you think it will suffice if I make the menu and attach a ‘please’ to it?” He didn’t appear to be joking.

She fought back a smile. “It might. Particularly if you wrote the ‘please’ in really big letters. You still might want to talk with Dobby just to make sure, though.” The smile won out, as Lucius scowled. “But tonight? I don’t have anything to wear.” She marveled at the absurdity of hearing these words coming from her lips.

“Leave everything to me,” Lucius responded with authority, his mouth turning up at the corners. “If that is acceptable to you, that is,” he looked at her, a genuine question in his eyes.

“Uh, sure,” she responded, feeling mystified. “But you don’t have to do this –”

“True, but I would very much like to. So, shall we say drinks in the drawing room at 6:45 with dinner to follow?” Hermione nodded dumbly. “If you are ready to be dressed at 6, I’ll see if I can persuade a house-elf to help you dress and arrange your hair and makeup. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to do it yourself.”

Hermione tried not to giggle at the mental image of her trying to apply makeup or do anything with her hair beyond putting it in a ponytail. “I think the outcome would probably be better if I had some assistance.”

Lucius inclined his head and stood up, retrieving his snake-headed cane from the side of the chair. “Very well, if you will excuse me? I have to, ah, respectfully request some assistance from the house-elves.”

Hermione watched him leave the library, his gait marred only by a slight reliance on his cane. She turned back to the parchment on her desk, the corners of her lips turning up into a smile. Lucius Malfoy in formal robes would be a treat for the eyes. Lucius Malfoy “respectfully requesting assistance” from house-elves with any degree of success would be a miracle. And quite possibly even more entertaining than seeing him in dress robes.

~~~.

A/N: Yes, I am alive. I really would like to finish this story, even if it means that I'll be reading it to my great-grand nieces and nephews. Life just seems to keep interfering. As always, HUGE thanks to Mamacita-san for making this readable (and for remembering who I am, even when I drop off the face of the earth for years at a time). Send the woman chocolate - she is a goddess! I have another chapter almost finished and should be posted by the end of the week. Beyond that.... I'm working on it, and I'll do my best.
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The Kill Shot