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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Author�s Note:� When I
posted the last chapter I was in a bit of a rush.� There were some comments I wanted to address
so I�ll do it now.� A few people asked
exactly how our dear Lucius came to acquire HIV �
let�s just say it wasn�t from sharing needles.�
I�m not going to go any further into it because I sort of want you to
make the choice for yourself.� Was he the
aggressor in the infamous encounter?� The victim?� Was it
mutual?� And who was �the other
one�?� Hermione isn�t asking questions
for now and neither am I *dodges any projectiles coming her way*.� And for those who are worried that it will
interfere with their romance, need I remind you that there are plenty of ways
to please one another that don�t involve actual intercourse? ^_~�� I know the thought of any kind of sexual
contact between them when he is infected may bother and/or anger some people,
but Hermione�s willingness to still see him as a man is clutch for the story
(and she�s a smart cookie, besides � she�ll make sure it�s safe).� What else�someone asked if Lucius�s muggle friend from
childhood knew he was a wizard � no, he didn�t.�
More on that in the next chapter.� Someone also asked why Lucius
would associate apples with Hermione.�
There is a reason, which will come in the chapter after this one.� I think that�s everything.� Thanks for your reviews and your support!

It was a defense mechanism.

�� Hermione
reasoned it out as she walked down the path after him.� As much as she wanted to believe that Lucius was genuinely attracted to her, it was simply too
fanciful.� Not even five years ago he
would have killed her if given the chance.�
No, that wasn�t true.� He had been
given the chance and was instead content to hand her
off to Greyback, and perhaps that was worse; she had
not even been worth the mess and the bother.

�� Oh,
heavens, listen to her, taking offense that he hadn�t slit her throat.� She should be thankful for it.� It didn�t exactly qualify as generosity but
with him she would take what she could get; a little self-control went a long
way for Lucius Malfoy.

�� But back to her original train of thought.� These advances he made � it was a defense
mechanism.� He used it when he felt that
he was losing control, and if there was one way he could regain it, especially
with a woman as a foe, it was through sexuality.� One would have to be made of stone to be
immune to it.� He was an attractive man
and there was that something about him.�
The word was magnetism, but it was something darker and more primeval�she
couldn�t even define it.

�� So when she
challenged his control, he lashed out to regain it � by making her weak in the
knees, by overriding her brain in favor of her body.� And damn it, it worked.� She frowned.�
She couldn�t let him continue to use it against her.� She wasn�t a pushover and she wouldn�t be
sucked into his bedroom mind games.� Oh,
that was a poor choice of words�

�� She was
catching up.� His pace had slowed
slightly and he seemed almost to be waiting for her, although she couldn�t hear
anything from his mind.� He had become
proficient at sheltering it, something she had yet to do.� Things were still squeaking by when she
didn�t want them to, although she had managed to control that screaming desire
for him to touch her not so long ago.� Hermione
sighed.

�� What she
was about to do could go one of two ways.�
Either it would work and he would back off, or it would only make him
more determined to get into her knickers whether he actually wanted to or not.� She didn�t know him well enough to say which
it would be.

�� Crossing
her arms over her chest, she drew even with him.� He glanced at her briefly and then returned
his eyes to the road ahead of them.� It
was gravel and dirt, criss-crossed with tire tracks
and a footprint here and there.� It was probably
a nightmare in the rain.

�� Gathering
her courage, Hermione spoke.

�� I know
what you�re doing, Lucius.�

�� Another sideways glance � one that dared her to go on.

�� I won�t
fall for it,� she said, willing herself to be stronger than she felt.� �I won�t let you manipulate me.� If you lay a hand on me again for anything
other than side-along apparition, I will leave and not come back.�

�� He
stopped.� Stopped dead
in the middle of the road, the faint cloud of dust their walking stirred
swirling about his ankles.� And
she waited for his retort, for a thinly-veiled threat, for something that would tell her what he was thinking.� Only silence met her declaration.� Hermione walked on, chewing her lower lip,
nervous.� She had no idea where she was
going on the road but movement seemed like the best idea.

�� After a few
minutes, she looked behind her.� It was
foolish to turn her back on him; he was a better version of himself but that
still wasn�t saying much and she didn�t put it past him to hex her when she
wasn�t looking.� The thought hadn�t
crossed his mind, though.� He was walking
slowly, hands in his pockets, eyes down.�
Oh dear.� He was thinking.�

Her stomach suddenly felt
unsettled; this was, perhaps, the most dangerous reaction he could have
had.� A quick, venomous response would
have been hurtful but precluded him putting too much thought into her little
speech.� Apology and acquiescence was
more or less out of the question because he would never make them; she had known
that before she opened her mouth.� She
had so hoped that his temper and his old habits would get the best of him, but
his temper had flagged in the face of reality � he didn�t have time for anger and he�d wasted so much
on it already � and perhaps he had been more successful at killing those old
habits than she thought possible.� It
should have been a positive thing, him defeating those ingrained patterns of
behavior, but in this case it might prove to be her undoing.

This was what fate had thrown at
her � a halved man, one who, fifty percent of the time, was calm, calculating,
reasonable.� That would be fine if not
for the fact that his reason existed free of morality; most Slytherins
were the same.� Reason came first and
conscience second, and only if they chose to apply it.� Sometimes morals were so inconvenient�

And the other
fifty percent of the time?� Well,
though she had barely seen it yet, she suspected that he was a fine mess.� Most would be in his position.� He was dying and no one took that news
particularly well, especially when it was before their time.� Add to that the knowledge of what he was
dying from and how desperately, sadistically appropriate it was�and you had the
recipe for a train wreck, pure and simple.�
He was human (the visceral shock of that still resounded in her head)
and so he inched toward it inexorably, no matter how hard he pulled on the
emergency brake.� So far it had only come
out in his dreams; she had felt the guilt, tasted his anger, his despair, and
experienced his terrifying and paradoxical reactions to everything dark inside
and around him.� Before the end he would
meet that point on the horizon where he ran out of track.

Was she wrong to think that the
synthesis of the two could save him?�
Only when one intruded on the other could he begin to make sense of it
all.� When guilt fractured rationality,
when rage clashed with tenuous composure, when he allowed himself to feel the
fear of what he had become instead of suffocating it with the clutching fingers
of his control�

But right now he was warily holding
those two halves away from each other, like one had to keep fire away from
gunpowder, with a grim knowledge of what would happen if he relaxed for even
one moment.� So he knew the potential for
a breakdown existed.� He could smell it,
a trace of heat on the wind.� She had a
feeling he would do anything to avoid it.

It was exactly what he needed.

She was back where she had begun in
the Ministry cafeteria, contemplating the earthquake that would tear him
down.� It was so hazardous to both of
them.� There was no safe way to go about
it.� Perhaps�perhaps, given time, the
plates within him would clamor into one another and break?� No.� If
it hadn�t happened by now, he was too much an expert at calming the tremors.

�Unless you plan on walking to Siena, you will need to
come this way,� his voice sounded suddenly, behind her and to the right.� Hermione blinked and stopped, turning toward
him.� The road had come to a fork and
without realizing, her feet had carried her left.� He stood in the middle of the split,
contemplating her.� To the right she
could see the small town, the first lights beginning to flicker on as the sun
sank lower.

�Maybe it�s worth visiting,� she
said, suddenly not wanting to be in his presence.

�Maybe,� he agreed quietly.� �But it is a long walk.�

Once inside the small town Hermione
forgot her agitation.� Everything was so
charming; she couldn�t fix her eyes in enough places at once.� Though the sun was edging down, the small
marketplace was buzzing with people.�
Stalls full of fresh produce assembled in bright swatches before her and
she wanted to touch and taste everything.�
She had never seen tomatoes so red, peppers so green, or bulbs of garlic
so large.� It occurred to her that she
had not brought any money, not that galleons would do her any good�

�I have Euros,� he said, answering
her thought.� �If you want anything, ask
and it is yours.�

�I have money,� she replied
automatically.

�Not with you.�

She frowned.� Damn him and his Vow.� Another thought flickered through her mind
and she gave voice to this one.� �You�re
not expecting me to cook, are you?�

This earned a turn of his head and
a brief look.� �No.�� A ghost of a smile crossed his face and
disappeared as quickly as it had come.�
�I take it from your tone of voice that it is not your favorite thing to
do.�

�I�m not particularly good at it,�
she admitted.� �Sometimes I don�t even want to eat my own
cooking.�

�A bit strange,
isn�t it, that you can brew Polyjuice but simple
cooking eludes you?� he jabbed.

�Can you cook?� she demanded, her hands going to her hips of their own
accord.� She wasn�t going to think about
how he knew she could brew Polyjuice.

�I have never tried,� he informed
her, �but if I did, I�m certain I could do it.�

He was probably right.� Truthfully, if she approached cooking the way
she did an academic subject like potions, she would probably be brilliant at
it.� She had just never had the time.

�This is a food market,� she said,
changing subjects.� �Where are we
supposed to get linens?�

�There are shops.�� He lifted his chin to indicate the small
storefronts on the left.� Then he reached
into his pocket and pulled out a money clip that could barely contain the bills
it enclosed.� She tried not to look at it
and guess just how much money he was holding but it was impossible.� Depending what denominations made up the
majority of it, it could be anywhere from a few hundred to thousands, and if
she knew him it was thousands.� She had
never had so much money, galleons or muggle, in her
hand at one time.� He was counting out
bills � one, two, three, four � and she realized he
meant to give it to her.

�I told you I have money.� I don�t want yours.�

�I dragged you out here.� I don�t intend to let you spend the meager
funds you�ve made at the Ministry when it would not have been your choice to
leave in the first place.�

The talk of money jarred something
in her brain.� Oh, shit.� She had forgotten to pay her rent before
leaving.� The first of the month was not
for a few more days, so she supposed she could apparate
back and take care of it.

It
is paid.

She started slightly.� It had been a good hour since his voice
sounded inside her skull and already she missed the silence.� Wait a minute, had he just�

What
do you mean?

Your rent.� It is paid for the next
year.� I was going to let you find out on
your own, but since it is troubling you�

Hermione could only gape at
him.� He had paid her rent?� For a year?� That was close to ten thousand
galleons!� What did he mean by it?� Was he capable of generosity or was he just taking
the chance to wave his money in her face?�
A spark of something indignant lit in her chest.

I�m
not poor.� I can afford my own flat.� I don�t need your money.

He sighed, irritation tingeing his
next words.� It is the only thing I can give you in return for what you are
doing.� I have nothing else that you
would want.

She stared at him, unsure of his
exact meaning and thrown by his apparent recognition that he was indebted to
her.� It was so out of character.� She wanted to tell him that some favors didn�t
require reciprocation but he wouldn�t be able to grasp that.� Everything was a transaction in his
world.� His eyes, so like the Tuscan sky,
were clear but guarded as he waited for her to gather her wits.

�Luciano?��

They both turned.� A man of average height with dark, curly hair
streaked with grey stood there, a hesitant look on his face.� It was the look people usually wore when they
thought they recognized someone but weren�t entirely sure.

Luciano?� It was close.�
Hermione looked at Lucius.� His brows furrowed.� She heard his mind search and seize - What was his
name�Paolo?� Yes.� This was his muggle
friend!� Hermione braced herself.

�Paolo?� he responded tentatively.

The other man smiled.� �It is you!�
I saw you across the square, and I thought,
there is only one man I ever knew with hair like that.�� His words were slightly accented but his
English was perfect.� �It looks like you
have escaped the grey.�

�For now,� Lucius
said temperately.� She recognized his
mask of indifference; she had come to know it well already.� It was the expression he wore when he had not
quite figured out what the situation called for.

�Then it is you, up in the old
villa?�

He nodded.

�I couldn�t believe it when I saw
the mirror flashes.� I thought I was
going crazy.� Oh, but where are my
manners?� Who is this lovely lady?� Your daughter?�

Hermione had to exercise supreme
self-control to negate the grimace that wanted to spread across her face.� If there was a mental equivalent of a
grimace, Lucius was experiencing it and it was
mirrored in her own mind.� They had not
considered this; what exactly were they?

�No,� Lucius
said smoothly, as if this were not incredibly awkward.� �This is Miss Granger, my associate.�

Associate.� She could deal with associate.� Hermione took Paolo�s outstretched hand and
shook.� Thankfully he did not feel the
need to ask more questions about her identity; he seemed more interested in his
old friend.

�I can�t believe it�s been almost
forty years,� the Italian reflected.

�Indeed,� Lucius
said.� �Would you mind if I had a minute
with Miss Granger?�

�Of course.�

Lucius
nodded and excused himself.� Hermione
didn�t bother to point out that he could tell her whatever he wanted via their
link; he obviously wanted to escape the muggle for a
moment.

�Here,� he said, pressing the money
into her hand.� �Go pick out whatever
linens you like, two sets, something sensible--� no flowers or butterflies, his mind slipped, �and please don�t be
parsimonious about it.� Rubbish is still
rubbish even if it�s cheap.�

Knowing that it would do no good to
argue with him, she took the money.� And
knowing that it would annoy him to no end, she asked, Will you be all right?

Of
course I will be all right, silly twit!

She turned around and smirked as
she walked away.� It was only when she
got into the first shop that she bothered to look at the money she held.� Sweet merciful mandrake root, he�d given her
a thousand Euros!� She shook her head.� Even Egyptian cotton woven by Ramses himself wouldn�t cost that much!� Hermione smiled � and had absolutely no idea
why.

She had purchased the linens nearly
a half hour ago.� Now she was just
loitering in the window of one of the shops, carefully watching Lucius and Paolo.�
They were in the same spot she�d left them.� Initially she had thought he would only be a
few minutes but they had been talking for quite a while without ceasing.� Of course Paolo did most of the talking; she
smiled, sure that verbose people normally drove Lucius
to insanity, but he was behaving very well.�
Better than she ever would have expected, in fact.

As she watched Lucius
held up a hand and then turned around.�
His eyes swept the piazza; he was looking for her.� Hermione suddenly became aware that the
shopkeeper, an elderly woman, was standing next to her looking out at Lucius.� She pointed
a gnarled finger.

�Capelli di oro, occhi
come il cielo,
e un grande pacchetto.�� The woman waggled her grizzled eyebrows.� �Farete molti bambini bei.�

Hermione had no idea what the woman
had just said, but had the feeling it might contain questionable content.�

�I�I�m sorry, I don�t understand,�
she smiled apologetically.

At that moment the bell over the
door tinkled and Lucius came in, followed by
Paolo.� He must have noticed her in the
shop window.

�Ah!� the old woman said, apparently
recognizing Paolo.� She descended into a
garble of speech, gesturing at the curly-haired man.� A smile broke out across his face.� Paolo turned to Hermione.

�She is jealous that you get to
spend time with Luciano.� She thinks he is gorgeous.�

�Grazie,� Lucius
said, his poker face giving way to the humor of the situation.� �Paolo, tell her she is quite a looker
herself.�

Paolo obliged and it sent the old
woman into a fit of giggles.� She held
out her hand and Lucius made a show of kissing
it.� Hermione couldn�t help but
laugh.� He was in a very good mood,
indeed; she hadn�t thought it possible, not after her ultimatum on the road.

After a few more minutes and some
outrageous flirting from the old woman, they managed to extract themselves
mostly unmolested.� They walked out into
the darkened square; the vendors were packing up their stalls.� At that moment her stomach growled, reminding
her that it was late and she hadn�t eaten since that morning.

�Paolo, is there anywhere we can
eat?� We don�t have any food in the villa
yet,� Lucius said, echoing her thoughts.

�Oh yes, there is an excellent
bistro around the corner, I will walk you there.�

Once they arrived they said their
goodbyes and settled at a table.� The
restaurant wasn�t crowded but had enough people to fill it with a low murmur of
speech.

�Before I forget,� Hermione said,
digging in her pocket, �here�s your money.�

�Keep it.�

�No.�

I
will charm it to incinerate if you reject it, he warned.

You
wouldn�t! she rejoined, horrified.� She couldn�t bear to see money wasted like
that, and he knew it.

I
have enough to survive your obstinacy.�
And I will keep giving it to you until you break down and spend it.

She looked at him across the table,
and then slowly re-pocketed the money.�
Clearly arguing with him would get her nowhere.� If Malfoy wanted to
throw away his money, who was she to stop him?�
A thought occurred to her.

I
doubt Draco would appreciate you showering me in his
inheritance.

His
inheritance has been set aside since his birth.�
It is quite safe from my irresponsible expenditure.

She frowned.� That was the last line of her reasoning.�

I
do not care what you use it for or if you use it at all.� His voice went quiet.� Toss it
into some account and let it molder.� But
do not reject it.� He didn�t go on,
but she knew what he was trying to say � do not reject me.� In spite of herself, she
softened.

�All right,� Hermione said.� �What did you talk about with Paolo?�

Lucius
rolled his eyes.� �You mean what did
Paolo talk to me about?�

She smiled. �She had been right in her assumption that Lucius couldn�t stand people who rambled.� Perhaps she would have to ramble more
often.�

The road back up to the villa was
dark.� She really was in the country now;
the only light was offered by the stars (there were so many outside the city!)
and a faint sliver of moon.� Lucius didn�t seem bothered by it.� His feet were sure and he moved uninterrupted
by the ruts and rocks that troubled her.

She had only been to Malfoy Manor once, and under less than pleasant circumstances,
but common sense dictated that it was far off the beaten path.� He had probably spent the majority of his
life traversing roads and darkened grounds like this.� She, on the other hand, had only ever lived
in a cluttered suburb or the city.� Dirt
roads were a novelty.� And not a very
nice one, either; she had a rock in her shoe and had nearly fallen twice.

He was moving a bit more slowly
than he might have in her absence.� He
kept himself just ahead of her and the pale sheen of his hair was like a beacon
in the dark.� Lucius
had thus far spared her his biting sarcasm for reasons unknown, but she knew by
the way he shielded his mind with a sensation of cool amusement that he was
certainly thinking of ways to mock her for her clumsiness.

Hermione made a face at his back
and returned her gaze to the stars.� It
wasn�t often that she got to see them like this, sprinkled across a sky free of
light pollution.� She could find the
Plough, and there was Polaris, the north star�

In hindsight, looking up instead of
at the ground in front of her was a mistake.�
Her foot hit a rut and she was going down; there was nothing she could
do.� Hermione winced and prepared herself
for impact.

It never came.� An invisible force halted her and she was suspended
almost parallel to the ground, her nose two feet from the gravel, as if she
were hanging in some kind of sling.� Lucius�s legs moved into view.

I
knew that was coming, he chided, and none too kindly.

And
you did nothing about it.� How nice, she shot back, instantly
irritable.

No.� This is what would have happened if I did
nothing about it.� He moved his wand
slightly and the force that held her was gone; Hermione yelped, anticipating
her rendezvous with the ground.� Again,
it didn�t come.� After freefalling for a
terrifying second, her momentum stopped and she was eased to the dirt gently.

Lucius
chuckled and moved on.� The sound of his
laughter, however benign, made the lion inside her wake from its sleep.� With a vindictive flick of her wand, she sent
a Tripping Hex at his receding feet.

She
did not just�!� The thought escaped
him as he went down and Hermione smiled spitefully.� He hadn�t expected her retaliation.� Now he�d learned that as much as she let
people push her, eventually she would push back.� She didn�t care who he was.

She should have, though.� His temperance had lulled her into a false
sense of security.� She had vowed that it
wouldn�t happen, but already he�d managed to chip away at her guard.� He was well acquainted with the dark and as
such he moved seamlessly in it; before she knew it, he was too close for
comfort.

She was still on her stomach in the
dirt.� She could scarcely believe it, but
he was on top of her � straddling
her.� He was careful; it didn�t escape
her notice that no part of him actually touched her.� No, nothing but the threat of his presence
and that maddening sensuality�

His hands came into her view, palm
down in the gravel next to hers.� Her
hands looked small and doll-like in comparison.�
This was worse than being touched.�
He was on all fours above her, inches from her, and a very slight
displacement of her hair told her that his lips were near her ear.� Oh God, not that tongue
again�

�Do not,� he breathed, �take your
incompetence out on me.�

�Don�t take your twisted sense of humor out on me,� she bit back, edgy in the knowledge that her warning had done
little to blunt his behavior.

�I know what you�re doing, Miss
Granger.�

She bit her lip, infuriated and
terrified at the same time.� He was
throwing her own boldness right back at her and completely disregarding it at
the same time.

�You think you can dissect me,
girl?� You think I am some insect on your
pin?�� His voice had become a low growl
that peeled back her skin and resounded inside her.� �I only need you for as long as it takes me
to figure out how not to need you,� he whispered harshly � and she wasn�t
completely sure if he was speaking out loud or in her head or both.

�I�m not--� she attempted.

He cut her off.� �Don�t lie.�
You are dreadful at it.�� As soon
as his mood had come, it was gone, and the threat melted out of the air around
them.� �For Merlin�s sake, next time you
cannot see light your bloody wand.�

He lifted himself carefully and
stalked away.

She knew she was crazy for
following him back and not just leaving him to his purgatory.� She knew that.� She actually stood outside the villa for a
full fifteen minutes, debating with herself.�
She could leave.� She could just
flat-out leave.� He had overstepped many
boundaries on the road; he had embarrassed her, toyed with her, intimidated
her, threatened her, and so much more.�
She hated that he could excite
her while simultaneously doing all those other things.� In her gut, though, she knew that he would
come after her if she left.� And he
wouldn�t be happy about it; he didn�t like it when he was denied his will.� Besides, she was making progress with her
mission.� Lucius
had played very nicely with his old muggle
friend.� Sighing heavily, Hermione walked
into the villa with her head held high.

Once inside, the darkness did not
abate; the villa had no electricity.� It
was an 1800 year old Roman construction, Lucius
snootily informed her, so why would it?�
In all that time no one had deemed it necessary to modernize it.� She supposed there was not much to be done;
it had everything it needed otherwise.

As expected, there was no hint of
an apology.� It was hard to stay angry at
him, though, when he set to the task of medicating himself.� Once again she felt the weight of knowing
that by allowing her to see this, he was wordlessly confessing.� She had never seen so many pills in one
place.� If she were him, she would have
confused herself and lost track, but he blew through the routine easily.� With three years of practice he could
probably do it in his sleep.

He knocked the pills back with
wine; she guessed he had unearthed it from the massive wine cellar.� She wondered if it was prudent to mix the
medication and alcohol but didn�t say anything, as it was only one small glass.� She couldn�t help but think about if anyone
else had ever been privy to this ritual.�
He offered no answers.� Hermione
found that she had a sudden and completely voyeuristic urge to rifle through
the pill bottles when he was asleep.� She
knew that HIV drug regimens were intense, but that had been a lot of pills;
perhaps something more accounted for the moderation of his behavior.

Her lips twitched.� The thought of Lucius
Malfoy on Xanax or Valium
was a strange one, indeed.� Lord only
knew what a muggle doctor would prescribe him, or, heaven
forbid, a muggle psychiatrist�but she was jumping to
conclusions.� The man didn�t even use
Dreamless Sleep potion (she could attest), so why would he be any more enamored
of muggle sedatives?�

He settled into the large desk and
lit another candle.� In its soft bath, it
seemed like he had almost forgotten she was there.� He tooled with his quill, fidgeting, frowning
as he contemplated the paper.� At one
point he rested the feather against his lips.�

She had to admit, there was
something about candlelight.� He looked
like a de La Tour painting.� Any gallery
would be glad to have him, with the light kissing his angles like only a
candle�s flickering warmth could�and his eyes, when they flashed up to hers for
a brief second, were bluer than the center of the little flames.��

The quill began to scratch.� Hermione watched him, transfixed.� His lips were moving as he wrote; the
occasional shake of his head and slash of his quill as he crossed something out
accompanied the silent murmurings.� Her
book sat in her lap unread.� She had
never observed a true writer at work before.�
She had ceded him that much in her mind; when he wanted to be, he was to
words what a talented weaver was to tapestry.

Three pages later, he paused.

�Foolish,� he said.

�What�s foolish?� she asked,
feeling very subdued and wondering if this would be an attempt at contrition.

�Another word for
foolish.�

Right, what was she thinking?� In the absence of his favorite ebony-haired
tea shop employee, now she was going to get the thesaurus treatment.

�Na�ve,� Hermione suggested,
resigned.

�No.�

�Imprudent?�

�No.�

�Inexperienced.�

�No.�

�Ignorant.�

And he didn�t negate it, so she
assumed he was happy with her substitution.�
After a few more minutes of quiet she stood up.� Fatigue was beginning to hit her.� Existing with him was a taxing job, it
seemed.

The windows were wide and the air
cool and perfect.� A symphony of night
sounds filtered in.� She took a moment to
contemplate the stars that had proved so dangerous before; they really were
breathtaking.� Sighing, Hermione lifted
herself onto the broad windowsill and sat against the side of it.� She had never been in a home that had windows
big enough to allow this kind of seating arrangement.� It was perfect; if she turned her head to the
right, she could look at the sky and the dormant countryside, and if she turned
left she could look at him � she could no longer pretend that that wasn�t a joy
in its own right.

Hermione let him be for long
minutes, not wanting to obstruct his flow.�
But at last the question could no longer be controlled and she cast it
into the nebulous space between them.

If
I leave, will you come and find me?

The quill paused.� Just like that, it froze mid-word, dripping a
spot of ink onto the porous parchment.� He
turned his head, his pupils large in the dim light.

Yes.

She nodded.� She had expected that answer and he had
probably expected the question.� He might
not expect this one, though�

If
I stay, will you hurt me?

He put the quill down.� A tremendous moment stretched, interrupted
only by the sound of crickets and the jolting tickle of the curtains as the
wind pushed the panel of fabric against her arm.� The candle guttered slightly, genuflecting in
the breeze.

No.� I will not hurt you.

It was said with confidence and
surety and she could find no untruth in his eyes.� But he was an expert liar; he could craft
veracity and deception in shades of grey.�
Perhaps he had only told her what she wanted to hear.� With a shaky exhalation, Hermione rose from
the windowsill.

�Good night.�

�Sleep well,� he murmured, watching
her in his peripheral vision.

But, as she settled into the
tremendous bed in the room she had claimed, sleep was elusive game.� She could feel him�hear him�as he wrote; a mantra cycled in his head, meditative in
its repetition but frightening in its implications:

I
will not hurt her.� I will not hurt
her.� I will not hurt her�

Author�s Note 2.0:�
Ten snuggle points to whomever figures out what the pervy
old lady really said about Lucius.� My Italian is
atrocious, so I apologize in advance.� I
will give you this clue, though � the plural form of �hat� is almost the same
as the word for �hair�, so if your translation program tells you �hats of
gold�, it is lying.� Also, I made a silly
little banner for this fic, which you can see at http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a307/forcemotrice/HTCbannerfull.jpg
, if it tickles your fancy.
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