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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Author�s Note:� Sorry
for the wait�I�ve been horribly sick for the past 7 days or so.� I knew this burning the candle at both ends
business would catch up to me eventually�thankfully, I have some time off next
week, so I should be able to relax, get well, and of course write!� I have heard that reviews boost the immune
system�

25 snuggle points to meankitty69 for asking her Nonna what the dirty old lady said � I�m sorry for the
awkward moment, I�ll translate from now on!

10 points each to zairaphel & LaBib for figuring it out, also.� Oh, and LaBib � I use
the oldest, crappiest program imaginable to make banners.� It�s Paint Shop Pro version 5 (it�s up to 12
now I think).� I�m not particularly
talented compared to what some people can do in programs like Photoshop.� I have thought about attempting to draw
illustrations for this story (by hand), but it�s been a looooong
time since I did any serious drawing and I�m not sure how it would go.� Plus I barely have time to write it, let
alone illustrate it�sigh.

Enjoy this chapter and Happy St. Patrick�s Day!

Apples again.

Hermione steeled herself.� She really did not need this right now, not
after the day he�d inflicted upon her, and not after the hours she spent lying
in bed, her heart pounding as she listened to him trying to assemble his
willpower.� She wasn�t sure when she�d
finally dropped off, but he must have, also, and here she was, about to view
another one of his sex dreams�

Reluctantly, she opened her
dream-eyes.� Relief flooded her; she was
outside.� There was no bed, no nude
replica of herself, nothing remotely sexual.�
Thank Merlin.� Hermione looked
around, surprised.� She was standing in a
strip of road that ran between two fields.�
On the left there were sunflowers and on the right, a tremendous field
of wheat swaying in a breeze that was barely there.� Was this dream�here?� Tuscany?

A further jolt startled her when
she realized that this was in color.� And
she could hear the wheat rustling.� Color
and sound?� Was this her own dream?� No�it had started with that same ambiguous
waft of smell, that signature olfactory hallucination that demarcated his
dreams.� It had never been a hallmark of
hers.� This was Lucius,
through and through.� It must be their
proximity bringing things into sharper focus�

The wheat rustled ominously and a
distortion rippled through the golden stalks.�
In spite of herself she took a step back.� She knew it was just a dream, but it was hard
to clamp down on her natural instincts.�
However, the things that burst out of the field a moment later were
anything but threatening.

Four little boys emerged, peals of
laughter echoing as they chased one another.�
Three were shrieking in Italian.�
One was not.� Hermione�s breath
caught.� Sweet Merlin, that was Lucius.� And Lucius, at eight, was the most beautiful child she had ever
seen.

His face was cherubic but held a
hint of mischief; she could tell just by looking at him that he had been a
handful.� Those eyes were no different,
except perhaps in their temperature.�
Children should not have cold eyes and she was glad to see that he
didn�t.� His hair was the same pale
sheet, a bit shorter, hanging only to his chin and messy from boyish
exertion.� He was perfect.� She could only hope to have a child as
beautiful as him someday.

She quickly determined that they
couldn�t see her.� Oblivious, the boys
rested on the road, attempting to call a truce for the chase, but it didn�t
last long.� It was instigated again by a
boy that could only have been Paolo; he had the same riotous brown curls and
warm eyes.� Hermione smiled even as her
heart broke.� Lucius
was so happy with these children � children that were muggles
and who didn�t even speak English.� It
didn�t matter.� The language of play was
universal.

Their stillness was short lived; in
another minute they had regained their energy and took off toward the field of
sunflowers.� After a moment of thought,
Hermione followed.� She wanted to see as
much of this carefree Lucius as she could.� Perhaps it would help her to bear the thing
he had become.� Or perhaps it would make
it worse�

The boys darted quickly among the
high, thick stems of the sunflowers.� The
entire field was taller than her and it was spaced so that she could just
squeeze through the slots between the sturdy flora.� It was easy to keep her eyes on Lucius; he was the only one with light hair and the only
one whose skin was not the color of caf� au lait.

They were playing tag.� From what she could tell, Paolo was it.� The boys hunted one another through the
flowers, trying to trip each other, to push their opposition towards Paolo, who
was good-naturedly seeking them.� They
were rapidly running out of field; Hermione could see the dirt road through the
green stalks.

Two of the boys doubled back,
changing course and plunging back into the depths of the field.� Lucius was trapped
between Paolo and the road.� A fierce
grin passed between the two boys as they stood still, measuring each other up.

�Andiamo,
Luciano,� Paolo teased.� He took a step forward; Lucius
countered him with a step back, the age-old cat and mouse.

�Troppo
lento,� boy Lucius said, taunting right back.� Hermione smiled.� Too
slow.� Lucius
was not fluent, but clearly he�d learned what was important � how to bait his
enemy.� It worked.

Paolo charged at him and they careened
out of the sunflower field with less than a foot between them.� They were both laughing; it put a smile on
her face as she pushed through the last of the plants and emerged on the road.� The two boys were running in delirious
curlicues, Lucius barely evading Paolo�s outstretched
hand.

Then Lucius
stopped.� It was eerily reminiscent of
the way he�d pulled up short on the road the evening before, the air of his
momentum stirring the dry dirt into a flurried cloud.� It was so sudden that Paolo ran into him; the
Italian boy fell backwards onto his rear-end and Lucius
took one stumbling step forward from the impact.

She followed his eyes, which were
suddenly fearful.� That was when she got
her first clear look at Abraxas Malfoy.� That was the only person it could be.� He had appeared in Lucius�s
dreams before but had always seemed a bit out of focus, and much older.� Not so now.�

He stood on the rise of the road,
perhaps a hundred yards away, arrogant in dark robes in spite of the blistering
sun.� He didn�t look the way she�d
pictured him, not that she�d spent much time at that; his hair was brown, his
skin a bit warmer than the usual English pallor, but those eyes � she could
have transplanted them right into Lucius�s
skull.� And the jaw, the nose, those,
too, were things he�d given to his son.�
From the father came the angles, and from the mother, enough delicacy to
mute the strong features into a distressingly attractive face.

�Luciano?�
Paolo questioned as he stood up, cringing and rubbing his bottom where he had
fallen.� �Che cosa�?�� He trailed
off when he caught sight of Abraxas, who stood with
his arms crossed, staring at the boys.�
Hermione could feel his malice from here.

�Padre,� Lucius
replied.� A trapped look flashed in his
eyes, but only for a moment.� The blond
boy took a breath, drew himself up, and turned briefly to Paolo.� �Ciao.��
Then he was off at a jog, moving towards his father�s imposing
figure.� She knew he was headed for a
tongue lashing�or worse.

Her eyes were drawn to Paolo; the boy
looked confused and he withered under the elder Malfoy�s
stare.� His two friends erupted out of
the field, both speaking at once, but they, too, fell silent as they noticed Abraxas.� Lucius was close to his father now; the three boys stood in
a wary line as Abraxas took a rough hold on Lucius�s arm and jerked him the rest of the way.� Lucius looked back,
just once.� Paolo took a step forward,
but hadn�t the courage for anything else.

Hermione didn�t want to see what
was going to happen, but she had to.� She
had to see if his father�s muggle hating was all
sound and fury, or if he had beaten it into his son.� She crested the ridge that Abraxas had stood upon only moments before, just in time to
see him cast the boy against a tall, gnarled cypress a little off the road.

�I recall telling you to stay away
from those muggles,� he growled as she drew
nearer.� She knew he couldn�t see her,
but once again her natural instincts were hard to quell, and she approached
slowly and cautiously.� �So why do I find
you with them now?�

To his credit, or perhaps to his
misfortune, Lucius looked up at his father and said,
�I�m bored, father.�

�If you are bored, make the house
elf entertain you.�

�I don�t want to.� Tibby smells
funny.�

Hermione bit the inside of her
lip.� Normal parents would have to choke
down a smile at comments like that.� Not Abraxas Malfoy.

�Then make your mother entertain
you, spoiled child,� he said coldly.

The boy�s face darkened but he
didn�t say anything.� Abraxas
stepped closer and Lucius tried to sink further into
the tree; it didn�t work, as his back was already against the trunk.

�I will tell you again, Lucius.� Muggles are dirty, useless creatures.� They are not our equals.� They are lower than house elves, lower than
squibs, lower even than mudbloods.� Do you understand what that means?�

�Yes, father.�

�If they touch you, they will
infect you with their weakness.� Isn�t
that right?�

�Yes.�

�Now,� Abraxas
said, taking hold of Lucius�s jaw none too gently, �I
want to be clear.� If I catch you with
those boys again, or if I even suspect that you are associating with them, you
will suffer the consequences�and I will see fit to remove the temptation.�

Hermione�s eyes widened.� Did he mean�?�
No, surely he just meant that he would send Lucius
home, to a place where he knew he wouldn�t be interacting with any muggles.� He couldn�t
mean that he�d�

�In fact,� Abraxas
said, interrupting her thoughts, �perhaps it is better if I eliminate the
source of your curiosity.�� He pulled his
wand from his robe.� Hermione fought the
urge to attack him.� It was a dream and
nothing she did would matter.� She
couldn�t save Lucius from something that had already
happened.

Initially she had thought he meant
to use the wand on his son, and from the look on his face, so did Lucius.� But Abraxas released him and turned crisply, striding back
toward the road.� Holy hell, he did mean to harm those muggle boys!� Lucius realized it, too, and pulled away from the tree,
fear stamped across his face.

�Father, no!� he yelled, running
hard to catch up with the tall man.�
Hermione had to admire his courage when he latched onto the man�s wand
arm.� Abraxas
didn�t expect the insubordination and that small surprise allowed Lucius to wrench the piece of wood from his father�s
hand.� He fell backward onto the dirt
road and a tremulous hand pointed the wand at his father.

�What do you plan to do with that,
boy?� Abraxas thundered.

�Leave them alone!� Lucius cried.� �I
won�t see them again.� I won�t talk to
them.� I won�t even think about them!�

�Already they have inspired this
insolence in you,� he hissed.� �Give me
the wand, Lucius.�
You can�t do anything with it.��
His words were strong, but his face was not so sure; Hermione, too, was
slightly amazed that Lucius held the wand like a
grown man and there was a tingle of magic in the air.

�Promise,� the boy demanded.� �Say you won�t hurt them and I�ll give it
back.�

�Promises are a fool�s contract,� Abraxas said.

�Then swear!� Lucius
shouted, near tears.

�Very well.� I swear I will not harm them.� Now give me the wand.�

Lucius
breathed hard, one, two, three times � and then he threw the wand at his
father, turned, and ran.� He wasn�t fast
enough.� Abraxas
caught him by the hair and in one lightning-fast motion, turned him and backhanded
him across the face.� He didn�t dilute
his blow because he was hitting a child; she saw Lucius�s
neck snap with the force of it and he hit the ground as if he�d been thrown.

�Do not ever do that again, Lucius, or you will
be scrambling to save your own hide instead of some worthless muggle�s.�� And with
that, Abraxas Malfoy left
his son lying dazed in the road.

Hermione hated him.� She wanted to Crucio
him.� At the very least, though, he had
been true to what he�d sworn.� If he had
really wanted to hurt Paolo and the other children, Lucius
would have been powerless to stop him.�
No�she suspected that he had only threatened it to terrorize his son
into compliance.� He had gotten it, but
he had also seen a flash of rebellion � and a flash of great strength.

Lucius
sat up and touched his jaw gingerly.� A
small trail of blood had drawn a line down his chin.� Incredibly, he did not seem upset.� More�resigned.� It told her that he had been hit like that
before.� Strangely, though, his book had
not drawn the portrait of his father as a physically abusive man.� Mentally, yes, that much was certain; Abraxas Malfoy was a bully and
his son was a target, so any victory for Lucius, no
matter how tiny or insignificant, was downright rapturous.

That explained why he was smiling
now, digging at the packed dirt between his feet with a rock.� A moment later he paused.� Tentatively, Lucius
transferred the rock into the palm of his right hand and held it out in front
of him.� He bit his lip and stared at the
rock, concentrating hard.� Hermione
watched with baited breath; she knew what he was trying to do.

It happened a moment later.� She felt the pulse of magic.� The rock lifted up and away from his palm and
hovered two inches above.� His smile
widened and he looked almost painfully happy.�
As the rock began to quiver, becoming less steady as his control
deteriorated, Hermione heard a sound behind her.

She whirled.� Oh, dear.�
Paolo was camouflaged among the tall grasses, staring directly at Lucius.� Lucius was too enthralled with what was probably one of his
first displays of magic to notice.� He
could hardly be blamed for it.� There was
no doubt, though, that Paolo had seen him do it.� For all she knew, he could have witnessed the
entire exchange.

Lucius�s
concentration broke a moment later and the rock fell to the ground.� The pale-haired boy slumped over,
drained.� She remembered that feeling,
when magic had been so unbelievably
difficult.� She returned her glance to
Paolo; the kid was stunned, confused, but mercifully he knew better than to
reveal himself.� He drew back into the
grasses, and within a minute he was gone.

Hermione breathed.� This was more memory than dream, it seemed,
except she could see things differently from Lucius.� Only that had enabled her to realize that
Paolo had observed things he shouldn�t have�and apparently, he�d kept quiet for
forty years.� He probably wrote it off as
a dream or a crazed childhood fantasy.�
What child didn�t want to believe that magic existed?

�Hey.�

Hermione turned automatically
toward the voice � eight-year-old Lucius�s
voice.� She had assumed he was speaking
to someone else, but there was no one in sight.�
She realized with a tremendous jolt that he was looking right at her.� She wasn�t invisible anymore.

�Who are you?� he asked warily as
he rose to his feet.� A blast of hot wind
whipped his hair around his face, but his eyes never wavered.

�Nobody.�� Hermione struggled to pull away from the
dream, to rip herself out of it, completely thrown by the fact that he could see her, and what the hell did that mean, �No one.� I�m--�

She flailed awake, heart
pounding.� Only her room greeted her,
bathed in the pink light of dawn.� The
bleeding blond cherub was gone.

She was almost afraid to leave the room
in the aftermath of the dream�memory�whatever it was.� If he had seen her, did that mean he now knew
what had been happening?� Did he realize
what he was transmitting to her?� She
breathed, fingering the soft coverlet.�
If he did, she had no idea how he�d react.

Eventually she had to get out of
bed; the need for the loo was too great.� Steeling herself, Hermione emerged.� The great house was quiet.� She soon forgot her concern.� The house was a marvel, especially in the
soft light of early morning.

With her basic need taken care of,
she dared to see if Lucius was awake.� Hermione shook her head when she found
him.� He had fallen asleep at the desk,
cheek resting against his forearms.� He
had known it was coming, apparently, for the quill was placed to the side, the
ink pot closed, and his papers neatly weighted down so they wouldn�t go
anywhere.� It was a strange sight and she
was sure he hadn�t intended to still be asleep.�
He had probably just wanted to put his head down for a doze.

She could have told him that that
never worked.� She thought briefly about
levitating him to his bed or at least the couch.� Then she threw that idea away.� He didn�t deserve it, not after last night�s
behavior.� Let him wake up with a sore
neck and arms gone numb from the pressure.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at
his back before returning to the bathroom.�
The tub in here was simply glorious.�
She would be damned if she didn�t use it almost every day.� She needn�t worry about Lucius,
as she knew he had his own facilities.� She
performed a precautionary Scourgify, turned the great
taps, and once she found the perfect temperature, left it to fill.

In her room she picked out the
day�s clothing and unearthed her toiletries from her bag.� An idea was beginning to formulate in her
head.� She was thinking so hard that she
nearly forgot her towel.� That would have
been an interesting and highly embarrassing situation, though she supposed she
could use her pajamas to dry off if push came to shove.

A few minutes later she slid into
the bathtub and couldn�t control a groan of pleasure.� It seemed too loud in the cavernous room, and
she clapped her hand over her mouth.�
Merlin, she didn�t want Lucius hearing
anything like that and thinking dirty thoughts about her.� He was only allowed to do that in his dreams,
because he had no control over them.

The claw-foot alabaster tub was big
enough for three people.� If it dated to
Roman times, it had probably contained
three people on more than one occasion.�
Hermione sighed and reached for her shampoo.� She lathered slowly, not caring for the time,
treating herself to a scalp massage.� The
crisp scent of the cleanser filled the room.

Something slid into place in her
head right then.� Apples.� Her shampoo and conditioner smelled like
apples!� As unconsciously as she had
absorbed Draco�s smell back in school and recognized
it when it filtered through his father�s dreams, so, too, had Lucius absorbed her
smell.� She pondered it until the bubbles
threatened to drip into her eye.

She rinsed with the hand-held hose,
careful not to spray water outside the tub, though if she had been looking she
would have seen that the floor was actually charmed to absorb any run-off.� If he smelled apples in a dream, then, what
did it mean?� It wasn�t just sex.� The dream this morning was light years from
that and hard to assign; it had been jubilant and upsetting in equal
shares.� But perhaps more jubilant�he had
been ridiculously happy behaving like a child with the other boys, and in spite
of the stressful encounter with his father, he had been able produce and
control magic for what might have been the first time.

Hermione shook her head and tried
not to read into it.� It was her nature,
though, and even when she tried to shut down her critical thinking, it carried
on free of her license.� He associated
her � her smell � with happiness,
pleasure, and�freedom?� It was a
difficult concept to swallow.� But the
subconscious didn�t lie.� However much he
pretended that he hated her, that her presence grated on him, that he could
care less if she lived or died�it was all for show.� She waited to be struck by lightning.� Because surely�surely that was the only thing
that could happen with such blasphemous thoughts�thoughts that Lucius Malfoy actually enjoyed her company.

�Yeah, right,� Hermione snorted,
and reached for her conditioner.�

Her idea had solidified by the time
she finished her bath.� She couldn�t stay
in the villa with him all day; it left too much time to occupy, and too many
chances for him to get feisty.� She knew
he could control himself.� That was never
in doubt.� It was whether or not he
wanted to that could prove problematic.�
She was brave, but she knew better than to stand in the way of his
moods.

He was still asleep, draped across
the desk just as she�d left him.�
Hermione was set to walk out the door and leave him to his own devices
for most of the day when the voice of temptation purred in her head.� What had he written last night?

She had already seen more of Soif than anyone else.�
However, she�d been so shocked, so full of adrenaline when she first
caught him that she didn�t remember any of the few paragraphs she�d
skimmed.� This was a free pass.� He was sleeping soundly.� And if he woke, well, it was her prerogative
to check his progress since it was the reason he�d dragged her out here.

Unable to deny her curiosity,
Hermione padded softly over to the desk.�
She lifted the paperweight and pulled out the topmost page; they were
face-down, so this was the last thing he had written before succumbing to sleep.� There was only one paragraph on the page.

I
didn�t know then that he was a Legilimens.� I didn�t know he could dig into my mind and
so easily pluck the grapes of my wrath; and pluck them he did.� He plucked them and feasted on them until the
juice ran down his chin, and I should have realized what he was doing when he
spoke in my face and his breath smelled of bitter wine.

She stood there for a long time,
listening to the rhythm of his breath.�
If that wasn�t about Voldemort, then she was a
Veela.� Crestfallen,
she slipped the parchment back into the stack.�
In one sixth of a page she knew that Soif was
going to be much, much worse than Faim.

She headed for the door once again,
but stopped with an exasperated sigh.�
Leveling her wand at him, she muttered,

�Mobilicorpus.�

It was a mark of how tired he was,
how little he thought her capable of, or how little he cared, that he did not
so much as stir as she levitated him onto the couch.

She felt reckless but that seemed
to be the theme of the month.� And what
the hell, she was in Italy
with a wallet full of Lucius Malfoy�s
money.� People did crazy things in Italy
all the time.� She remembered stories
from Lavender Brown�s trip after the war, full of encounters with strange,
flirtatious men, kissing Caribinieri, drinking water
out of public fountains, too much grappa and not enough limoncello.� Hitchhiking a ride to Siena was not so bad, was it?

She didn�t have time to think about
it and she preferred it that way.� As she
made her way onto the main road, far past that fork she�d met with Lucius last night, a man on a motorcycle slowed down.� He rolled to a stop and pulled off his
helmet.� No wonder people fell for these
men; back home she would have to search for a week to find one this
attractive.� Well, that was unfair;
English men were attractive, but not in the same way.� It was a disparity of mannerism that
accounted for the difference.

�Buongiorno,
signorina,� he said, flashing a smile.

�Buongiorno,�
she replied, at least knowing what that meant.�
�Parla inglese?�

�Yes,� he responded.� �Do you need a ride, beautiful?�

�Yes.� Si,� Hermione said,
a little flustered by the fact that he made no attempt to hide that he was
looking her over.� Her outfit wasn�t the
most revealing, but it wasn�t the most demure, either.� It was summer; it wasn�t a crime to wear a
halter top.

�Where to?�

�Siena.�
If you�re going somewhere else, that�s fine.�

�I was not really going
anywhere.�� He handed her the helmet with
another disarming smile.� �Now I have a
destination and a pretty passenger.�� Oh
dear, what was she getting herself into?�
He patted the extra seat on his motorcycle.� �I don�t bite.�

�Of course not,� she replied,
smiling back at him.� This would be fun,
and besides, if he got any ideas, she had her wand.� She climbed onto the motorcycle, put the
helmet on, and wrapped her arms around his midsection.� He started the engine and turned his head.

�What is your name?� he spoke
loudly over the bike�s roar.

�Jean,� she replied.� In situations like this, it was just easier
to use her middle name.� A smirk touched
her lips; what happened in Tuscany stayed in Tuscany�� What�s yours?�

�Dario.�� He gunned the engine.� �Hold on tight, Jean.�

She was amazed at the lengths Dario
would go to in the hopes of getting even one kiss from her.� He stayed with her the entire day, showed her
the sights of Siena, bought her lunch, a flower, a drink, and a tira misu gelato, all the while
flirting shamelessly.� Then, when she
realized she had been gone for nearly eight hours, she tried to excuse
herself.� She was planning on just
finding a secluded spot and then apparating, but
Dario insisted on taking her back on the motorcycle.

When he dropped her off in the same
spot he�d picked her up, she kissed him just for the effort.� She didn�t feel like herself, kissing a
near-stranger on a motorcycle, but that was kind of the point.� There was no one here that knew her, no one
that could point a finger at her and say she wasn�t acting normal.� It was�excellent.

�Jean,� he said as she handed his
helmet back to him, �you are the prettiest girl I�ve ever kissed.�� She smiled in spite of the fact that she knew
he�d probably told that to a hundred girls before her, and would to a hundred
girls after.

�Grazie, Dario.�

�Ah!� Your flower.��
He held out the red gerbera daisy he�d purchased for her.� �Will I see you again?�

Hermione brought the flower to her
nose and inhaled.� �Maybe,� she said
coyly behind the ruby petals.

Dario laughed, kicked off, and sped
away.� She knew she�d never see him again
and so did he, and curiously, it didn�t matter.�
She made her way back up to the villa with a smile on her face.

The house was bright and airy and
filled with sweet breezes.� However, his
desk was clear and Lucius was nowhere to be
found.� But he wouldn�t have left the
windows open if he departed the house, right?�
Maybe he was in that courtyard he�d mentioned briefly.� The only question was, where the hell was it?

She wandered through the gargantuan
stone house, patient in her exploration.�
Ah, there was an open door and a bright slice of sunlight beyond.� She could hear the trickle of water.� Hermione pushed open the door, just enough so
that she could see.� Sure enough, Lucius was half-reclined in a chair occupying a mottled
slice of shade.� He was fully dressed but
barefoot.� As she watched, he reached
down to shoo a small moth from his ankle and absently rubbed the spot where it
had landed.� The flash of an inch of leg
had an almost Victorian effect on her; it made her realize for the first time
that there was skin beneath his clothes, miles and miles of skin, and her mind
ran away with itself for a moment, trying to envision his calf, his knee, his
thigh, because up til now he�d only had trousers�

His head turned slightly.� A second later he said,

�How nice of you to grace me with your
presence.�

She pushed the strange thoughts of
his integument away.� Giving up the
charade, Hermione stepped out into the courtyard.� She thought about asking if her absence had
worried him but knew she would only get a sarcastic answer, so she kept her
silence.� Hermione took the seat to the
right of him and waited to see where things would go.

�You are sunburned,� he observed
after a time.

Hermione touched her cheeks; they
were warm and a little tender.� She was
sure her back was the same.� She hadn�t thought
to do a sun-blocking charm, but it was easily healed.

�I went to Siena,� she said, staring at the small
fountain in the middle of the courtyard.

�Oh yes?� he said mildly.� �Was it worth seeing?�

She nodded.� �Very pretty.�
Did you write?�

�Some,� was his response.� Hermione watched him intently.� Never had she been involved in small talk
that was so uncomfortable yet so natural, forced but not forced.� They were, she reflected, like card players
staring at each other across the table, both pondering what the other held.

The orange kitten distracted her
then; it wandered into the courtyard, jumped up onto the edge of the fountain,
and lapped at the water until it had its fill.�
Then it leapt gracefully to the ground and moved toward them.� It went to Lucius
and he didn�t seem bothered by it.� The
kitten twined around the ankle that dangled casually from the chaise, and then
the small ball of fur sprung up to join him.�
He didn�t pet it but he didn�t push it away, either.� He was supremely unconcerned when it curled
up on his thigh and began to doze.�
Hermione gave him a knowing look, which he steadfastly ignored.�

�I brought a house elf,� Lucius said a few minutes later, �so that we don�t have to
go into town for every meal.� It�s at
your disposal.� Ask whatever you wish of
it.�

Hermione felt a spear of
annoyance.� �Does it have a name?�

�Jo-Jo.�

�You�re not going to mistreat it,�
she said firmly.

Lucius
turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised at the tone in her voice.� �Do not trouble yourself, Miss Granger.� I learned that lesson well enough with
Dobby.�

A conflicted pain lodged in her
gut.� It made her angry to think about
how cruel he had been and sad to think of Dobby�s
death, but at the same time, it was encouraging that he was claiming reform.� She would see if it was true soon enough.

�You should get out of the sun,� he
stated a moment later.� He stood up,
strode over to her, and deposited the kitten in her lap.� �I will see you for dinner, if you deign to
join me.��

She went in twenty minutes later,
starting to feel the low throb of the sunburn.�
The kitten once again chose to stay outside.� She shrugged and let it be.� As she walked inside she experienced that
blind moment when one transitioned from bright light to the indoors; she leaned
on the wall until her eyes adjusted.

He was in the living room, reading
a book that looked suspiciously like it might have come from her stack.� She wasn�t going to say anything, but she
would help herself to any books he had if the opportunity arose.� Aside from his Dark Arts fetish, he probably
had good taste in reading material.� She
was just about to ask him what time dinner was, thinking she�d take a short nap
beforehand, when an owl swooped in through the window.

He didn�t appear surprised.� He took two pieces of mail from it, one
thick, one thin.� He perused quickly and
then held the thinner envelope out to her.

�For me?�

He nodded, not lifting his eyes
from his own piece of mail.� Hermione
took the letter and retreated to a chair across the room.� It was from Ron.

Dear Hermione,

What�s going on?� Your boss says you�ve gone on vacation, but
no one seems to know where.� Is
everything all right?� Please let me know
where you are.

Love you,

Ron

�

She frowned and a sensation of
guilt filtered through her.� She hadn�t
told anyone where she was going because she hadn�t known until she got
here.� Of course the one time Ron
actually came home to surprise her, she wasn�t there.� That seemed to be the way of things, with
him.� They were never on the right
timeline.

She stood up and walked over to the
desk.� She was reaching for his quill
before it occurred to her that he might have some neurosis about it.� She might have a hang-up over the utensil she
was using to craft her life story, if their positions were reversed.

�Lucius?�

He looked up, but his eyes were not
truly paying attention to her.� �What?�

�May I use your quill?�

�No,� he replied.� �It�s cursed so that any muggleborn
who touches it will die.�

�I � what?� she stammered.

He rolled his eyes, gave her a look
that said she was daft, and returned to reading his letter.� She glared at him and resisted the urge to
throw the inkpot at his head.� She knew
it was a sarcastic joke � there was that twisted sense of humor again � but nonetheless
she approached the quill with some trepidation. When it didn�t cause her
instant death, she wrote a quick reply to Ron�s letter.

Ron,

I�m sorry, I know I�ve
worried you.� I was a little stressed and
needed some time to myself.� It was all
very sudden.� I�m in Italy.� It�s lovely here and I feel myself relaxing
and forgetting about all the things that were bothering me.� I�ll be back on the 25^th.� See you then.

Love,

Hermione

�� Knowing
that the greater majority of the letter was composed of half-truths caused her
to sigh.� She did love Ron, really she
did, but she wasn�t going to marry him.�
That knowledge had solidified in her mind sometime in the last 48 hours.� It may have been there much longer than that,
but some part of her had been blocking it out.�
She would discuss it with him when she got back; she owed him that
much.� It would be difficult, but it
would be unfair to both of them if she didn�t express how she really felt.� She started to attach the letter to the owl
when Lucius interrupted her.

�� Wait.� I�m going to need to send a reply, also.� I will send them both when I�m done.�

�� She nodded
and left the folded piece of parchment on the desk.� She could care less if he read it.� Her eyes were drawn to the letter in his
hands.� It was typewritten, not
handwritten, and several pages long.�
What little she could see of it looked rather official.

�� What did
you get?� she couldn�t help but ask.� Her
curiosity about him was reaching epic proportions.� Normally she was much better at controlling
it, but the need to understand him
was almost insatiable.� It was as if he
was the most difficult arithmancy problem she�d ever
been handed; she knew the impossibility of solving it, but would try her
damnedest anyway, chipping away at the equation until she could dig no further�

�� Nothing of
note,� he replied brusquely.� �Go take
your nap.� Jo-Jo will wake you when it is
time to eat.�

�� She didn�t
argue.� She was tired and he obviously
didn�t want to share.� Hermione wandered
to the cool sanctuary of her bedroom, endlessly thankful for the insulating
properties of stone, and fell asleep as soon as she hit the mattress.

�� As
promised, the house elf woke her an hour later.�
Jo-Jo was a petite little female with a high, squeaky voice and gleaming
violet eyes.�

�� Master Lucius wishes Jo-Jo to inform Miss Granger that dinner is
ready,� the elf said, rubbing her hands together nervously.

�� Thank you,
Jo-Jo,� she responded with a smile.� �How
is master Lucius treating you?�

�� Oh,
excellent, Miss Granger.� Him and Miss Narcissa rescued me from the Lestranges,
they did, and Jo-Jo will be forever grateful.�

�� Hermione
frowned slightly; that wasn�t what she�d asked, but she supposed that anything
would seem excellent in comparison to serving the Lestranges.� �I�ll be out in a few minutes,� she said,
deciding not to press the little elf.�
Jo-Jo nodded, curtsied, and disapparated with
a quiet pop.

�� Hermione
quickly splashed some water on her face.�
Then, remembering the sunburn, she took her wand from the pocket of her capris and healed her reddened skin.� Tomorrow she would have to remember a
sun-block charm.� Making sure her hair
was in some semblance of order and giving herself a sniff to make sure she
didn�t smell (although why she should care was beyond her), she deemed herself
presentable and emerged.

�� Lucius was already at the table in the dining room.� Already nursing a glass of white wine,
too.� The honeyed liquid looked quite
tempting, especially when she thought about how cool and crisp it would be
against her palate.� The glass was fogged
with condensation and that sealed it for her; she was going to have some wine,
too.� A glass was set out for her and she
was glad she wouldn�t have to ask.� She
poured a glass and then sat down across from him.

�� Tell me,
Miss Granger,� he said, lifting a newspaper she hadn�t noticed until just then,
�have you mastered the art of being in two places at once?�

�� Not that I
know of,� she responded, wondering why he was asking.� Being in two places at once was something
that not even witches and wizards could accomplish.� Sure, there were cloning spells, but they
never worked on people.� If one wanted to
be technical one could say communicating via floo
constituted being in two places at once.�
However, having your head in one place and the rest of you in another
was rarely a useful position.

�� The
Prophet thinks you have run off with Viktor Krum,� Lucius
said, pushing the newspaper toward her.�
She picked it up and quickly skimmed the article.� No wonder Ron had written.� He�d probably feared that it was true, although
by now he ought to know better.� Jealousy
didn�t operate rationally, though, and when it came to Viktor, Ron tended to be
terribly boorish and possessive.� She
took a sip of her wine and then folded the paper disinterestedly.

�� That�s no more fantastic than who I�ve
actually run off with.�

His eyebrow rose.� Then his fingers played with the wine glass,
turning it in little circles.� As they say, Miss Granger, the truth is
sometimes stranger than fiction.

��

It was later, when she was
ensconced in the couch pretending to read, that she figured it out.� He had sat down to write but since then very
little had been put on paper.� Something
was distracting him.� His left hand was
going, tapping rhythmically in conjunction with his foot.� He didn�t realize he was doing it; she
couldn�t concentrate with the repetitive sound but didn�t think he�d take
kindly to her yelling at him to stop.� So
she stared at him for a time, hoping he�d cease on his own.� It was in the observation of his long,
restless fingers that insight descended upon her.

�� Divorce
papers,� she blurted.

�� The tapping
stopped.� Silence echoed, large and
menacing in the high-ceilinged room.�
Reluctantly he rotated to face her.�
It reminded her of a muggle movie and the way
the villain was always revealed in a slow, dramatic turn of a chair.

�� They say,
quite correctly, that you are bright.�
Too bright.�

�� Hermione
regretted the outburst.� It had just come
upon her so suddenly, one of those moments of exceptional clarity that required
verbalization.� That was why she wasn�t a
Ravenclaw; she couldn�t keep moments like that under
control.

�� I�you said
not to worry about your wife, and you�re not wearing your wedding band,� she
said in a small voice.� She wished she
could rewind and have the sense to keep her mouth shut.� Now she was in this conversation with no way
out.� His left hand twitched reflexively
at her words.� He sat back in his chair a
moment later, and she had the distinct feeling that she had taken his pride,
dragged it into a dark alleyway, and killed it.�
Lucius looked away from her.

�� Imagine
this, Miss Granger.� You are married -
have been for nearly a quarter of a century.�
You have never wanted for anything, including your husband�s attention.� What would you do, then, if he refused to
make love to you for three years?� What
would you think?�

�� She swallowed but found that she was
not as uncomfortable as she might have been discussing his sex life, however
hypothetically.� �I would think there was
something he wasn�t telling me,� she replied, giving him a significant look.��

�� Or that he
no longer desired you?� That he was
finding his pleasure elsewhere?�

�� Perhaps,�
she said softly.

�� And what
if that husband, on top of neglecting you for all this time, suddenly began to
disappear for long periods with no explanation?�
What would you think then?�

�� That he
was involved with someone else.�� It was
the conclusion that most women would jump to � Narcissa
Malfoy, ne Black, included.� Hermione rubbed her temples.� He was mapping it all out for her and it
ached.� The disappearances � they were
visits to his healer, and more recently, attempts to write the book.

�� Would you
leave him?� he said bluntly.� He was
drawn far away from her in the chair, his arms crossed against his chest.

�� Unable to
stand it any longer, she shot to her feet, her book flying to the floor with a
thump.� �Don�t sign those papers, Lucius,� she implored.�
�Tell her.� If she loves you--�

�� He cut her
off, rancorous.� �Do not insult me with talk of love.�

�� It�s not
fair,� she fumed, feeling young and petulant.�
�You�re only trying to protect her!�

�� He snorted,
growing more agitated with each passing second.�
She could feel it in his mind, that growing turbulence, but didn�t dare
to try to touch his thoughts.� She had
already put him on the defensive and instinct warned her that any further
encroachment would qualify as dangerous. �

He stood up suddenly.� �What�s done is done.� Enjoy your book.��

She processed the heavy tread of
his footsteps and then the slam of his door; the solid sound echoed through the
house.� She expelled a breath she hadn�t
been aware she was holding.

For once in her life, Hermione
Granger felt like a colossal idiot.

��
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