A Thief to Catch a Thief; a Death Eater to Catch a

A/N: I wanted to introduce Lucius to something muggle – pass the tissues…







Lucius’s plans for seduction are put on hold…



Lucius’s Slytherin nature had risen to the challenge of getting Hermione to trust him and to make their situation more intimate. He wasn’t aiming for a commitment he’d never get, he wasn’t after forever – just kisses, cuddles and a warm body to sleep beside in the night.



He’d not actually been acting any different – Hermione could smell something fishy about a person a mile away; no, he just started doing things a little differently during their nookie sessions. He did everything she said, obeying her requests to the letter – proving that if she said the word no and stop, that he was perfectly capable of following the command. Usually, her commands had been ‘more’, ‘harder’, ‘do that again’.



They’d discussed a few of their fantasies with each other, Lucius hadn’t been able to act on his with Narcissa; he was reluctant to admit that he had found her little prompt during the calendar shot an incredible turn-on. How did he admit that he found the concept of being the submissive strangely arousing? How did he tell her he’d definitely be a good boy and follow his mistress’s instructions perfectly? What would she think? During the war, many had seen him as Voldemort’s lapdog – did his sudden appreciation for submissive stem from being tortured into obedience by a megalomaniac? Lucius found himself with an incredible headache thinking of the psychological implications; Hermione found it interesting and was contemplating how to introduce Lucius into the world of sexual dominance and submission.



Hermione and Lucius’s plans had to be put on hold; when he suddenly, one fine Monday morning, he began to ache from head to toe and found himself unable to get out of bed.



“Now then, what are your symptoms?” asked Healer Yarrow, a balding wizard in his nineties.



“I feel like the aftermath of a crucio or five.” Lucius groaned, trying to move to face the man who had seen him enter the world and healed major injuries and illnesses through Lucius’s childhood. Francis Yarow was the husband of Lucius’s (and Draco’s) nanny, and had always been on hand to heal them both.



“Hmm… I remember you would get Wizard’s flu every year as a little one – Maggie poured more pepper-up potion down you than anything else!” chuckled the healer, remembering the man in the bed as a six year old.



“I used to dread the winter. As soon as I became Lord of Malfoy Manor, the first thing I did was have the heating system improved – the cold and draughts of this place were awful.” Lucius half whispered, his throat like fire as he spoke.



“Hmm… well, you’ve gone one better, you haven’t caught wizard’s flu – you’ve got the muggle version.” Francis said, reading the runes and symbols floating over the naked man on the bed. There wasn’t anything the healer hadn’t seen before – and Lucius had been subjected to frequent medical checks over his many years.



“Well, pass the pepper-up, not that I’m looking forward to it.” He grumbled.



“Ah, that’s the problem, potions don’t work with this one – actually, there isn’t anything for this stage of muggle flu, and there aren’t many medicines for when it’s progressed. But this should help, it is a muggle medicine – and I quite like it…” he trailed off, dropping the knut-sized white thing into a glass of water.



“What’s that fizzy thing?” he mumbled.



“Its called paracetamol, it’s a muggle pain relief medicine, but, it will also bring your temperature down – that’s the main problem at this stage, overheating is incredibly dangerous.”



“Muggles drink fizzing medicine?” Lucius asked, confused.



“Well, this is a soluble option – I put enough lolly sticks down your throat due to tonsillitis to know that you have an over-reactive gag-reflex, so I didn’t attempt to have you take tablets.”



“Please don’t remind me of tonsillitis! I never had lollies as a child – thanks to you I was scared of the sticks.” he whinged, screwing up his eyes.”



Yarrow shook his head, sometimes he could see the young boy behind the man’s eyes. Lucius and Draco were the sons he and his wife could never have, even with both of them grown, Lucius had never stopped Maggie’s pay as a nanny, and never evicted them from their rooms in the manor (Much to Narissa’s chagrin). “Right, Maggie is insisting you need looking after, and has the elves making her secret chicken soup recipe, she’ll wake you up for the medicine and food and leave you to sleep and rest.



“You’re never too old to be babysat, Mischief.” Said the woman, bustling into the master suite; her hair was in the tight, waist-length braid it was always in, her ankle length pink apron (fondly remembered from his childhood) back over her long dress. Maggie only ever called Lucius by his name when he was in trouble, the rest of the time, he was named: Mischief. Draco was always known as Cherub, unless in trouble.



“Magga.” He whispered, he’d always called her that; Draco used to (and still did) call her Nannamag.



“Oh, you are poorly, aren’t you sweatpea – plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables – don’t give me that face! You might be sixty, but you will eat your greens!”



Lucius schooled his features – He’d have loved to see Voldemort take on Magga, his money wouldn’t have been on the Dark Lord. As soon as Voldemort had decided to take over Malfoy manor, Lucius had snuck his nanny and her husband out of the house and (via portkey) out to the lovely little island in the Caribbean that the Malfoys owned.



“Hmmm… gosh, you’re far too hot!” she exclaimed after placing a cooling hand on his brow, a wave of her wand and a charm sat on his forehead and told her his temperature, “If you get too warm, the spell will automatically cool you down.” She said, brushing his dull locks out of his face.



“Nanamag? What are you doing in here? Why’s Father naked?” Draco said, moving to hug the thin woman who’d been more of a Mother than Narcissa had been.



“Oh, Cherub, your Daddy is poorly, very poorly. I’ve rolled my sleeves up, donned my pink pinny and I’m going to look after him.” She said gently, stroking the younger blonde face gently, whilst simultaneously covering the senior Malfoy with the covers.



“Will he be alright?” Draco asked, watching as Lucius sat up and downed the glass of fizzing white stuff.



“A fortnight in bed is a definite – this bug is nasty, it kills people by the millions each year.” Frances said, addressing both Malfoys.



“Not so reassuring.” Lucius choked.



“You’re probably going to be off work for three weeks, I’ll contact that nice young lady, Hermione? That’s her name, isn’t it?” the healer said, moving to the floo in the master suite’s sitting room.



“And how is your nice young lady, Cherub?” Maggie said, pulling the much taller Draco into a bone crushing hug.



“Erm… its wonderful between us.” He grinned.



“Hmm… remember what I told you when you were a teen – if you can’t be good, be careful! A spell a day keeps babies away…” Maggie sing-sang.



“Nannamag!” he cried, utterly embarrassed, he was in his twenties, for goodness sake!



“Lucius? What’s up?” Hermione asked, stepping through from the auror office into the Master suite, she’d flung her black robes over her auror uniform.



“Flu.” He coughed, every muscle in his body protesting at the violent jerking of his lungs.



“Oh, nasty. I’ve had it once, and I ended up in hospital – I always get my flu jab every year now.” Hermione said in understanding. “I’ll put you down for three weeks off work and rota the others to do your shifts. You concentrate on getting better, and I’ll nip in this evening to check on you.” Hermione said, stroking his arm gently.



“Thanks.” He groaned, trying to turn over and sleep.



Lucius never noticed Draco and the healer leave the room, he was lulled gently to sleep by Maggie’s knitting needles clicking together rhythmically – as they had done all those decades ago. If he’d been well, he’d have been outraged at her babysitting him. But having someone wake him to take the strange-tasting fizzing concoction and get him to eat in his weakened state was vital.



Lucius knew his body’s limits – and this muggle flu was already pushing him through his paces.



Maggie continued to knit, keeping one eye on her charge; the aurors needed woolly hats and scarves in this weather – and she was going to supply them.