Hungry Thirsty Crazy

            It was strange resubmitting the request.  As he copied it, choosing to preserve his fatherÕs wording rather than add his own, Lucius didnÕt feel that he wanted to do it.  He felt that he needed to.  Something was pushing him inexorably toward this.

            Fate?  No, he wouldnÕt think about that.  It would only give him a migraine.

            They would never approve the request, anyhow.  It was a miracle they had approved it the first time around.  Though, for all he knew, they had simply waited for Abraxas to die and then made a decision in the hopes that they would not look like heartless bastards for denying a father the chance to save his son.  It would be Dragon Pox that denied him, not the Ministry.

            But there were so many variables in that equation.  He wondered whether or not they calculated the designee into it.  How did they reconcile a request if two different people were eligible to carry it out?

            He put the quill down for a moment.  What if that percentile...what if it had not been for his father?  What if the equations knew he would die, and the 91% was for Lucius carrying out the time travel?  How in the hell did they differentiate?

            He was already giving himself a migraine.  Lucius picked up the sheet of parchment and stared at it.  There was no designee on this version, and this time it was his signature at the bottom.  His handwriting could not have been more different than his fatherÕs.

            His hands were shaking.  Was it worth it?  Was this really what he wanted to do?  Was there truly a point in dredging up the past, in feeding the spark of some hope that was, in reality, a hope for the unknown?

            He wondered how many men and women had used time travel for things like this.  More than that, he wondered if they were happy afterwards.  Did a person who completed a mission with a Time Turner ever really forget, even though they altered the past?  The thought of erasing his life from age nine only to fill it with a new one of an unspecified nature seemed incredibly overwhelming - especially after the recent trauma of PoundÕs memory charm.

            Time travel was so confusing, even for a man as smart as he.  The nuances...life was not so linear, and altering something from long ago wasnÕt like changing one pair of gloves for another.  All the same...it was so tempting.  What person had never fantasized about having the ability to go back and change something?  When it was a real possibility, who could say no?

            A headache was building full-force behind his eyes.  That was what happened to him when he didnÕt know what to do.  It was a rare occurrence these days, but when it came on...Merlin.  He remembered the last dark year of the war, when he had spent days in his bed, trying to drown out all light, sound, and feeling to calm the awful pain in his head.  Even the sound of his own breathing was like a dozen trephines in his skull.

            Maybe it was a sign.  Perhaps he shouldnÕt make a decision like this so quickly.  He had to think about it and all its permutations.  It wasnÕt like he couldnÕt come back; he didnÕt have to decide now.

            With a shaky breath, Lucius turned the paper sideways.  He was just about to rip it in half when the Unspeakable appeared again.  Lucius cursed the other wizardÕs excellent customer service skills as he plucked the parchment from his hands.

            ÒAll finished, Mr. Malfoy?  IÕll take that for you.  Resubmissions usually require a little more time to evaluate than original submissions.  You can expect an answer in three weeks or so.  Is there anything else I can help you with?Ó

            He wondered if karma was punishing him, if this excessively helpful Unspeakable was fateÕs way of reminding him that he had thrown his life away down here, and pain throbbed anew between his ears.

            ÒNo,Ó he responded, Òunless you know of a good headache remedy.Ó

            And, of course, the Unspeakable did.

 

 

 

            He went home with every intention of forgetting about the Time Turner request.  The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that it would never be approved, if they even bothered to waste time and manpower on doing the equations.  While it had made him feel somewhat better to know that his father hadnÕt lied to him, it was also incredibly bittersweet.

            The plain truth was that his father could have done more all along.  Even if he hadnÕt been able to prevent the rape, he could have shown more care toward his son, exerted more energy to raise and guide him, and just...been a father.  As much as it pained Lucius to think it, the Time Turner request was an example of too little, too late.

            Nonetheless, he was glad that he hadnÕt gone down to the Ministry for nothing.  Whatever he felt now was doubtless nothing compared to the way he might have felt if his father had lied.  Lies compounded upon lies...heÕd had enough of that.

            Lucius walked back in to the safety that was the villa.  He felt better instantly; though Hermione was out at class, the space was familiar, warm, and...his.  He threw open the shutters and drew in a deep breath.

            The air was cool, but he felt the sun behind it, lending it a frisson of the spring weather to come.  It smelled of wet earth - of growth.  A current of green was beginning to thread through the fields.  He stood there for a long time, taking in the view that he had seen a hundred times before.  He never grew weary of it.

            A moment later, he felt a tug at his robe.  ÒMaster Lucius?Ó

            ÒYes, Jo-Jo?Ó

            ÒWould you like anything before Jo-Jo goes shopping?Ó

            He looked down at the elf, pondering all the things he would like at the moment.  There werenÕt many that Jo-Jo could help with.  He smiled at her.

            ÒPerhaps a cup of tea, and a headache potion.Ó

            She nodded and disappeared down to the kitchen to oblige.  She was only gone for a minute, but it gave him enough time to sit at the desk and reach into the drawer that held his manuscripts.  He dug to the bottom, reaching for the one that had not been touched in quite some time.

            ÒOh!  Master is writing again?Ó Jo-Jo trilled happily as she set his tea and potion down.

            ÒIndeed,Ó he murmured.  Because, if nothing else, his father had at last given him an ending. 

 

 

 

           

            Days passed, and the Time Turner request faded from his mind.  The completion of Soif wasnÕt confined to words on a paper; Lucius actually felt that it was the completion of the journey that had led him here, to this lazy Sunday with Hermione.  There were many things that he still wished to change, but here, now, he didnÕt need that hope to sustain him.  The request would be denied and he would be okay.

            Absently, he rubbed HermioneÕs foot where it rested in his lap.  She usually squirmed when he stroked her arch just so, but not today.  He glanced up from his book.

            ÒIÕve been thinking,Ó she began, ÒIÕm going to have to tell my parents about us eventually.Ó

            He had been waiting for Hermione to bring that up.  Truthfully, he was surprised she had gone this long without insisting that she had to come clean.  He closed the book and set it down, knowing that this would be more than a passing conversation.

            ÒItÕs fine.  I understand.Ó  He took in her anxious face.  ÒWill they be averse to our age difference?Ó

            ÒI donÕt know,Ó she replied, twisting a curl nervously.  ÒItÕs just...I never dated much.  IÕve always been so focused on my studies.  IÕm not sure what theyÕll think.Ó

            ÒWell, they struck me as nice people for the two minutes I met them,Ó Lucius said with a wry smile.  Those had been under very different circumstances, of course.

            ÒAny parents are nice when they donÕt suspect youÕre sleeping with their daughter.Ó

            He supposed that was different when one had a daughter rather than a son.  He didnÕt much care who Draco slept with, not anymore.  Certainly heÕd take issue if Draco was too promiscuous - it was never prudent to spread oneself around indiscriminately for various reasons - but he didnÕt mind if his son had a healthy sex life.  In fact, he wished it for him.  He knew firsthand how a manÕs mood and outlook were greatly impacted by regular sex with a loving partner.

            ÒIÕm not in danger of death or immediate castration, am I?Ó

            ÒOh, no.Ó  She sighed and pursed her lips.  ÒI suppose the best thing to do is for me to tell them first, and then theyÕll probably invite us to dinner.  After that...I just donÕt know.Ó

 

 

 

            ÒYouÕre fidgety, darling.Ó

            Curse her perceptive mother.  ÒOh, just some exams coming up.Ó

            ÒWhat are you studying now?Ó her father asked around a mouthful of Indian takeaway.

            ÒConditions of the endocrine system and magical hormones.Ó

            ÒMagical hormones?  Intriguing.  Do wizards and witches have many different ones than regular people?Ó

            ÒA few,Ó Hermione said, glad to be in safe territory.  ÒHormones control when and how strongly a witch or wizardÕs magical powers become active.  Some start to be able to do magic around age 8, while others donÕt fully awaken until their teens.  ItÕs why theyÕre never really sure someoneÕs a squib until theyÕre halfway through school.  If they havenÕt been able to do magic by 15, thereÕs a good chance they never will.Ó

            ÒCanÕt they take a synthetic form of the hormone, like we do in the Muggle world?Ó her mother asked.

            ÒTheyÕve tried that.  It doesnÕt seem to work.  Apparently, each person has their own specific version of that hormone.  Giving someone elseÕs has no effect.Ó

            ÒItÕs a bit mysterious, isnÕt it?Ó

            ÒVery much so.Ó  Hermione looked back and forth between her parents.  ÒYou know, there have been theories that the parents of Muggleborn witches or wizards are simply those with magical hormone levels too low to be detectable.  That Muggleborns may not be Muggleborn at all...rather, theyÕre children of squibs who never knew they had any magical lineage.Ó  She took another bite of her biryani.  ÒBut nothing has ever been proven.Ó

            ÒIt seems like youÕre enjoying your studies,Ó her mother commented, a proud smile on her face.  ÒBut make sure youÕre getting out to do other things.  YouÕre young.Ó

            ÒWhat your mother means is that she wants you to go out and meet boys,Ó her father chuckled.  Her mother gave him a death glare, but then she turned back to Hermione.

            ÒI just want to make sure that Ronald isnÕt your only attempt at love.  ItÕs easy to run away when the first one doesnÕt work out.Ó

            ÒSo how about it, darling?  Any dashing young men in your life?Ó her father asked with the enthusiasm that only a father expecting an answer in the negative could muster.

            Hermione took a fortifying breath.  It was now or never.

            ÒActually...Ó

            Her motherÕs face lit up, while her fatherÕs fell.  Hermione would have laughed at it if it had been anybody else.  She plowed ahead, summoning that supposed Gryffindor courage.

            ÒIÕve been seeing someone for a while.  It was informal at first...we didnÕt expect it to go anywhere.  But it just keeps getting better and better, so I thought I should tell you.Ó

            Her mother grinned triumphantly.  ÒI knew it!  YouÕve been so happy lately.  And always busy...a girl can only study so much!Ó

            Hermione could study an awful lot, but she didnÕt bother to argue with her mother.  ÒWell, I didnÕt want to jump to conclusions this time around,Ó she murmured.  The relationship with Ron had happened so fast; she had gone from exasperated, distant love to explosive certainty that she was going to marry him.  It didnÕt leave room for much else - such as why they liked one another and whether or not that was enough to sustain them.  It was too fast, too forced, and held together by too many jumbled emotions and perceptions.

            What she had with Lucius was honest.  They had taken the time to know themselves and one another with everything out on the table.  Their only strife was what they each brought with them.  Nothing and no one was pushing them to fall for one another.  It just happened...and in her opinion, that was why it felt so much better.

            ÒTell us about him.  WhatÕs his name?Ó

            This was madness, but it had to be done.

            ÒEhm...youÕve met him before.  Do you recall the blond gentleman who came to visit me here several months ago?Ó

            At first they looked bewildered.  It had been over 8 months ago, now, and she couldnÕt blame them for not remembering a person they met once.  However, Lucius was not a forgettable man; people noticed men with long hair, particularly hair as nice as his, and the caneÉthat stupid cane.  He claimed his grandfather, a man he liked a great deal more than most of his other relatives, had given it to him.

            Then realization dawned on her fatherÕs face and she knew the game was up.

            ÒThe...older gentleman?  The one with the cane?Ó

            Deep breath in.  Controlled exhalation.  She was the picture of composure.

            ÒYes.  His name is Lucius.Ó

            Now her mother had caught on.  ÒHermione, dear, isnÕt he a bit old for you?Ó  She paled.  ÒHeÕs not married, is he?Ó

            ÒNot anymore.  Divorced.Ó

            ÒYouÕre dating an old man who is divorced and walks with a cane,Ó her father said flatly.

            Hermione sighed a sigh that Harry and Ron would have recognized instantly.  It was her sigh of exasperation when people were not on the same page she was.  ÒHe doesnÕt need the cane to walk.  ItÕs just an accessory.  Family heirloom.  And by wizarding standards, he isnÕt old!  The headmaster of my school was almost 150 years old when he died, and he would have kept living long after that if he hadnÕt been killed.Ó

            ÒSo how old is this Lucius?Ó her mother asked.

            ÒHeÕll be 46 in June.Ó

            ÒFor heavenÕs sake, Hermione, youÕre only 22!Ó

            ÒIÕve told you already, heÕs young by wizarding standards,Ó she replied, trying to remain calm and reasonable.

            ÒIf heÕs young, you must be a zygote,Ó her father muttered.

            Hermione put her fork down with a little more force than she intended.  ÒI didnÕt come here to ask your approval.  IÕm a grown woman and I will date who I like.  I just wanted you to know that IÕve met someone who makes me very happy, and I was hoping that maybe you would be able to accept him even though he isnÕt the most practical man for me.Ó

            There was a long silence.  Her parents shared a look.  Hermione didnÕt know what was contained within it, but it was hard to split her mind enough to be concerned.  This wasnÕt looking good.  She had to mentally prepare herself for this to be a sore point between her and her parents, who were still sore about being Obliviated, though they swore they had forgiven her.

            ÒLook,Ó she continued shakily, ÒI donÕt expect you to understand, but I wanted to be honest with you.  I want you involved with my life even if you donÕt always agree with it.Ó

            ÒWe donÕt know anything about him,Ó her father said.  ÒWeÕre just concerned.Ó

            ÒThen give him a chance.  Stop judging him by his age and look at him like you would any other man I brought home.Ó

            Her father looked at his hands.  Her mother blinked back tears.

            ÒIÕm sorry, Hermione, dear, itÕs just hard to get used to the idea that now you bring home men instead of boys.  YouÕre not a little girl anymore.Ó

            ÒNo, IÕm not.Ó

            Another pause.  Then, at last, her father spoke.

            ÒWell then, youÕll have to bring him round.  YouÕre my brilliant daughter.  He must have a few redeeming qualities if you like him.Ó

 

 

            At first Lucius wanted to invite her parents to the villa.  Hermione vetoed that, explaining to him that while her parents now knew they were together, they didnÕt know he and Hermione were living together.  He didnÕt see what the fuss was.  Lucius had assumed that Muggles, like most wizarding folk who werenÕt Purebloods, no longer had a taboo about a couple living together before marriage.  She explained that her parents didnÕt think it was wrong; she just didnÕt want to overwhelm them when they were still trying to adjust to the fact that she was dating an older man.

            He accepted it without question, though he was clearly mystified.  He was also bewildered when she requested that he leave his cane at home.

            ÒWhatÕs wrong with my cane?Ó

            ÒNothing is wrong with your cane,Ó Hermione lied.  ÒI just donÕt want anything present that will remind them of your age!  My father thought you needed it to walk, you know.Ó

            He pouted.  ÒShall I go get some procedures, as well, so I donÕt look like such a geezer?  A facelift, perhaps?Ó

            She swatted him on the arm.  ÒDonÕt you start.Ó

            Though he was surly about it, Lucius left the cane behind.  Hermione neednÕt have worried, anyhow; he could charm a siren out into the ocean rather than the other way around.  By the end of the evening her mother was smitten.  Her father was a more difficult prospect, but it seemed that he could find no obvious defect with Lucius.  Hermione would guess that he even liked him, but wasnÕt ready to admit it or give up his protective father role just yet.

            ÒSo,Ó her mother asked, Òhow did you two meet, anyhow?Ó

             Lucius and Hermione looked at one another.  Knowing that this question would come up, theyÕd discussed how they should respond.  They hadnÕt quite agreed on what to say.

            ÒAt a tea shop,Ó Hermione recovered.  It wasnÕt a lie.  It was where she had truly met Lucius - the real man, not the mask.  Everything else was history.

 

 

 

 

            Spring was upon them.  Hermione smiled at the sight of Lucius sitting before the open window scribbling away at his parchment.  Every now and then he would stop and stare out the window.  Then, as if he had found whatever he was looking for, he would set the quill to parchment and begin again.  There hadnÕt been any snapped quills for a while.

            She was desperately curious about what he was writing.  He hadnÕt said a word about it and was evasive when she asked questions.  Whatever it was, it definitely wasnÕt packing the same emotional punch as Faim or Soif.  He seemed remarkably calm and content while writing it.

            Hermione approached him, frowning at the way he hunched over the desk and making a mental note to fiddle with his setup.  Only deep, deep thought and the haze of inspiration could make him forget his ingrained Pureblood posture.  She wondered what they did to their children to make their backs ramrod straight.  Whatever it was, it had either not been done to Draco, or it hadnÕt worked.  He was a moody sloucher if ever she saw one.  Lucius, not so much.

            She slid her hands along his shoulders, then up his neck and into his hair.  He hummed in pleasure and the quill lifted from the parchment so he wouldnÕt leave a splotch of ink.  When it became clear that she wasnÕt going to discontinue her attentions anytime soon, he set it aside and leaned back into her caresses. 

            ÒThis had better not be a ploy to look at my manuscript,Ó he purred.

            ÒOf course not,Ó she replied, leaning down to kiss his forehead.  As she did, he reached up to pluck a curl and twine it around his finger.

            ÒYouÕre a miserable liar, darling.Ó

            Hermione tilted her head to kiss the side of his jaw.  ÒI know.  I donÕt see you complaining.Ó

            Quite suddenly, he spun the chair around.  It put her off balance.  The only way to go was forward into his lap, and that was exactly what he wanted.  He tugged her astride him and cocked an eyebrow.

            ÒItÕs never a good idea to complain when your muse is doing her job.Ó  His hands slid along her thighs and he made a sound of annoyance.  HeÕd said only a few days before that he couldnÕt wait until it got warmer and she could wear her dresses.  Apparently, trousers were too much effort for him - though not much of a deterrent, for a moment later he shamelessly slid his hands beneath the waistband to cup her bottom.

            ÒIÕm not interrupting?Ó she whispered breathily as his lips devoured her neck.

            ÒYou never interrupt,Ó he murmured, his words hot little puffs against her skin, Òand if you do, itÕs most welcome.Ó

           

 

 

            It was the first time theyÕd made love in his writing chair.  Most of the other furniture in the house had already fallen victim to their passion, but the chair had remained a curious exception until an hour before.  She sat cocooned in his lap afterwards, a blanket wrapped around her to fend off the spring breeze.

            During that long period of bliss, an owl flew in and landed on the windowsill.  With one arm around her to hold her in place, Lucius leaned over to take the mail and deftly conjured a treat for the owl.  Hermione noticed that the Eagle owl was starting to look a bit portly; it was probably receiving treats on both ends, since it was flying from the Manor to Italy and back every day.  She smiled as it preened under LuciusÕs attention.

            Though the shock was somewhat worn off now, it had initially stunned her how gentle Lucius could be with other creatures.  The image she had in her mind was of the man who treated his House Elves like rubbish.  That was hard to reconcile with the man who humored Crookshanks and Musca with toys and catnip when he didnÕt think she was looking.

            Hermione smiled to herself.  The image of the eight-year-old Lucius from his dreams of playing tag in the sunflower field popped into her mind.  She remembered the streak of mischief in that boyÕs eyes.  If she was not mistaken, it was starting to return to the man; slowly, steadily, he was reclaiming the sense of fun that had been robbed from his childhood.

            Lucius yawned as he sorted through the mail.  A moment later he said, ÒOh, dear.Ó

            ÒWhat?Ó Hermione asked dreamily.

            ÒMy ex-wife is having a dinner party.Ó  He shook his head.  ÒIt would appear that her reputation has recovered enough to begin re-entering the social circles.Ó

            ÒHopefully not the same ones.Ó

            ÒHopefully not,Ó he agreed.  ÒMy presence is requested.Ó

            ÒWhen?Ó

            ÒTwo weeks from now.Ó

            ÒI suppose I can let you out to play,Ó Hermione smirked.

            ÒYour generosity knows no bounds.Ó

            ÒI know.Ó

            She felt the brush of his lips as he laid a silent kiss upon her crown.  Then there was only the rustle of papers as he continued to wade through the stack of mail - it was bigger and bigger these days.  Some letters he barely had to look at before he knew they were trash.  Others kept him busy for a very long time; he had received a fair share of missives from others who had gone through the same thing as him.  Some of those letters just related their stories, and some thanked him for being brave enough to speak out.  Hermione knew he didnÕt feel all that brave.

            For his part, Lucius had been watching the mail closely for anything from the Ministry.  It wasnÕt that unusual for him to receive something from the Office of Magical Law Enforcement, but now he had to be on alert for something from the Department of Mysteries.  However, four weeks out it seemed less and less likely that anything would come.  His request had probably given the Time Turner team a good laugh and nothing more.

            As expected, there was nothing.  He set the mail down and then gently dislodged Hermione from his lap.  Today they had actually invited Paolo and Elisabetta to come up to the villa for dinner rather than the usual trip down to their home.  There was a lot to do to prepare; the place needed to be touched up and they had to apply a dozen Glamours to make Jo-Jo look like a human servant because neither of them could cook well enough to present an edible meal without her.  Cooking lessons were now on HermioneÕs list of things they needed to do.

            She sighed.  ÒIÕll handle the Glamours if you do the cleaning.Ó

            Lucius smirked.  She really did hate keeping house; no wonder she had given up on becoming a Weasley.  ÒDone,Ó he replied.  As mortifying as it was to admit to himself, he would get down on his knees and scrub with a toothbrush if it meant keeping her. 

 

 

 

            ÒI didnÕt realize you had no electricity up here,Ó Elisabetta said in wonder.  The sun had just begun to set and Hermione and Jo-Jo, who was introduced to Paolo and Elisabetta as Joanna, diligently went to work lighting candles.  It took longer than usual since they couldnÕt use magic.

            ÒWe got so used to it that we havenÕt bothered to look into getting it wired,Ó Hermione shrugged, replacing the glass globe around the last candle.

            ÒItÕs romantic,Ó Elisabetta said.  ÒNo wonder you and Luciano are so in love.Ó

            Hermione blushed and sat next to the Italian woman on the couch.  Lucius and Paolo were still out in the courtyard for the time being, nursing their full stomachs and the last of the wine.  Elisabetta had followed Hermione in to make use of the loo and had been caught up in the fact that their only light for the remainder of the evening would be provided by candles.

            ÒHeÕs easy to love, once you get past a few little things,Ó she murmured.  Lucius would have laughed at her.  The things she had to get past were neither few in number nor little.  However, now that it had been done, that was how it felt; everything from the past seemed so minor.  Love had that effect.

            ÒWhen will you two get married?Ó

            Hermione was startled from her drowsy thoughts by the pointed question.  She blinked at Elisabetta, trying to formulate a response.  Marriage had never crossed her mind.

            ÒI...well, weÕve only been together for about ten months.  ItÕs still quite early.Ó

            She looked surprised.  ÒOh.  It seems like you have been with each other much longer.Ó

            Hermione examined her nails.  ÒIt does, doesnÕt it?Ó

            ÒThat is how you know youÕve picked the right one.Ó  Elisabetta smiled.  ÒI dated Paolo for a week, and felt like we had known one another forever.Ó

            She didnÕt feel like she had known Lucius forever.  In fact, she felt like she had known him for precious little time, and every moment of that time made her want to know more.  Perhaps there were two kinds of soul mates - the ones who knew each other inside and out and were meant to be from the first moment of contact, and the ones who were continuously discovering new and wondrous things about each other because whatever drew them together was a complete mystery.  Sometimes love was there from the beginning and sometimes it grew from one little seed of fascination, compassion, or determination.

            Once upon a time she had wanted to put Lucius back together.  Now she only wanted to dissect him, to know every inch of him as intimately as she could, because he was no longer falling apart.  Hermione felt another one of those bludgeoning waves of emotion and had to take a deep breath to temper it.

            ÒWhat is it about your families, that they canÕt see what you have?Ó Elisabetta asked softly.

            ÒThey will,Ó Hermione said.  ÒEventually, they will.Ó

 

 

 

            ÒI didnÕt know what to wear,Ó Tiresias said anxiously.  ÒI donÕt go to dinner parties.Ó

            ÒYou look fine,Ó Lucius assured him.

            ÒWho is going to be there?Ó

            ÒI have no idea,Ó Lucius answered truthfully.  His ex-wifeÕs guest list was certain to have changed since the last time she had a party.  This would be as much of a surprise for him as it was for Tiresias.  He experienced a moment of pity as he watched Tiresias fidget.  Either his healer had set aside his personal life when he agreed to take Lucius on, or he had not had much of one to begin with.  He found that hard to believe considering how engaging Tiresias could be, but one never knew.

            He resisted the urge to inquire about the last time Tiresias had been on a date.  Now that he had Hermione, Lucius found himself feeling an inexplicable pity for men who had not yet found the right person.  However, he doubted that his curiosity would be welcome; after all, it was partially his fault that Tiresias didnÕt seem to have time for romance.

            Tiresias sighed and then stifled a yawn.

            ÒHave you slept?Ó Lucius asked, realizing that the time difference made this an odd hour for the other man.

            ÒNot really,Ó the healer said, Òso if I look like IÕm about to nod off into my hors dÕoeuvres, please rescue me and my dignity.Ó

            ÒYou donÕt have to attend.  My ex-wife will survive if her guest list is one shy of the RSVPs.Ó

            ÒI put on a suit and IÕm here.  ThereÕs no going back.Ó  Tiresias smirked.  ÒBesides, even my dog has been giving me looks that say I need to get out more.Ó

            ÒThen we shall be on our way,Ó Lucius chuckled. 

 

 

            The Manor looked immaculate, as always.  Lucius felt a stab of pride.  Since he had begun the slow process of purifying the manse, everything about it felt lighter.  The air was no longer oppressive and the gleam of candlelight off polished surfaces wasnÕt cold.  He didnÕt know how he had gone so long without seeing how dark magic choked the natural beauty of his ancestral home.

            Tiresias seemed like he was noticing it for the first time.  He had been here before, but had never seen it like this.  He looked up at the ornate ceiling and began to fidget again.

            ÒThis really is a beautiful home, Lucius.  I canÕt imagine why you donÕt stay here.  The villa is very sparse in comparison.Ó

            ÒIt is, but I prefer to make new memories rather than wallow in old ones.Ó  What Tiresias didnÕt know was that many ghosts roamed these halls, visible or otherwise, and it would take more than a magical facelift to erase them.

            ÒUnderstandable.Ó  The healer straightened his sleeve.  ÒSpeaking of, IÕm guessing that...certain topics remain off limits here?Ó

            ÒYes.Ó  Lucius didnÕt need to elaborate.

            ÒDone.Ó

            ÒItÕs best to stick to only three glasses of wine.  No more.Ó

            ÒOnly three,Ó Tiresias nodded, doubtful that he would even make it that far.

            ÒAnd say no if anyone offers OgdenÕs.Ó

            ÒNot a problem.Ó

            ÒAnd if my ex-wife starts fishing for information, escape as soon as you possibly can.Ó

            ÒI have my Irritable Bowel Syndrome excuse ready.Ó

            Lucius laughed, once again luxuriating in the strange and wonderful feeling of having friends.  It was at that moment that Narcissa breezed in.  She smiled and leaned in to bestow an air kiss to his right cheek.

            ÒGoodness, itÕs lovely to hear you laugh,Ó she said.  ÒIÕd almost forgotten what it sounded like.Ó

            ÒThat makes two of us.Ó  He returned the friendly salutation and smiled at her.  She looked beautiful as always.  ÒHow is the turnout?Ó

            ÒExcellent so far.Ó  Narcissa turned her attention to Tiresias.  ÒThank you so much for coming, Healer Smythe.Ó

            ÒCall me Tiresias, please,Ó he entreated.

            ÒTiresias, then.  Come in, have some wine.  Dinner should be ready shortly.Ó

 

 

 

            He should have known it would happen.  Lucius had been whisked away almost immediately to catch up with old friends and acquaintances, as well as meet some new ones, and he could hardly protest as he was, technically, the host.  Good manners won out and he abandoned Tiresias.  At the very least, heÕd looked apologetic.

            So here he was, alone at a party where he knew no one.  It wasnÕt that he was anxious; heÕd gone to countless medical conferences where he found himself in the same situation.  He always managed to find a few interesting people to pass the time with.  Nonetheless, it always felt better to have at least one person to fall back on.

            Perhaps LuciusÕs three-glass warning was more pertinent than he thought.  There wasnÕt much to do but nurse the full-bodied red.  He was already drinking more than he ought to.  After this, he decided, he would stuff his face with food instead of wine to even things out.

            ÒI know you from somewhere.Ó

            A womanÕs voice washed over him, and he looked up.  His eyes widened before he could control his reaction.  It was her - the woman from the hospital.  The one heÕd attempted to ask out for a cup of coffee only to be thwarted by an elevator door.

            ÒI canÕt figure it out,Ó she continued.

            ÒI can,Ó he said.  ÒI see you finally managed to get off that lift, and not a moment too soon.Ó

            This time her eyes widened, and then her cheeks went slightly pink.  ÒOf course,Ó she murmured, touching her hand to her forehead.  ÒThe hospital.  You must think IÕm mad.Ó

            ÒNo, not at all.  There are certainly times when I donÕt feel like getting off the lift, either.Ó  Tiresias smiled; he was more acquainted with the feeling than she could know, especially from his younger days where heÕd worked in a hospital rather than running his own practice.  ÒUntil you step outside those doors, youÕre still in transit.  You havenÕt reached the moment of confrontation.Ó

            ÒExactly,Ó she nodded.  She tilted her head to the side, an unreadable look on her face.  ÒIÕm Andromeda.Ó

            ÒTiresias Smythe.Ó  He offered his hand and she took it.  In a million years he never would have believed that what happened next was actually possible, but he knew it when he felt it.  It was as if a shock traveled up his arm, jolting him sharply into hyperawareness.

            ÒOh, youÕre LuciusÕs healer, then,Ó she murmured.  ÒIt makes sense.Ó

            ÒYes,Ó he answered, feeling dumbfounded but apparently not showing it.  ÒI was just leaving his room when I bumped into you that night.  How do you know him?Ó

            ÒIÕm NarcissaÕs sister.Ó

            That surprised him; they didnÕt look very much alike.  Narcissa was waifish, pale, blonde, an ice-princess.  AndromedaÕs beauty was more complex and more classical.  Both sisters were beautiful in their own way, but if he had to choose, Andromeda would certainly have his vote.

            ÒItÕs lovely to meet you,Ó he said, still feeling completely dazed.  However, his voice sounded composed to ears that were ringing.

            ÒLikewise, and IÕm glad that itÕs under better circumstances this time.Ó  Her brow creased slightly.  ÒYou know, I heard you start to say something that night in the hospital when the lift doors were closing.  What was it?Ó

            ÒI was going to ask you if you wanted to get a cup of coffee,Ó he said without a trace of hesitation.

            ÒDoes the offer still stand?Ó

            ÒYes.Ó  A thousand times yes.

            ÒMy treat,Ó she said, Òsince I was so rude.  Is Wednesday all right?Ó

 

 

 

            Andromeda walked toward the loo with her heart beating like a rabbitÕs.  She had just made a date with a man she barely knew.  Moreover, it had been so automatic, as if she was not even in control of herself.  From the moment she took his hand to shake it, some kind of autopilot had taken over.

            She closed the door and leaned against the sink.  It was not often that she felt overwhelmed, but it had taken everything she had to tear herself away from Tiresias Smythe.  He was magnetic, and she could only wonder why she hadnÕt noticed it the first time.  Perhaps because she had been so worked up over other things...

            A part of her had known that this moment would come eventually - the moment when she found herself reawakening as a woman, desiring someone to fill the void Ted had left.  She was content to avoid it for a long time. 

            More than three years had passed since TedÕs death.  Time didnÕt lessen the pain of being alone, but neither did isolation.  Rationally, she knew Ted would want her to move on, to find someone new who would make her happy.  Nymphadora would have wanted that, too.  Andromeda was the only one who held on to the mantle of a widow with such tenacity.

            It was like living in a fog, really.  Her days were long, yet at the end of each one, she wondered where the time had gone.  In that way she had been letting life pass by as one would watch scenery outside a train window.  Just a pretty blur...

            But something had brought it sharply into focus, and slowed it down into a speed she could manage.  That something had been that night at the hospital, where she witnessed the impossible.  Seeing Lucius and Hermione together had rekindled a fire in her.  It had reintroduced her to passion.

            Still, it was only passion for other people and other things.  Only now, when she interacted with the handsome healer, did she feel it within herself.  Andromeda took a deep breath.

            ÒOkay,Ó she said out loud.  ÒSo you want to kiss him.  ItÕs all right.  Perfectly normal.Ó

            ÒYes indeed, dear, perfectly normal,Ó the mirror commiserated.  ÒWhoÕs the lucky gentleman?Ó

            Andromeda looked shrewdly at the mirror.  ÒNone of your business.  And you may tell my sister that itÕs rude to spy on her guests.Ó

            In response, the mirror showed her an image of herself with a very convincing handlebar mustache.  Andromeda left the loo laughing, thinking that Teddy would love a mirror like that, and jumped back into the fire without fear.

 

 

 

            His head was spinning.  Even at the height of their popularity, he and Narcissa had never hosted a party this lively.  It seemed like every other minute he was being pulled into some conversation or dragged to meet a new person, and he had lost Narcissa half an hour ago.  This was exhausting, but not in a bad way.

            At last Lucius managed to find a moment alone.  He had warned Tiresias about overdoing it on the wine, but Lucius had not managed a single drink himself.  Determined to remedy that, he detoured to the wine cellar to find the more exclusive libations - the ones no guest would ever have access to, unless it was Merlin himself.

            He took a route back upstairs that only a Malfoy would know.  At least, he thought so; he was startled to run into Marietta Edgecombe in one of the lesser-used corridors.  He nearly spilled his wine on her.

            Nodding, Lucius tried to step around her.  Marietta didnÕt move.

            ÒYou know who I am,Ó she blurted, Òwhat I did, but youÕve never said anything.  Why arenÕt you trying to get Draco to dump me?Ó

            He stared at the redhead, contemplating her question.  She waited anxiously; he could see her hands twining together and her green eyes were wide with apprehension.  This had probably been wearing on her mind for weeks.  For a moment, Lucius let her squirm.

            Then, deciding that it was best not to be cruel when she had actually scraped up the courage to confront him, he said, ÒI believe in second chances.Ó

            She swallowed, appearing as if she was unsure if she wanted to jump up and down in elation or cry.  ÒThank you.Ó

            ÒThe only gratitude I want is for you to make my son happy,Ó he replied.  ÒSo far, youÕve done that.  But bear in mind that there are no third chances, and I will do what I have to in order to protect him.Ó

            MariettaÕs shoulders drew up and back; Lucius saw confidence take hold of her.  He couldnÕt have known that it was an uncommon occurrence, one that had rarely happened before now, but he recognized a woman determined to rise to the challenge that had been issued.

            ÒI understand,Ó she said.

 

 

            He thought he was done with awkward encounters for the evening, but Lucius was very wrong.  He had only just escaped Marietta and emerged onto the main level of the house when someone else cornered him.  Dawlish practically dragged him into an empty room and Lucius didnÕt protest because it wasnÕt outside the realm of possibility that the Auror had something important to tell him - something that was best relayed in private.

            ÒIÕm sorry,Ó he apologized immediately, looking unusually flustered.  ÒI was hoping to get a minute alone with you.Ó

            Irritated that people continued to obstruct his glass of ninety year old wine, Lucius took a sip before he responded.  ÒWell, here I am.  What is it?Ó

            ÒEr...I donÕt really know how to say this properly, but...I wanted to...speak to you...regarding Narcissa.Ó

            Lucius controlled a smirk.  ÒYes?  What about her?Ó  He knew what Dawlish was alluding to, but pretending not to afforded more amusement.  The Auror bore a slightly pained look, as if he had been hoping Lucius would make it easy on him and not force him to spell it out.

            ÒI...er...well, since meeting her, I confess I have been...developing feelings for her.  I thought at first that it was friendship, but I...Ó  Dawlish trailed off, licking his lips.  He looked at the floor for a long moment.  Then he jerked his head up as if he had reached the decision that it all had to come out.  ÒLucius, this is your house, and Narcissa was your wife.  She still lives here.  It could be your generosity that allows for it, or it could be the fact that something still remains between the two of you.  I will not disrespect you by pursuing Narcissa if it is in your mind to reconcile with her.  But I am not willing to lose her because I couldnÕt speak rationally with you to discover the answer.  So tell me now, Lucius, if Narcissa is off limits so I will not get myself in any deeper.Ó

            ÒOf course something remains between us, Dawlish,Ó he started, and instantly felt bad when the AurorÕs face fell, so he plowed ahead, Òand his name is Draco.  Narcissa gave me a son and for that I will always love her.  But that doesnÕt give me any right to Ôclaim herÕ or mark her Ôoff limitsÕ.  One thing I have always respected about Narcissa is that she knows what she wants, and wonÕt let anyone get in the way of it.  She would have you whether I protested or not if it was really what she wanted to do.  Do not believe for a moment that I ever had her under any kind of control.Ó

            Dawlish nodded.  ÒI understand that she is an independent woman.  That was never in question.  I know what she wants, Lucius.  ItÕs you I was unsure of, and since IÕve come to know you, I donÕt believe you deserve to have someone you care about stolen away.Ó

            Lucius stared at him, stunned.  ÒDawlish, itÕs--Ó

            ÒSo if it will be too painful to witness, you have to tell me now, when I still have the power to tear myself away.Ó

            ÒDawlish--Ó

            ÒAnd Narcissa assures me that you are seeing someone else and youÕre madly in love, but I donÕt feel right bypassing you.Ó

            ÒDawlish!Ó Lucius barked, narrowly avoiding turning pink with embarrassment.   

            The Auror startled out of his tirade, taking a deep breath.  ÒIÕm sorry.  IÕve been thinking about it too much.Ó

            ÒClearly you have.Ó

            ÒI shouldnÕt have brought it up.  I just thought...Ó

            Lucius held up his hands, glass of wine and all.  ÒYou thought rightly.  It is strange that I have allowed Narcissa to stay here and any man wishing to romance her would have the same reaction.  She expressed to me when we were splitting up that she didnÕt wish to return to her parentsÕ home, and having been in it several times, I donÕt blame her.  I couldnÕt go from living here to living there after so many years, and neither could she.Ó

            ÒSo itÕs...purely for that reason that you let her stay?Ó

            ÒThere are a few more reasons, but nothing you need to know right this moment.  The bottom line is that Narcissa is right; I have moved on, and I wish the same happiness for her.Ó

            ÒThen sheÕs...?Ó

            ÒYours to pursue.Ó

            Dawlish blinked.  ÒItÕs that simple?Ó

            ÒSometimes it is,Ó Lucius nodded.  Then, realizing that he wasnÕt the one who needed it, he pressed his ninety year old glass of wine into DawlishÕs hand and excused himself.

 

 

 

            ÒOh, before you go, Lucius, I have todayÕs mail for you.  I figured there was no point in sending it since youÕd be here,Ó Narcissa said, tiredly pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

            Lucius glanced at Tiresias to make sure the healer wouldnÕt fall over; he was that exhausted.  Tiresias appeared secure on the couch.  He followed Narcissa, stifling a yawn of his own.  The party had been pure madness, at least by pureblood standards.  He didnÕt envy the House Elves who had to clean everything up.

            She handed him a stack of scrolls and envelopes that he promptly shrunk down and jammed into his pocket.  The likelihood of any of it being important was slim to none.  However, he would sort through it tomorrow, when he didnÕt feel like his brain was leaking from his ear.

            ÒThank you.Ó

            ÒAnd thank you for coming.  I wasnÕt sure you would.Ó

            ÒWhy not?Ó he asked, perplexed.

            ÒI didnÕt know if you would want to be around so many strangers.  People didnÕt ask you too many questions about the book, did they?Ó

            ÒOnly one or two,Ó he murmured.  ÒCertainly not the worst IÕve ever gotten.Ó

            ÒIÕm glad.Ó

            He smiled at Narcissa.  Dawlish was a lucky man, and Lucius hoped that the Auror would be able to give Narcissa everything that he hadnÕt.  He certainly seemed the type.  At last, Narcissa would have a hero and not a villain.

            ÒWhat are you thinking about?Ó she prodded.

            ÒNothing.Ó

            ÒTwenty years of marriage and you think I donÕt know that look?Ó

            ÒI have not had enough wine for you to successfully fish for information, my dear,Ó he returned.

            Narcissa pouted, but then her lips curved into a smile.  ÒWell, a woman has to try.Ó

            ÒIndeed she does.  Say good night to Draco for me, will you?Ó

            ÒHeÕs not around?Ó

            ÒI couldnÕt find him.  HeÕs probably off with that girlfriend of his.Ó 

            ÒThank goodness,Ó Narcissa sighed.  ÒI was beginning to think I might have to resort to matchmaking.Ó

 

 

 

            Tiresias was practically asleep on his feet when Lucius herded him out of the floo at the villa.  Either he had not heeded the three drink rule or he was truly bone-tired.  He would not be making the trip back to Vancouver tonight, since it was unlikely that he would be able to stay awake long enough to shout out his destination.

            Feeling oddly like he was tucking his child in, Lucius put him to bed in the room Hermione had once occupied.  He realized the healer was in a suit and that was perhaps not the most comfortable attire for sleep; with a long-suffering sigh, he muttered some spells and the other manÕs suit left his body and hung itself in the closet.  Tiresias dozed through the impromptu stripping, but woke when Lucius deprived him of his shoes.

            ÒHow come you didnÕt tell me Narcissa has a sister?Ó he mumbled.  ÒA pretty one?Ó

            Lucius gave him a sideways glance.  ÒWell, she had two sisters.  One is deceased and Narcissa was not on speaking terms with the other for many years.  They reconciled recently.Ó

            ÒI have a date with her on Wednesday.Ó

            ÒWith Andromeda?Ó

            ÒYes.Ó  Tiresias yawned.

            Lucius tried to process the implications.  Narcissa had mentioned to him that Andromeda had not shown any interest in finding a new paramour after losing her husband; apparently that was erroneous.  He decided it was best to let things play out as they would.

            ÒSheÕs a good woman.Ó

            ÒI havenÕt been on a date in two and a half years.Ó

            ÒBefore I met Hermione, my only dates were with you.  And you are not cheap.Ó

            He saw Tiresias smile even as his eyes were drooping.  ÒNeither are you.Ó

            ÒOn to greener pastures, then.Ó  Lucius tugged the blanket back into place.  ÒI propose a mutual breakup.Ó

            ÒDone,Ó Tiresias said, and then his body relaxed completely, alerting Lucius that he had finally lost the battle with exhaustion.

 

 

 

            He slid into bed next to Hermione, and only then did it hit him that he was as tired as his healer, if not more so.  Adrenaline had kept him going.  Now, enveloped in the warmth and familiarity of his woman and his bed, fatigue sucker-punched him into an instant sleep.

 

 

 

            Hermione woke several hours later and was surprised when she made it to the loo and back without waking him.  Most mornings he seemed tuned to her slightest move; no matter how quiet she tried to be, she would ways turn around to find his cool blue eyes open and fixed on her.  Not so today.  It seemed his party had gone later than expected.

            Upon further exploration, she found Tiresias Smythe in a similar state in the other bedroom.  Neither man looked any worse for the wear.  Nonetheless, she asked Jo-Jo to brew a strong pot of coffee and have some headache and hangover relief potions at the ready just in case.

            She was deeply engrossed in a book when she felt Lucius come up behind her.  Unheeding of her concentration, his hand threaded beneath her chin and tilted it up so he could kiss her.  She heard him chuckle, because even as she returned the kiss, her eyes were drifting back toward the page - it was the first time in a while that she had been able to read for leisure rather than for school.

            ÒWhat time is it?Ó she asked distractedly.

            ÒJust after ten.Ó

            ÒOh.Ó  She had been reading for over two hours.

            ÒDid you eat breakfast?Ó

            ÒNo.Ó

            ÒIs Tiresias still here?Ó

            Hermione nodded.  ÒYou two had a good time last night, hm?Ó

            An interesting expression came over LuciusÕs face.  It was the same one that graced his features when he learned a particularly interesting and/or useful piece of information. 

            ÒOne of us did,Ó he smirked.  ÒTiresias is going on a date with Andromeda.Ó

            That made Hermione put her book down.  ÒAre you serious?Ó

            Lucius held up his right hand.  ÒFrom the horseÕs mouth.Ó

            ÒGood for them.Ó

            ÒLetÕs hope.  IÕm sure they both need a good shag.Ó

            ÒA date is not a guarantee of a shag, Lucius,Ó Hermione replied, rolling her eyes - though privately she agreed with him.

            He gave her a smug look.  ÒIf itÕs done right it is.Ó

            Containing her smile so as not to encourage him, she picked up her book again.  ÒAre you going to ask Jo-Jo to make breakfast?Ó

            ÒYes.  What does my sarcastic little muse desire?Ó

            Hermione opened her mouth, but it wasnÕt her voice that sounded a moment later.

            ÒCoffee,Ó Tiresias Smythe fairly moaned as he emerged from the short hallway.  ÒFor the love of all that is holy, coffee.Ó

            ÒI think he might want some coffee,Ó Hermione said, stifling a laugh.  ÒI told Jo-Jo to have a pot ready.Ó

            ÒBless your heart,Ó Smythe mumbled.  Rubbing his eyes, he collapsed into one of the chairs, seemingly impervious to the fact that he was only in his undershirt and boxers.  Lucius shared an amused look with Hermione and then turned to walk down to the kitchen.

           

 

 

            After a pleasant morning with Tiresias, who proved far more gregarious once heÕd had his all-important two cups of coffee, Lucius remembered the mail heÕd shoved in his pocket.  He didnÕt relish sorting through it, but it would be his luck that the one day he neglected the mail would be the day something important came.  He retrieved his cloak and pulled out the miniaturized stack of correspondence.

            Hermione was still absorbed in her book - a gargantuan copy of HugoÕs Les Miserables which, by the look of it, had been read many times before - so he neednÕt worry about interruptions.  Lucius sighed.  He would prefer them.

            He enlarged the sheaf of parchment and scanned through to see if there were any seals or return addresses he recognized.  There, fifteen letters in, was a stamp that made him freeze.

 

Ministry of Magic

Department of Mysteries

Level 9

 

            Ah, so his rejection had at last arrived.  So kind of them to expedite the process.  A part of him didnÕt want to bother opening it since it was obvious what the answer would be, but curiosity won out.  He wanted to see if theyÕd actually calculated the outcome percentage and how dismally low it would be.  Did they get numbers as low as one percent?  Or was it never that definitive?

            Without a stitch of hope or expectation, he opened the envelope.

 

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

 

Enclosed are the results of your recent Time Turner request.  To schedule an appointment please contact our office between 8:00 and 17:00, Monday through Saturday.  As there are few Time Turners currently in operation, appointments may not be available for up to six weeks.  It is advised that you contact us to arrange an appointment as soon as possible for the earliest activation date.

 

            Activation date?  Wait a moment...surely they meant appeal date...eyes wide, Lucius turned to the second page.  A large, hunter green stamp announced to him that he had been APPROVED. 

            For a time, he couldnÕt even process what the word meant.  Approved?  It wasnÕt in the vocabulary of a stalled brain.  Approved...

            Then, slowly, his mind supplied a definition.  Approved...confirmed, sanctioned, allowed, agreed to, authorized...

            How in the world?  It couldnÕt be possible.  Hands shaking, he flattened out the paper and tried to find the outcome percentile.  There...his stomach sank like a stone.  Ninety-one percent.  The exact same number as his fatherÕs request.

            He felt panic rising within him, like a volcano suddenly pressurized past its breaking point, and he backed away from the table.  He wanted to run.  With a tremendous effort, he squashed the urge; he didnÕt want to alarm Hermione.  She didnÕt know about the Time Turner requests and now was not the time for her to discover that he had been keeping something from her.

            Lucius walked from the dining room to the hallway with agonizing control.  Down the hall.  Out the door to the courtyard.  Past the fountain, where Musca sat and waited for brave birds to perch for a drink.  Into the greening grasses.

            He didnÕt know where he was going until he got there.  There were no sunflowers yet so the fields couldnÕt hide him.  But he needed something, somewhere closed and safe that he could crawl into and be alone.  At that moment he was an animal that needed the security of its burrow.

            That was what propelled him into a copse of thick shrubs on the edge of the villaÕs property.  There was just enough room for him.  Within the cocoon of cool shade and the scent of evergreen, he finally felt safe enough to release the clamp of his control.

            He breathed.  Too fast, too ragged, but he breathed and listened to the unrelenting hammer of his heart.  He didnÕt try to stop the panic attack.  He let it build, gripping him, authoring screams in his throat, but those he smothered with his fist.  It wouldnÕt do to frighten anyone who might be nearby.  This was his problem, not theirs.

            He supposed he was not having a complete breakdown if he was rational enough to consider others.  After what seemed like an age, it began to subside.  He was sweating, his muscles ached, and his throat was raw as if he had screamed for an hour anyway.  And so tired.  Merlin.

            Uncaring of the dirt, grass, and insects, Lucius laid among the flora and surrendered to the toll of his emotions.

 

 

 

            When he woke again, he felt something he had not experienced in some time.  It was the sensation of being two different people in one body.  Though he did essentially lead a double life now, spending part of his time playing the role of lover to Hermione and the rest as the Lucius Malfoy the world thought they knew, the voice of HermioneÕs Lucius and everyone elseÕs Lucius was the same.  She had integrated him into one man with a secret rather than one man with two personalities.

            He understood that this was his mindÕs way to cope.  It had to dissociate itself from the raging conflict that threatened to overwhelm it.  In order to continue to function, and, Merlin help him, face Hermione and act like nothing had happened, he had to become two minds once again.

            When he was alone he could try to sort through the mire and reach a decision.  With her, he would have to continue Life As Usual.  Though he knew that Hermione would be supportive of him no matter what he chose, in the end it wasnÕt her decision to make, and it would be that much harder if he knew she felt strongly one way or the other.  Never mind that the fact that heÕd even entertained the thought of altering the past could be hurtful to her...

            If it was him, he knew the question that would blare most prominently into his mind would be: is the present with me not good enough?  Lucius groaned.  The lines within his mind were precarious.  He remembered this feeling, years and years of it, and marveled that he had ever been able to tolerate such chaos.

            He wouldnÕt be able to maintain it for very long.  Hermione would notice.  If only he could...

            But why canÕt you, Lucius? 

            A chill slipped over him and Lucius swallowed.  There was that autopilot, that other voice that had guided him for so many years - the one he had mistaken for his own.  It was disconcerting how easily it came back to him.  He closed his eyes.  He knew what people said about others who heard voices.

            Lucius also knew that while no one would ever find a single notation about him in any document that pertained to mental illness, he had flirted with several forms of it, if not outright taken a few home.  Depression, certainly.  Anxiety...well, that was why he was sitting in a wall of shrubbery right now, wasnÕt it?  Never mind that he could label almost an entire year of his life as an acute psychotic episode.

            And addictions.  His was not for alcohol, as his motherÕs had been.  It had not even been for pain.  No, it had purely been for control.  There was no stronger drug for one who was made to feel powerless.

            With the exception of love, of course.  What was it, but an addiction to another person?  He knew now that if he was ever forced to be parted from Hermione, he would withdraw as horribly as one would from heroin.  How could he even consider going forward with the Time Turner?

            YouÕre not thinking clearly.

            No, he wasnÕt.

            You canÕt turn it down because of her.  It isnÕt about her.

            Merlin, that voice was so cold, but it was right.

            You can erase decadesÕ worth of suffering.  Which is the greater sacrifice?  Living what youÕve lived so that you can be with her or taking the chance that you may never know her to remedy the past?

            For fuckÕs sake, he didnÕt know.

            Then find out, Lucius.

            Yes.  That was the only thing to do.  He had to find the lesser of two evils and Hermione couldnÕt help him.  She only knew how to defeat evil, not how to decide which one to accept.  She had never accepted any of it.  And that...that was the cardinal difference between them.  He had never had the backbone to refuse, nor the courage to press for a third option.

           

 

 

            Hermione glanced up from her book when she heard LuciusÕs footsteps.  She hadnÕt even noticed that he left.  It was amazing how far away a book could transport her, even one that sheÕd read before.

            She didnÕt ask him where heÕd been.  He did look slightly disheveled, but since he hadnÕt yet taken a bath and was recovering from what was by all reports an excellent party, she thought nothing of it.  She just watched him clear the mail off the table.

            At times, the inquisitive (or downright nosy) part of her wanted to read the missives he received.  Hermione also thought about what she would write to him if she wasnÕt his lover...if she had never come to know him again, and had found out that he was the author of Faim with only the picture of wartime Lucius in her head.  Inevitably, she drew a blank.  She wouldnÕt have written to him at all.

            That was why it was difficult for her to imagine what others found to say.  However, an unspoken rule had developed between them; if Lucius wanted her to see a letter, he showed it to her.  If not, it was meant to be private.  Howlers...well, they were given to the cats, who took great pleasure in ripping the angry red envelopes to shreds.

            ÒAnything good?Ó she asked as he moved the last of the stack.

            Lucius shook his head.  ÒNo.  Just a bunch of rubbish.Ó  He hesitated a moment and then strode over to her.  Leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead, he said, ÒHermione, I need to attend to some business at the Manor.  It might take a day or two.Ó   

            She smiled.  ÒThatÕs fine.  I have some studying to catch up on.Ó

            He smiled back, but she noticed that it was somewhat wan.  It piqued her concern.  Perhaps she did want to know where heÕd been...

            ÒIs everything all right?Ó Hermione asked.

            He nodded.  ÒIÕm just tired, and would rather spend the time with you.Ó

            Warmed, she reached out to smooth an errant strand of his hair.  Though she loved that she was one of the only people in the world who ever got to see him at his most relaxed, he didnÕt look quite right without his usual polish.  ÒIÕll be here when you get back.Ó

            ÒNaked, hopefully,Ó he joked, a little more levity slipping onto his face.

            ÒIf youÕre lucky,Ó Hermione chuckled.

            That levity deserted him in a fleeting instant.  His face fell into an expression of such seriousness, such earnestness that she forgot to breathe.

            ÒI am lucky,Ó he said.  ÒIncredibly so.Ó

            ÒLucius...Ó

            ÒI love you.Ó  He supplemented the words with a rough yet tender kiss.  ÒIÕll see you in a few days.Ó