L\'amore è tre quarti di curiosità
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Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Lucius/Hermione
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Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Lucius/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
8,053
Reviews:
27
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
IV
Title: L'amore è tre quarti di curiosità (Love is three quarters curiosity)
Author:
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Romance, Humour, Mystery
Warnings: M/F, SoloM, Oral
Summary: Hermione literally collides with trouble in an alley in Northern Italy, which will lead her through a process called ‘falling in love.’
Author's Notes: The title is a quote by Giacomo Casanova. Sorry to disappoint, but Lucius, god of sex, is not too prevalent in this fic as he is in some other things I have written. Please withhold the tomatoes and other produce you might throw in my direction. This is also an attempt at humour, contrasted to my usual ‘dark’ scribblings, so forgive the dryness, eh? Oh, and this ficlet is once again in 1st person POV. Enjoy!
L'amore è tre quarti di curiosità
IV.
“Why can’t I see anyone?”
Lucius Malfoy whinged like a child. I had a nagging suspicion that his ex-wife knew very well how a whinging Lucius Malfoy sounded.
Was this really the same man who had gotten into scuffles with Arthur Weasley? The same man who hosted Voldemort in his home at some point? The same man who tried to kill Harry in Second Year after freeing Dobby?
Apparently not.
He held to my sleeve like a lost oversized child as I wended my way through Diagon Alley the next day. I had, begrudgingly; taken a personal day from work just so I could, once and for all, try to ease my mind.
“Who do you see, Granger?” he asked, pushing against me so my arm was pinned to his chest, my hand, uncomfortably brushing against his thigh as we walked. In the chill of the winter’s day, he was very warm against me, towering over me, lording over me, and demanding me to start talking. Of course, I did not say a word, people would think I was talking to myself, I supposed rationally.
“Granger!” he snarled, gripping my arm and forcing me to stop mid step just before Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. A few passersby eyed me suspiciously, as I supposed, to them, I had suddenly been frozen in place by a spell.
“Control yourself,” I growled between tight lips, daring not to look back at the man. “I can just as easily forget to our agreement…”
His grip loosened and I was allowed to step forward naturally.
“If I could have avoided debasing myself, I would have, Granger. As it is, I need you,” he whispered frantically as I wove between a group of witches moving as a unit down the Alley, making it difficult to pass.
Interestingly, as I passed, Lucius still holding to my arm, he bumped into one witch and nearly knocked her off her feet. He did not seem to sense the witch at all.
A rude comment found my ears, but I did not turn.
The whole ordeal made me think of Harry under his Invisibility Cloak.
As we neared the crooked and high façade of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, I became nervous. Ever since breaking into the Lestrange vault, the goblins were especially surly the few times I had been in the bank since. Using a key that was not mine to a enter another vault that was not mine…
Hags and goblins were not creatures you wanted as enemies.
“Remember what I said. Present the key. The goblin will know it, it is a goblin made key. They might prompt for a password. Pavo cristatus…pavo cristatus…”
I wanted to hex him. His urgent whispering in my ear was only heightening my nervousness. I wanted to shove his beloved white pavo cristatus up his…
“Key?” the goblin grumbled.
I had run out of time to steel my resolve and my hand shook when I drew the brass key from my coat. However, while the goblin was inspecting the key, I glanced back to Lucius whose eyes were narrowed and blinking.
“Eerie,” he breathed, and I knew that he could not see the army of goblins swarming in the main hall of the bank. In fact, I wondered what he saw when the goblin cleared his throat in a harsh rasp to catch my attention again.
“Password?”
I enunciated the Latin name of the Indian Peacock and sighed as the goblin nodded.
“Follow me.”
After so many years, I have developed a resistance to motion sickness, whether it be flying or the whirling carts that rattled into the bowels of the earth beneath Gringotts. Lucius seemed enjoy the harrowing trip to vault number 776. I had only glanced how his loosely braided hair flew out behind him, strands coming loose and flying about his pale face like whipping silvery snakes.
Lucius looked almost wild during the trip, and I wondered if there was some Norse blood in his stock. He looked almost like a Viking crying ‘Odin’ over the rough waves of the North Sea on his way to pillage the British coast. All he needed was a thick blond beard…
“I think I can see something,” he said, not caring that his voice echoed in the torch lit subterranean realm of the bank. The goblin did not hear him as he moved to insert the key into a keyhole of a large brass door, featureless, that matched the key. “Its like a dark, ugly blur,” he continued.
I ignored him as the locks and bolts in the brass door clicked before me, sounding like the striking of small gongs through the darkness.
The door glided open and the goblin stepped out of the way.
“Withdraw of all funds?” he grumbled.
I had told the goblin before mounting the cart exactly what I wanted to do. I had specified the Muggle banking establishment, to which I would go next to open an account so the funds could be transferred. Every major bank in Greater London had a magical liaison that was in contact with Gringotts, and that morning, before leaving the flat, I had called ahead to the nearest branch of Lloyds TSB to set up an appointment with a certain Emily Harris, a Squib.
I nodded to the goblin, before stepping into the vault, Lucius grasping my wrist again, stepping in behind me. At my entrance, a torch lit automatically, and I found myself blinded by the glitter of gold galleons haphazardly thrown, it seemed, into the ten by ten foot vault.
“This was my private account, separate from Narcissa’s or Draco’s trust. I opened it when I was fifteen, and every month, I set aside what I could…” he mused, releasing my wrist to bend down and grasp a handful of galleons.
I watched him, as he seemed to glare at the money. It made me wonder exactly how much money was in the vault. Had he used the vault as his brand of piggy bank? Apparently so.
He began stuffing galleons into his pockets, but not so many as to load down the wool coat.
Lucius had mentioned stealing before, and I wondered why having hard magical currency mattered when he was going to have every thing converted and transferred to Muggle currency.
“Take a handful,” he snapped at me while I had been standing dumbly, watching him.
I took approximately five hundred galleons, and it did not seem to make a dent in the pile in the vault.
The Lloyds TSB branch in Islington was not far from Angel Station or my flat, and as had been appointed, Lucius and I met with Emily Harris promptly at eleven o’clock.
Seeing Lucius in a Muggle setting, in Muggle London, was definitely a sight that gave me pause. What was more astonishing to me was that Emily Harris, a cheery woman of about thirty-five, did not know Lucius Malfoy. Of course, she was a Squib who lived and worked in the Muggle world, and could see Lucius, and vice versa, but I wondered how far Edwinia Glump’s curse went. Then again, Emily Harris could simply not care a whit about the goings on of the Wizarding world.
Emily Harris shook Lucius’ hand, causing him to bare his teeth in an uncomfortable smile.
I did most of the talking as Emily asked questions about the new account, and for information, Lucius could not provide any, as he was, technically, a non-person. He had no records of his existence in the Muggle world, and none in the magical world.
I would have to open the account in my name with my credentials.
Why I had not thought of this previously, I honestly could not say. Perhaps it was the anticipation of ridding myself of the thought of Lucius Malfoy that made me overlook this important detail.
Approximately an hour and fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on a bench in the shopping centre next to the branch bank, my head between my knees, trying to breathe. I had opted for fashionable denims that day, else I would be peering up my thighs to my knickers.
It did not help ease my nerves that Lucius paced maniacally on the pavement before me, muttering to himself.
Why in the nine rings of hell did I think dealing with Lucius Malfoy’s finances would be easy?
I was the primary signatory on his account, already in the process of being translated and transferred into American currency. I would have to help him further to set up some sort of proof that he did exist so he could access his money in America. I would have to ‘school’ him in the ways of the Muggle world.
Did they not have Muggle Studies at Hogwarts when he was a student?
Damn. Damn…
“If you have finished with your hysterics, Granger, we need to arrange a Portkey to Missoula, Montana.”
I felt vomit rise up into my mouth, but I swallowed quickly, lifting my face, then the rest of my upper body, to stare at the pale man who stood arms akimbo, feet planted widely apart, before me. He reminded me of an impatient child.
“M-Missoula, Montana?” I stuttered.
“That is where my money is going.”
Missoula, Montana? Had I missed a crucial bit of information?
I swallowed again, feeling the acidic bile begin to return to my stomach.
What Lucius Malfoy failed to realize was that if he intended to live as a Muggle, he would need the proper documentation, especially in the States. He would have to supply a birth certificate, a passport, apply for a visa, and then apply for citizenship if he intended to spend the rest of his life in the United States. All of this would take time.
Granted, he was a wizard, and other magical folk, particularly magical law enforcement, would not even be aware of him, but Muggle law enforcement… Lucius had himself mentioned that his magical ability was not quite what it should be when trying to use spells against Muggles.
Not only had I just opened a large money account, but also I would now have to arrange a Portkey to Missoula, Montana, and somehow figure a way to escape Lucius Malfoy and the quagmire that was his life.
The Portkey I obtained via the Ministry cost me two hundred galleons. Then, factoring in the time change, I did not schedule another sick day from work. As far as I was concerned by the time I stood with Lucius Malfoy in an alley off the Strand, holding a battered umbrella, I would leave him in Missoula, Montana, as soon as I was able to procure the proper forms so he could manage his money on his own, and have time to change before work.
I assumed Lucius knew where we would be going once we reached Missoula, Montana, and I glared at him as he grasped the Portkey, his large pale hand near mine on the curved handle of the black umbrella.
“How long?” he snapped, still irritated from my display of panic outside of the branch bank in Islington, not to mention the hour and half wait as I had left him outside the Visitor’s Entrance to the Ministry.
“A minute,” I grumbled.
Merlin, I wanted to go home, I was feeling sick after all.
When the Portkey activated, my body collided into Lucius’ larger form. Surprisingly, his free arm wrapped about my waist to hold me near as the sensation of the hook behind the navel made me gasp.
International Portkey travel is one of the most unpleasant things. I had Apparated with several stops from Trento, returning home after about an hour, but Apparating from the Continent back to Britain was not difficult or particularly draining. I would learn later that the distance in miles between London and Missoula, Montana was over four thousand, five hundred miles.
The trip seemed to last forever, and between the magical pull of the Portkey and Lucius’ firm hold on my waist, I felt as if I were being squeezed through an eye of a needle.
Then, the whirling light stopped, and my boots slammed into ground, sending me rolling over snow, Lucius Malfoy rolling with me.
When we came to a stop, he was atop me, his gasping breath coming out as visible steam in my face. His braided hair was nearly undone after another fast flying motion through air and space.
We stared at each other for an eternity, gasping, and shivering.
It was snowing in Missoula, Montana, and there was at least another six inches of snow under my back. Neither of us could move fast enough to move our bodies apart. Lucius Malfoy, hips slotted between my thighs, his arms about me, would have appeared to be an amorous pale Lothario from an outside perspective. As for me, I would have looked like a victim of a sexual assault as I had had my palms pressing against his chest with an expression of abject horror on my face.
Finally, on my feet, I began to look around, seeing my breath before my face, and snow covered hills all around. In the distance, grey snow capped mountains framed the shallow river valley that held the small American city of Missoula, Montana.
We stood on a high hill overlooking the small city, snow pouring down in a dawn cloud lit sky. The wind whipped around us, penetrating our wool coats, slapping our bare cheeks, and sending our hair into the air.
“I hope you know where you are going,” I said through chattering teeth, drawing my wand to begin casting Charms to warm my coat and shield my face from the wind.
Lucius scowled, his arms moving to hug himself.
He began walked through the snow, muttering to himself, as seemed to be habit when he was perturbed, and I followed, forgetting the battered umbrella stuck in the snow on the peak of the hill.
The Sterling Savings Bank in Missoula reminded me of banks you saw in old movies about Bonnie and Clyde. My father loves old American movies, thus I stared at the façade of the bank building with a sense of hesitation.
Missoula was, to my surprise, a nice little city in the middle of nowhere. I suppose the same could be said of my beloved Trento, but Missoula had a totally different ambience. It was America, first of all, and I always felt odd in America the few times I had visited. There was a type of artificiality about my concept of ‘America.’ It is hard to explain, really, but I could never feel at ease.
Then again, I had only ever been to New York City, Salem, Massachusetts, and Charleston, South Carolina. Missoula did not feel like those places.
There was a strange magic under my feet, deep in the frozen ground. There was a wildness about the magic I felt, which made my body hum faintly. Montana was ‘Big Sky Country,’ a place where people like me would naturally feel ill at ease.
But getting back to the present.
Missoula’s streets and sidewalks had been cleaned of snow, and there was a snow treatment on the paved road. Lucius stood just before me on the sidewalk, studying the façade of the bank where his money was being transferred, and then, he held my hand and pulled me across the street.
We were to confirm the transfer of his money first, and then go about getting him situated in the Muggle world. Simple.
Yet, there would never be anything simple about Lucius Malfoy.
His hand was cold, but large, enveloping mine like an adult’s would envelope a child’s hand, and I realized again, that Lucius was old enough to be my father though he did not look it…
We entered the bank, which had few customers, and studied the dated décor of the lobby.
It was a bank like most banks you would find—teller’s counter, a vault, small offices to meet with bankers to set up accounts or manage your money market accounts, etc. There were surveillance cameras in the high corners with red blinking lights to inform the customers that the safety of their money was important to the bank establishment. There was even a security guard in a rented uniform and revolver in a fancy patent leather holster standing near the doors. In this case, the guard was a gawky man of about sixty whose pale blue eyes watched Lucius and I move toward the teller’s counter with sheer boredom.
Though there were plenty of customers, only one teller’s window was open. Glancing to the clock over the counter, I realized that bank had probably just opened for the day. I was completely disoriented by the time change, and I could not remember what time it was when the Portkey activated in London. This fact disturbed me on some level; it was unlike me to lose all concept of time. International Portkey travel had skewed my internal bearings absolutely.
Did I mention my hesitation before entering the bank?
As we waited in line behind two other customers, my hesitation transformed into foreboding.
Now, I am not in any way in touch with my ‘inner eye’ as Sibyl Trelawney would call it, but at that moment, Lucius still holding my hand, standing in line, a part of my brain trying to decide what to say to the young woman teller with a name badge reading ‘Cindy,’ something deep and primal in my brain was telling me to run. If I had to pull Lucius along, it did not matter. Something in me told me to ‘get the hell out.’
As if on cue, the doors to the bank slammed open, bringing with it an icy gust of wind from outside and five men in black sky masks rushed into the lobby.
There was a blast of what I realized later, with Lucius’ hand pushing my face into the dark green carpet on the floor of the lobby, was a sawed off shot gun. It was just like something out of the movies, and I ground my teeth together as the ‘robbers’ said and did everything like the actors in the movies.
Get on the fucking ground… Don’t look at me… Fill the bag…
Clichéd, really.
However, I forgot about clichés when sirens sounded outside the bank, and in what seemed like only seconds I was grabbed by the hair and wrenched to my feet.
What the robbers said is unimportant, what was important was that I, Hermione Granger, war hero, brightest witch of her age, was suddenly a hostage to a band of Muggle bank robbers.
Why me? Why did I have to be the one whose hair was being tangled around a gloved hand and torn from the roots? Why did the man, who seemed to be the leader of the band, want to use me as their bargaining chip for safe passage out of the bank?
Didn’t these idiots watch movies? It never ends well when hostages are involved. There would be some hostage negotiator and a sniper on a rooftop waiting to kill or incapacitate the man who had the hostage. In the end, there might be bloodshed, and there might be casualties, and I, who had seen these films, knew it never ended well for the ‘bad guys.’
I did not scream, I did not beg, as the ‘boss’ dragged me about the lobby, peering out the windows to the bright flashing red and blue lights.
I was livid.
Customers were sniffling, some praying as one of the robbers got rough with one of the bankers who had opened the grating before the vault, another clubbing the security guard on the back of the head and taking his gun. The robbers were cursing, beginning to panic as more and more police surrounded the building.
“If they come in, I’ll shoot this bitch!” the boss shouted, perhaps thinking his confidence would bolster his comrades’ resolve. The statement only made the others nervous. “I’ll shoot this pretty bitch, and then they’ll know!”
Know what? I wanted to roll my eyes, but I was staring down at Lucius who was on the floor, gazing up at me, laughing silently.
Laughing! Of all the nerve!
The robbers were too agitated to seem to notice much beyond filling what looked to be pillowcases with bundles of American currency or peering toward the windows through the holes in their ski masks. They did not seem to interested in the tall, pale man in the long wool coat whose large hand inched toward the inside pocket of that coat.
I wanted to smile at him, but reminded myself that I did not like him very much.
Lucius Malfoy, in theory, would not exist to the AMC, the American Magical Confederation. If he were to use magic in the presence of Muggles, he would not be noticed. The only catch, however, was that I would be noticed. I still existed.
Of course, by the time the Agents, the American equivalent to Aurors, arrived, Lucius and I, hopefully, would be long gone—without a trace.
“Goddamn pigs!” the boss roared as a bullhorn sounded from outside the bank, and voice, muffled, sounded to have the robbers not harm any hostages.
Again, I wanted to roll my eyes. This robbery was possibly lifted directly from some Hollywood film.
I was yanked toward one of the windows again, wincing as I felt more of my hair pull from my scalp. Glancing toward Lucius again, I saw he had his wand, and was shifting to push himself up off the floor.
Then, he winked at me, and I slammed my eyelids shut over my eyes.
The screaming was deafening, and I could see light flash through my eyelids and smell the ozone of curses. What truly did deafen me was the sound of a gun firing very close to my right ear as the ‘boss’ hugged me against his body, using me as a human shield. The shot had me frozen except for my eyes, which opened in a panic of my own.
Did Lucius Malfoy know what a bullet could do to a living body? Was he so ignorant of Muggle culture?
Why the hell was I so worried that he might be shot or killed?
Of course, he was perfectly fine. He had either killed or Stunned the other four robbers, and the customers were crawling behind the teller’s counter, dragging the unconscious and disarmed body of the security guard with them, crying out their prayers to their Christian god.
The ‘boss’ was pressed back into a wall between two windows, his right arm out to hold a gun. I was never schooled on guns, but I knew the difference between a revolver and other guns. The ‘boss’ had an ‘other’ gun.
The ‘boss’ was only slightly taller than me, and thick set. He smelled strange, like chemicals, and I wondered then if he were under the influence of some sort of drugs.
However, my attention was on Lucius Malfoy, who stood in the middle of the lobby like some strange hero. I could still feel magic in the air, feeling it almost crackle over the skin on my face. His hair was a veritable nest of flaxen gold, and again, I thought: Viking crying ‘Odin!’ before going in for the kill to sacrifice a life to the Great Father.
Lucius never looked like this in his Death Eater garb, trying to kill me or my friends in the various skirmishes during the War…
Lucius’ eyes were like silver pools, anger gleaming from the orbs. His face was familiar, for I had seen such a vengeful snarl in my youth, deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic. To see that face again was frightening.
His wand was pointed toward me, his body poised to strike, a dueling stance. With his long black coat and his dark clothing underneath, he was very much like a shadow of the Death Eater he once was.
I had an ‘ah ha’ moment, but it lasted only a second.
“What the fuck are you?” the ‘boss’ screamed, his voice cracking with fear and horror.
The question made the corners of Lucius’ mouth twitch until he grinned malevolently.
“Why, I am the Devil, young man.”
Lucifer was a beautiful creature, wasn’t he?
Then several things happened at once, which made my mind seem to tilt off axis, and I would not be able to sort out the order of events until hours later.
First, Lucius cast, and second, I was flying across the lobby, my boots giving some resistance against the carpet under my feet. Third, Lucius caught me in an arm and pressed me to him, fourth, the violence of my sudden movement startled the ‘boss’ and he squeezed the trigger of his gun. Lastly, and simultaneously, Lucius’ wand emitted a sickly green bolt of a silent curse toward the ‘boss’ and the bullet from the gun struck me, sending myself and Lucius flying back into the floor.
This order of events meant nothing as Lucius grunted and shifted under me to look down at the blood on his sweater and coat. I was staring up into his face, and I was certain that I looked mortified.
“Fuck me…” he whispered, somehow impressed, and as the sound of breaking glass filled my ears, it was gone, and the world compressed me into Lucius’ chest, and the bank and the idiot robbers, dead or alive, was gone.
I was aware of everything around me, though I wished I had fainted.
On the other side of Apparation, I found myself in a dark room with a small window with a view of snow-covered pines. It was a closet of some sort, but I did not have time or the fortitude to ponder why I was in a closet with Lucius Malfoy hugging me close. In what seemed like a flash, I was out of the closet, in Lucius Malfoy’s arms, as he ran to carry me up stairs into another dark room.
Kicking a door open, I was in another room, this time with larger windows, and more snow-covered pines.
“Wha-what is this place?”
Lucius glanced down at me, apparently surprised that I was still conscious, but said nothing as he placed me on a dusty, cold bed.
He worked quickly, pushing open my coat and peeling back the wool from my left shoulder. I tried to see what he was looking at, but he smacked my forehead and snarled.
I had half a mind to yell at him, but the pain hit me like a Bludger to the chest.
Using well-placed Charms, my coat was removed and resting beside me on the bed, which was wide enough for two to sleep comfortably. I made a noise at the movement of wool against my body, but kept my lips shut tight.
Lucius slipped his wand between his teeth, and using both hands, ripped at my jumper, a cream coloured jumper my mum had sent me the Christmas before. I liked the jumper; I could wear it over casual denims and still look nice…
Slipping the torn sleeve from my left arm, I could see in the dim light coming through the windows that the knit was stained red with blood.
The pain, which I had just become aware of, spread from my left shoulder blade to my shoulder, to my chest. The pain alternated between a dull throb to a piercing stab. I wanted to scream, but did not, instead, I tried to look down at my shoulder again, only to have Lucius smack my forehead harder and begin muttering after dropping his wand from his teeth deftly into his bloody hand.
As he muttered, I realized he was speaking to me.
“Maybe twelve years ago, just after I was released from Azkaban, Rudy Lestrange and I were ordered to burn down the home of a Mudblood family in Shropshire. A simple thing, really…burn the house down, bar the exits, kill the family inside…
If, on the off chance, someone got out, we would kill them. Well, it seemed a simple assignment, one that would put us on better terms with the Dark Lord… We did not count on one thing, however…”
He paused, and I blinked. I was horrified at his words, but the pain was pushed aside in lieu of me listening. I could feel his hands moving over my shoulder, but when he pushed me onto my right side, I finally screamed.
I could feel my blood under me, hot and sticky. I could feel something tearing in my shoulder, and bone, shattered bone, slicing into the muscles of my back. Then I felt magic on my skin, and Lucius continued, using one hand to hold me on my side, the other to weave a spell.
“The Mudbloods had guns. We were at the back door, casting the last Charm to seal the door, when a Mudblood used a gun to shoot Rudy in the chest through the closed door. It was a shotgun, I learned later, and though someone told me that guns are heavily restricted, this Mudblood shot Rudy in the chest.
It did not kill him, of course, but it wounded him badly so that I had to be the one to set fire to the house and try to heal him while making sure none of the Mudbloods escaped.
Rudy was moaning all the while, telling me to kill the bastard who had used such magic against him. I was too frantic to get him stable to answer him, to tell him it was a Muggle gun and not magic.
To sum up, the Mudbloods burnt to death, and I took Rudy to the Dark Lord. I had saved Rudy’s life, but I was stunned. I was only vaguely aware of guns before then, but afterward, I took an interest in learning all I could about Muggle guns.”
A cooling sensation passed through me, and the slicing of bone shard into muscle disappeared, bone mending.
“You were shot with a Beretta 92, 45 millimeter semi-automatic pistol at a range of about twenty-five feet.”
The only thought: I had? How utterly interesting and totally irrelevant.
“The bullet passed through your shoulder…”
And where did it go from there? This thought troubled me as Lucius let me roll naturally onto my back.
He had been kneeling by the bed all this time, and when he rose, he winced.
I still felt pain but it was a shadow of what it had been. Finally, I glanced down at my shoulder, expecting to see a gaping bullet wound, but found only a bloody patch of skin. Lucius Malfoy had healed me.
“There now,” he whispered, drawing my attention.
As I began to sit up, he collapsed on my legs on the bed, and more blood was staining the dusty duvet.
He had taken the bullet that had passed through me, and he had known it all along.
I was adding so many mysteries to my mental list lately, and I tried to understand as I ripped off Lucius Malfoy’s clothing to find his wound, why he would save me beyond the obvious reasons. He needed me to procure his money, of course, but it was more than that.
I had no idea where I was, but I knew I was in a cold and disused house. I was straddling Lucius’ hips, my wand lighting to look quickly around the room for something I could use as light. It was day outside, but the clouds were so thick with snow that it was not light enough.
I spotted a hurricane lamp on the mantel of an empty fireplace, and cast the proper spells to light it and the fireplace with enchanted blue fire. When I had enough light to see, I searched Lucius’ body for the source of the blood oozing onto the bed under his body.
He was unconscious; his lips parted slightly, his breathing shallow. Between the physical exertion of getting me out of the Sterling Savings Bank in Missoula, carrying me into this room, and healing me, he had exhausted himself, and was gradually losing blood.
I could not be sure how life threatening my wound had been, but it was foolish to not mention where the bullet had gone.
I found the wound in his right side. A few inches to the left and the bullet would have lodged in a lung or his liver, an inch to the right, and he would only have a graze mark. As it was, the bullet was in a shallow wound in the flesh part of his side, embedded in a layer of thick muscle. No organs were damaged, but he was bleeding badly.
During and after the War, I made it priority to learn all I could about combat medicine, but I had no training with gunshot wounds. Reversing hexes, yes, but not extracting pieces of metal, projectiles, exactly…
I sighed. I, too, had lost quite a bit of blood between being shot and Lucius healing me, but I had to do something before the pale man grew any paler.
I began, hoping upon hope, that I would not inadvertently kill the man, though I had wished him dead on more than one occasion. Lucius had saved me and I owed him his life for now.
Again, I lost track of time for the second time that long day, but by the time true darkness fell outside, Lucius was healed and sleeping, compared to being strictly unconscious. As for me? It was my turn to collapse, which I did, next to him, laying across the dusty and bloody bed, my head resting on his left shoulder.
I hadn’t the energy to care about anything any longer, and I slept the sleep that comes when you have no more adrenaline or endorphins to push through your blood, a sleep that comes when your brain is overloaded and shuts down to save your soul from shattering.
I was roused by a kiss.
tbc
Author:
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Romance, Humour, Mystery
Warnings: M/F, SoloM, Oral
Summary: Hermione literally collides with trouble in an alley in Northern Italy, which will lead her through a process called ‘falling in love.’
Author's Notes: The title is a quote by Giacomo Casanova. Sorry to disappoint, but Lucius, god of sex, is not too prevalent in this fic as he is in some other things I have written. Please withhold the tomatoes and other produce you might throw in my direction. This is also an attempt at humour, contrasted to my usual ‘dark’ scribblings, so forgive the dryness, eh? Oh, and this ficlet is once again in 1st person POV. Enjoy!
L'amore è tre quarti di curiosità
IV.
“Why can’t I see anyone?”
Lucius Malfoy whinged like a child. I had a nagging suspicion that his ex-wife knew very well how a whinging Lucius Malfoy sounded.
Was this really the same man who had gotten into scuffles with Arthur Weasley? The same man who hosted Voldemort in his home at some point? The same man who tried to kill Harry in Second Year after freeing Dobby?
Apparently not.
He held to my sleeve like a lost oversized child as I wended my way through Diagon Alley the next day. I had, begrudgingly; taken a personal day from work just so I could, once and for all, try to ease my mind.
“Who do you see, Granger?” he asked, pushing against me so my arm was pinned to his chest, my hand, uncomfortably brushing against his thigh as we walked. In the chill of the winter’s day, he was very warm against me, towering over me, lording over me, and demanding me to start talking. Of course, I did not say a word, people would think I was talking to myself, I supposed rationally.
“Granger!” he snarled, gripping my arm and forcing me to stop mid step just before Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. A few passersby eyed me suspiciously, as I supposed, to them, I had suddenly been frozen in place by a spell.
“Control yourself,” I growled between tight lips, daring not to look back at the man. “I can just as easily forget to our agreement…”
His grip loosened and I was allowed to step forward naturally.
“If I could have avoided debasing myself, I would have, Granger. As it is, I need you,” he whispered frantically as I wove between a group of witches moving as a unit down the Alley, making it difficult to pass.
Interestingly, as I passed, Lucius still holding to my arm, he bumped into one witch and nearly knocked her off her feet. He did not seem to sense the witch at all.
A rude comment found my ears, but I did not turn.
The whole ordeal made me think of Harry under his Invisibility Cloak.
As we neared the crooked and high façade of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, I became nervous. Ever since breaking into the Lestrange vault, the goblins were especially surly the few times I had been in the bank since. Using a key that was not mine to a enter another vault that was not mine…
Hags and goblins were not creatures you wanted as enemies.
“Remember what I said. Present the key. The goblin will know it, it is a goblin made key. They might prompt for a password. Pavo cristatus…pavo cristatus…”
I wanted to hex him. His urgent whispering in my ear was only heightening my nervousness. I wanted to shove his beloved white pavo cristatus up his…
“Key?” the goblin grumbled.
I had run out of time to steel my resolve and my hand shook when I drew the brass key from my coat. However, while the goblin was inspecting the key, I glanced back to Lucius whose eyes were narrowed and blinking.
“Eerie,” he breathed, and I knew that he could not see the army of goblins swarming in the main hall of the bank. In fact, I wondered what he saw when the goblin cleared his throat in a harsh rasp to catch my attention again.
“Password?”
I enunciated the Latin name of the Indian Peacock and sighed as the goblin nodded.
“Follow me.”
After so many years, I have developed a resistance to motion sickness, whether it be flying or the whirling carts that rattled into the bowels of the earth beneath Gringotts. Lucius seemed enjoy the harrowing trip to vault number 776. I had only glanced how his loosely braided hair flew out behind him, strands coming loose and flying about his pale face like whipping silvery snakes.
Lucius looked almost wild during the trip, and I wondered if there was some Norse blood in his stock. He looked almost like a Viking crying ‘Odin’ over the rough waves of the North Sea on his way to pillage the British coast. All he needed was a thick blond beard…
“I think I can see something,” he said, not caring that his voice echoed in the torch lit subterranean realm of the bank. The goblin did not hear him as he moved to insert the key into a keyhole of a large brass door, featureless, that matched the key. “Its like a dark, ugly blur,” he continued.
I ignored him as the locks and bolts in the brass door clicked before me, sounding like the striking of small gongs through the darkness.
The door glided open and the goblin stepped out of the way.
“Withdraw of all funds?” he grumbled.
I had told the goblin before mounting the cart exactly what I wanted to do. I had specified the Muggle banking establishment, to which I would go next to open an account so the funds could be transferred. Every major bank in Greater London had a magical liaison that was in contact with Gringotts, and that morning, before leaving the flat, I had called ahead to the nearest branch of Lloyds TSB to set up an appointment with a certain Emily Harris, a Squib.
I nodded to the goblin, before stepping into the vault, Lucius grasping my wrist again, stepping in behind me. At my entrance, a torch lit automatically, and I found myself blinded by the glitter of gold galleons haphazardly thrown, it seemed, into the ten by ten foot vault.
“This was my private account, separate from Narcissa’s or Draco’s trust. I opened it when I was fifteen, and every month, I set aside what I could…” he mused, releasing my wrist to bend down and grasp a handful of galleons.
I watched him, as he seemed to glare at the money. It made me wonder exactly how much money was in the vault. Had he used the vault as his brand of piggy bank? Apparently so.
He began stuffing galleons into his pockets, but not so many as to load down the wool coat.
Lucius had mentioned stealing before, and I wondered why having hard magical currency mattered when he was going to have every thing converted and transferred to Muggle currency.
“Take a handful,” he snapped at me while I had been standing dumbly, watching him.
I took approximately five hundred galleons, and it did not seem to make a dent in the pile in the vault.
The Lloyds TSB branch in Islington was not far from Angel Station or my flat, and as had been appointed, Lucius and I met with Emily Harris promptly at eleven o’clock.
Seeing Lucius in a Muggle setting, in Muggle London, was definitely a sight that gave me pause. What was more astonishing to me was that Emily Harris, a cheery woman of about thirty-five, did not know Lucius Malfoy. Of course, she was a Squib who lived and worked in the Muggle world, and could see Lucius, and vice versa, but I wondered how far Edwinia Glump’s curse went. Then again, Emily Harris could simply not care a whit about the goings on of the Wizarding world.
Emily Harris shook Lucius’ hand, causing him to bare his teeth in an uncomfortable smile.
I did most of the talking as Emily asked questions about the new account, and for information, Lucius could not provide any, as he was, technically, a non-person. He had no records of his existence in the Muggle world, and none in the magical world.
I would have to open the account in my name with my credentials.
Why I had not thought of this previously, I honestly could not say. Perhaps it was the anticipation of ridding myself of the thought of Lucius Malfoy that made me overlook this important detail.
Approximately an hour and fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on a bench in the shopping centre next to the branch bank, my head between my knees, trying to breathe. I had opted for fashionable denims that day, else I would be peering up my thighs to my knickers.
It did not help ease my nerves that Lucius paced maniacally on the pavement before me, muttering to himself.
Why in the nine rings of hell did I think dealing with Lucius Malfoy’s finances would be easy?
I was the primary signatory on his account, already in the process of being translated and transferred into American currency. I would have to help him further to set up some sort of proof that he did exist so he could access his money in America. I would have to ‘school’ him in the ways of the Muggle world.
Did they not have Muggle Studies at Hogwarts when he was a student?
Damn. Damn…
“If you have finished with your hysterics, Granger, we need to arrange a Portkey to Missoula, Montana.”
I felt vomit rise up into my mouth, but I swallowed quickly, lifting my face, then the rest of my upper body, to stare at the pale man who stood arms akimbo, feet planted widely apart, before me. He reminded me of an impatient child.
“M-Missoula, Montana?” I stuttered.
“That is where my money is going.”
Missoula, Montana? Had I missed a crucial bit of information?
I swallowed again, feeling the acidic bile begin to return to my stomach.
What Lucius Malfoy failed to realize was that if he intended to live as a Muggle, he would need the proper documentation, especially in the States. He would have to supply a birth certificate, a passport, apply for a visa, and then apply for citizenship if he intended to spend the rest of his life in the United States. All of this would take time.
Granted, he was a wizard, and other magical folk, particularly magical law enforcement, would not even be aware of him, but Muggle law enforcement… Lucius had himself mentioned that his magical ability was not quite what it should be when trying to use spells against Muggles.
Not only had I just opened a large money account, but also I would now have to arrange a Portkey to Missoula, Montana, and somehow figure a way to escape Lucius Malfoy and the quagmire that was his life.
The Portkey I obtained via the Ministry cost me two hundred galleons. Then, factoring in the time change, I did not schedule another sick day from work. As far as I was concerned by the time I stood with Lucius Malfoy in an alley off the Strand, holding a battered umbrella, I would leave him in Missoula, Montana, as soon as I was able to procure the proper forms so he could manage his money on his own, and have time to change before work.
I assumed Lucius knew where we would be going once we reached Missoula, Montana, and I glared at him as he grasped the Portkey, his large pale hand near mine on the curved handle of the black umbrella.
“How long?” he snapped, still irritated from my display of panic outside of the branch bank in Islington, not to mention the hour and half wait as I had left him outside the Visitor’s Entrance to the Ministry.
“A minute,” I grumbled.
Merlin, I wanted to go home, I was feeling sick after all.
When the Portkey activated, my body collided into Lucius’ larger form. Surprisingly, his free arm wrapped about my waist to hold me near as the sensation of the hook behind the navel made me gasp.
International Portkey travel is one of the most unpleasant things. I had Apparated with several stops from Trento, returning home after about an hour, but Apparating from the Continent back to Britain was not difficult or particularly draining. I would learn later that the distance in miles between London and Missoula, Montana was over four thousand, five hundred miles.
The trip seemed to last forever, and between the magical pull of the Portkey and Lucius’ firm hold on my waist, I felt as if I were being squeezed through an eye of a needle.
Then, the whirling light stopped, and my boots slammed into ground, sending me rolling over snow, Lucius Malfoy rolling with me.
When we came to a stop, he was atop me, his gasping breath coming out as visible steam in my face. His braided hair was nearly undone after another fast flying motion through air and space.
We stared at each other for an eternity, gasping, and shivering.
It was snowing in Missoula, Montana, and there was at least another six inches of snow under my back. Neither of us could move fast enough to move our bodies apart. Lucius Malfoy, hips slotted between my thighs, his arms about me, would have appeared to be an amorous pale Lothario from an outside perspective. As for me, I would have looked like a victim of a sexual assault as I had had my palms pressing against his chest with an expression of abject horror on my face.
Finally, on my feet, I began to look around, seeing my breath before my face, and snow covered hills all around. In the distance, grey snow capped mountains framed the shallow river valley that held the small American city of Missoula, Montana.
We stood on a high hill overlooking the small city, snow pouring down in a dawn cloud lit sky. The wind whipped around us, penetrating our wool coats, slapping our bare cheeks, and sending our hair into the air.
“I hope you know where you are going,” I said through chattering teeth, drawing my wand to begin casting Charms to warm my coat and shield my face from the wind.
Lucius scowled, his arms moving to hug himself.
He began walked through the snow, muttering to himself, as seemed to be habit when he was perturbed, and I followed, forgetting the battered umbrella stuck in the snow on the peak of the hill.
The Sterling Savings Bank in Missoula reminded me of banks you saw in old movies about Bonnie and Clyde. My father loves old American movies, thus I stared at the façade of the bank building with a sense of hesitation.
Missoula was, to my surprise, a nice little city in the middle of nowhere. I suppose the same could be said of my beloved Trento, but Missoula had a totally different ambience. It was America, first of all, and I always felt odd in America the few times I had visited. There was a type of artificiality about my concept of ‘America.’ It is hard to explain, really, but I could never feel at ease.
Then again, I had only ever been to New York City, Salem, Massachusetts, and Charleston, South Carolina. Missoula did not feel like those places.
There was a strange magic under my feet, deep in the frozen ground. There was a wildness about the magic I felt, which made my body hum faintly. Montana was ‘Big Sky Country,’ a place where people like me would naturally feel ill at ease.
But getting back to the present.
Missoula’s streets and sidewalks had been cleaned of snow, and there was a snow treatment on the paved road. Lucius stood just before me on the sidewalk, studying the façade of the bank where his money was being transferred, and then, he held my hand and pulled me across the street.
We were to confirm the transfer of his money first, and then go about getting him situated in the Muggle world. Simple.
Yet, there would never be anything simple about Lucius Malfoy.
His hand was cold, but large, enveloping mine like an adult’s would envelope a child’s hand, and I realized again, that Lucius was old enough to be my father though he did not look it…
We entered the bank, which had few customers, and studied the dated décor of the lobby.
It was a bank like most banks you would find—teller’s counter, a vault, small offices to meet with bankers to set up accounts or manage your money market accounts, etc. There were surveillance cameras in the high corners with red blinking lights to inform the customers that the safety of their money was important to the bank establishment. There was even a security guard in a rented uniform and revolver in a fancy patent leather holster standing near the doors. In this case, the guard was a gawky man of about sixty whose pale blue eyes watched Lucius and I move toward the teller’s counter with sheer boredom.
Though there were plenty of customers, only one teller’s window was open. Glancing to the clock over the counter, I realized that bank had probably just opened for the day. I was completely disoriented by the time change, and I could not remember what time it was when the Portkey activated in London. This fact disturbed me on some level; it was unlike me to lose all concept of time. International Portkey travel had skewed my internal bearings absolutely.
Did I mention my hesitation before entering the bank?
As we waited in line behind two other customers, my hesitation transformed into foreboding.
Now, I am not in any way in touch with my ‘inner eye’ as Sibyl Trelawney would call it, but at that moment, Lucius still holding my hand, standing in line, a part of my brain trying to decide what to say to the young woman teller with a name badge reading ‘Cindy,’ something deep and primal in my brain was telling me to run. If I had to pull Lucius along, it did not matter. Something in me told me to ‘get the hell out.’
As if on cue, the doors to the bank slammed open, bringing with it an icy gust of wind from outside and five men in black sky masks rushed into the lobby.
There was a blast of what I realized later, with Lucius’ hand pushing my face into the dark green carpet on the floor of the lobby, was a sawed off shot gun. It was just like something out of the movies, and I ground my teeth together as the ‘robbers’ said and did everything like the actors in the movies.
Get on the fucking ground… Don’t look at me… Fill the bag…
Clichéd, really.
However, I forgot about clichés when sirens sounded outside the bank, and in what seemed like only seconds I was grabbed by the hair and wrenched to my feet.
What the robbers said is unimportant, what was important was that I, Hermione Granger, war hero, brightest witch of her age, was suddenly a hostage to a band of Muggle bank robbers.
Why me? Why did I have to be the one whose hair was being tangled around a gloved hand and torn from the roots? Why did the man, who seemed to be the leader of the band, want to use me as their bargaining chip for safe passage out of the bank?
Didn’t these idiots watch movies? It never ends well when hostages are involved. There would be some hostage negotiator and a sniper on a rooftop waiting to kill or incapacitate the man who had the hostage. In the end, there might be bloodshed, and there might be casualties, and I, who had seen these films, knew it never ended well for the ‘bad guys.’
I did not scream, I did not beg, as the ‘boss’ dragged me about the lobby, peering out the windows to the bright flashing red and blue lights.
I was livid.
Customers were sniffling, some praying as one of the robbers got rough with one of the bankers who had opened the grating before the vault, another clubbing the security guard on the back of the head and taking his gun. The robbers were cursing, beginning to panic as more and more police surrounded the building.
“If they come in, I’ll shoot this bitch!” the boss shouted, perhaps thinking his confidence would bolster his comrades’ resolve. The statement only made the others nervous. “I’ll shoot this pretty bitch, and then they’ll know!”
Know what? I wanted to roll my eyes, but I was staring down at Lucius who was on the floor, gazing up at me, laughing silently.
Laughing! Of all the nerve!
The robbers were too agitated to seem to notice much beyond filling what looked to be pillowcases with bundles of American currency or peering toward the windows through the holes in their ski masks. They did not seem to interested in the tall, pale man in the long wool coat whose large hand inched toward the inside pocket of that coat.
I wanted to smile at him, but reminded myself that I did not like him very much.
Lucius Malfoy, in theory, would not exist to the AMC, the American Magical Confederation. If he were to use magic in the presence of Muggles, he would not be noticed. The only catch, however, was that I would be noticed. I still existed.
Of course, by the time the Agents, the American equivalent to Aurors, arrived, Lucius and I, hopefully, would be long gone—without a trace.
“Goddamn pigs!” the boss roared as a bullhorn sounded from outside the bank, and voice, muffled, sounded to have the robbers not harm any hostages.
Again, I wanted to roll my eyes. This robbery was possibly lifted directly from some Hollywood film.
I was yanked toward one of the windows again, wincing as I felt more of my hair pull from my scalp. Glancing toward Lucius again, I saw he had his wand, and was shifting to push himself up off the floor.
Then, he winked at me, and I slammed my eyelids shut over my eyes.
The screaming was deafening, and I could see light flash through my eyelids and smell the ozone of curses. What truly did deafen me was the sound of a gun firing very close to my right ear as the ‘boss’ hugged me against his body, using me as a human shield. The shot had me frozen except for my eyes, which opened in a panic of my own.
Did Lucius Malfoy know what a bullet could do to a living body? Was he so ignorant of Muggle culture?
Why the hell was I so worried that he might be shot or killed?
Of course, he was perfectly fine. He had either killed or Stunned the other four robbers, and the customers were crawling behind the teller’s counter, dragging the unconscious and disarmed body of the security guard with them, crying out their prayers to their Christian god.
The ‘boss’ was pressed back into a wall between two windows, his right arm out to hold a gun. I was never schooled on guns, but I knew the difference between a revolver and other guns. The ‘boss’ had an ‘other’ gun.
The ‘boss’ was only slightly taller than me, and thick set. He smelled strange, like chemicals, and I wondered then if he were under the influence of some sort of drugs.
However, my attention was on Lucius Malfoy, who stood in the middle of the lobby like some strange hero. I could still feel magic in the air, feeling it almost crackle over the skin on my face. His hair was a veritable nest of flaxen gold, and again, I thought: Viking crying ‘Odin!’ before going in for the kill to sacrifice a life to the Great Father.
Lucius never looked like this in his Death Eater garb, trying to kill me or my friends in the various skirmishes during the War…
Lucius’ eyes were like silver pools, anger gleaming from the orbs. His face was familiar, for I had seen such a vengeful snarl in my youth, deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic. To see that face again was frightening.
His wand was pointed toward me, his body poised to strike, a dueling stance. With his long black coat and his dark clothing underneath, he was very much like a shadow of the Death Eater he once was.
I had an ‘ah ha’ moment, but it lasted only a second.
“What the fuck are you?” the ‘boss’ screamed, his voice cracking with fear and horror.
The question made the corners of Lucius’ mouth twitch until he grinned malevolently.
“Why, I am the Devil, young man.”
Lucifer was a beautiful creature, wasn’t he?
Then several things happened at once, which made my mind seem to tilt off axis, and I would not be able to sort out the order of events until hours later.
First, Lucius cast, and second, I was flying across the lobby, my boots giving some resistance against the carpet under my feet. Third, Lucius caught me in an arm and pressed me to him, fourth, the violence of my sudden movement startled the ‘boss’ and he squeezed the trigger of his gun. Lastly, and simultaneously, Lucius’ wand emitted a sickly green bolt of a silent curse toward the ‘boss’ and the bullet from the gun struck me, sending myself and Lucius flying back into the floor.
This order of events meant nothing as Lucius grunted and shifted under me to look down at the blood on his sweater and coat. I was staring up into his face, and I was certain that I looked mortified.
“Fuck me…” he whispered, somehow impressed, and as the sound of breaking glass filled my ears, it was gone, and the world compressed me into Lucius’ chest, and the bank and the idiot robbers, dead or alive, was gone.
I was aware of everything around me, though I wished I had fainted.
On the other side of Apparation, I found myself in a dark room with a small window with a view of snow-covered pines. It was a closet of some sort, but I did not have time or the fortitude to ponder why I was in a closet with Lucius Malfoy hugging me close. In what seemed like a flash, I was out of the closet, in Lucius Malfoy’s arms, as he ran to carry me up stairs into another dark room.
Kicking a door open, I was in another room, this time with larger windows, and more snow-covered pines.
“Wha-what is this place?”
Lucius glanced down at me, apparently surprised that I was still conscious, but said nothing as he placed me on a dusty, cold bed.
He worked quickly, pushing open my coat and peeling back the wool from my left shoulder. I tried to see what he was looking at, but he smacked my forehead and snarled.
I had half a mind to yell at him, but the pain hit me like a Bludger to the chest.
Using well-placed Charms, my coat was removed and resting beside me on the bed, which was wide enough for two to sleep comfortably. I made a noise at the movement of wool against my body, but kept my lips shut tight.
Lucius slipped his wand between his teeth, and using both hands, ripped at my jumper, a cream coloured jumper my mum had sent me the Christmas before. I liked the jumper; I could wear it over casual denims and still look nice…
Slipping the torn sleeve from my left arm, I could see in the dim light coming through the windows that the knit was stained red with blood.
The pain, which I had just become aware of, spread from my left shoulder blade to my shoulder, to my chest. The pain alternated between a dull throb to a piercing stab. I wanted to scream, but did not, instead, I tried to look down at my shoulder again, only to have Lucius smack my forehead harder and begin muttering after dropping his wand from his teeth deftly into his bloody hand.
As he muttered, I realized he was speaking to me.
“Maybe twelve years ago, just after I was released from Azkaban, Rudy Lestrange and I were ordered to burn down the home of a Mudblood family in Shropshire. A simple thing, really…burn the house down, bar the exits, kill the family inside…
If, on the off chance, someone got out, we would kill them. Well, it seemed a simple assignment, one that would put us on better terms with the Dark Lord… We did not count on one thing, however…”
He paused, and I blinked. I was horrified at his words, but the pain was pushed aside in lieu of me listening. I could feel his hands moving over my shoulder, but when he pushed me onto my right side, I finally screamed.
I could feel my blood under me, hot and sticky. I could feel something tearing in my shoulder, and bone, shattered bone, slicing into the muscles of my back. Then I felt magic on my skin, and Lucius continued, using one hand to hold me on my side, the other to weave a spell.
“The Mudbloods had guns. We were at the back door, casting the last Charm to seal the door, when a Mudblood used a gun to shoot Rudy in the chest through the closed door. It was a shotgun, I learned later, and though someone told me that guns are heavily restricted, this Mudblood shot Rudy in the chest.
It did not kill him, of course, but it wounded him badly so that I had to be the one to set fire to the house and try to heal him while making sure none of the Mudbloods escaped.
Rudy was moaning all the while, telling me to kill the bastard who had used such magic against him. I was too frantic to get him stable to answer him, to tell him it was a Muggle gun and not magic.
To sum up, the Mudbloods burnt to death, and I took Rudy to the Dark Lord. I had saved Rudy’s life, but I was stunned. I was only vaguely aware of guns before then, but afterward, I took an interest in learning all I could about Muggle guns.”
A cooling sensation passed through me, and the slicing of bone shard into muscle disappeared, bone mending.
“You were shot with a Beretta 92, 45 millimeter semi-automatic pistol at a range of about twenty-five feet.”
The only thought: I had? How utterly interesting and totally irrelevant.
“The bullet passed through your shoulder…”
And where did it go from there? This thought troubled me as Lucius let me roll naturally onto my back.
He had been kneeling by the bed all this time, and when he rose, he winced.
I still felt pain but it was a shadow of what it had been. Finally, I glanced down at my shoulder, expecting to see a gaping bullet wound, but found only a bloody patch of skin. Lucius Malfoy had healed me.
“There now,” he whispered, drawing my attention.
As I began to sit up, he collapsed on my legs on the bed, and more blood was staining the dusty duvet.
He had taken the bullet that had passed through me, and he had known it all along.
I was adding so many mysteries to my mental list lately, and I tried to understand as I ripped off Lucius Malfoy’s clothing to find his wound, why he would save me beyond the obvious reasons. He needed me to procure his money, of course, but it was more than that.
I had no idea where I was, but I knew I was in a cold and disused house. I was straddling Lucius’ hips, my wand lighting to look quickly around the room for something I could use as light. It was day outside, but the clouds were so thick with snow that it was not light enough.
I spotted a hurricane lamp on the mantel of an empty fireplace, and cast the proper spells to light it and the fireplace with enchanted blue fire. When I had enough light to see, I searched Lucius’ body for the source of the blood oozing onto the bed under his body.
He was unconscious; his lips parted slightly, his breathing shallow. Between the physical exertion of getting me out of the Sterling Savings Bank in Missoula, carrying me into this room, and healing me, he had exhausted himself, and was gradually losing blood.
I could not be sure how life threatening my wound had been, but it was foolish to not mention where the bullet had gone.
I found the wound in his right side. A few inches to the left and the bullet would have lodged in a lung or his liver, an inch to the right, and he would only have a graze mark. As it was, the bullet was in a shallow wound in the flesh part of his side, embedded in a layer of thick muscle. No organs were damaged, but he was bleeding badly.
During and after the War, I made it priority to learn all I could about combat medicine, but I had no training with gunshot wounds. Reversing hexes, yes, but not extracting pieces of metal, projectiles, exactly…
I sighed. I, too, had lost quite a bit of blood between being shot and Lucius healing me, but I had to do something before the pale man grew any paler.
I began, hoping upon hope, that I would not inadvertently kill the man, though I had wished him dead on more than one occasion. Lucius had saved me and I owed him his life for now.
Again, I lost track of time for the second time that long day, but by the time true darkness fell outside, Lucius was healed and sleeping, compared to being strictly unconscious. As for me? It was my turn to collapse, which I did, next to him, laying across the dusty and bloody bed, my head resting on his left shoulder.
I hadn’t the energy to care about anything any longer, and I slept the sleep that comes when you have no more adrenaline or endorphins to push through your blood, a sleep that comes when your brain is overloaded and shuts down to save your soul from shattering.
I was roused by a kiss.
tbc