The Kill Shot
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Lucius/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
13,019
Reviews:
45
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Lucius/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
13,019
Reviews:
45
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I don’t own the world of Harry Potter, or the characters – I just borrow them on occasion. I’m most definitely not making any money off this.
Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Hermione looked over the parchment one final time. She was to Apparate to the gates of Azkaban, where she would be met by Julian MacKennon, warden of the prison. He would have Lucius Malfoy brought to a secure room where Hermione would be able to interview him. Lucius would be shackled, although it was still recommended that Hermione leave her wand with the warden. That wasn’t a worry; she was quite proficient in wandless magic. Although if Lucius were restrained, she didn’t know why there would be a concern about Lucius being able to overpower her and take her wand. Regardless, it really wasn’t an issue. The parchment did, however, emphasize that there was no guarantee that Lucius would be willing to talk to her. No kidding, she thought dryly. But I’ve got something that might just make him willing to talk. At least she hoped she did.
“’To the last, I grapple with thee; From hell’s heart, I stab at thee,’” the long-haired, wild-eyed wizard sitting across the table hissed at her, his face wild with rage, his features almost unidentifiable. Hermione tried to hold back a smirk; she had said nothing when she entered the room, but merely sat down, uncertain as to how she was going to begin. Lucius, however, saved her from having to decide how to proceed by beginning his tirade. And now she felt like she was in an old Muggle movie about warring space travelers. The resemblance was surprisingly uncanny, yet Lucius couldn’t possibly have seen the movie. He just couldn’t.
“Melville,” Hermione commented calmly. Or Ricardo Montalban, she thought inanely, successfully suppressing a hysterical giggle; this was absurd. “I didn’t realize you were so well versed in Muggle literature, Mr. Malfoy.”
“’For hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at thee,” he snarled, his eyes flashing malevolently. Hermione sighed. Maybe almost seven months in Azkaban had taken its toll on the wizard. She suddenly worried whether he’d even remember about secret chambers or Dark Arts items in his house.
“Very well, Captain Ahab.” Lucius’ eyes’ narrowed somewhat. Maybe he was surprised that I know the reference? Why would he be surprised? I’m the Muggle around here. Frankly, I’m amazed that he knows it well enough to quote it. “Although, if memory serves me, the whale wins, despite Ahab’s fulminations.” She smiled serenely at him, watching him closely for a reaction.
She wasn’t disappointed. His eyes became hard but lost the wild, confused look they had held moments ago. So is this just an act he puts on? Lucius may be many things, but I don’t think crazy is one of them. Perhaps he isn’t as affected by Azkaban as he wants people to believe. Even with the Dementors gone, Azkaban is still a scary place. And yet Lucius seems to have weathered his stay fairly well. Interesting. His jaw muscles clenched but, ironically, his face seemed to soften. In fact, he looked quite a bit more like Lucius Malfoy in his glory days than some poor soul who had been in Azkaban for over a half a year. Even the plain blue cotton shirt he was wearing couldn’t detract from his inherent aristocratic bearing.
For a moment neither witch nor wizard spoke. They sat across the table from one another, taking each other’s measure. Finally, Lucius spoke in a surprisingly soft voice that was marred by the slight sneer on his lips. “You are not a whale, Miss, ah—” his eyes searched the air around her for a moment— “Miss Granger. And unlike Ahab, I did not damn myself to the unceasing pursuit an impossible desire.”
Hermione made a point of looking at the stark walls of the room in which they were sitting. “I would argue that you’ve done just that. This time you and the whale just happened to be on the same side; and you both lost.”
Lucius’ nostrils flared angrily although the rest of his face remained calm. “Why are you here? Is it considered sport at the Ministry to taunt the failed?” His voice was icy.
Hermione considered for a moment; best to stick with her original story to begin with. “Mr. Malfoy,” she began, fighting to sound pleasant in the face of Lucius’ coldly superior tone. “I am here because the Ministry has tasked me with identifying and removing Dark Arts items from your Manor.”
There was a sneering laugh from the blond across the table. “And you accuse me of pursuing an unobtainable goal? I hope you’ve got a lifetime to dedicate to my house. And I doubt even that will be enough. No matter how good you are.” The emphasis on the word “my” made Hermione smile inwardly. Lucius was still Lucius; maybe he would be able to provide some insight into the night of the Final Battle after all. Surely someone with such a great sense of personal pride wouldn’t want to hide his key role in the death Voldemort. But he has hidden his role, she reminded herself, still puzzled.
“Mr. Malfoy,” she continued, hoping that by treating him with respect, she’d be more likely to make some progress, “I have been authorized by the Ministry to negotiate your sentence in Azkaban if you are willing to provide information relating to the Dark Arts items in your Manor.”
A hint of a smile crossed the blond wizard’s lips and he sat back in his chair, his eyes surveying her with more interest. “Are you, now? And what sort of negotiations are you allowed to enter into?” He ended his question with the slightest of leers.
Merlin’s balls, Hermione thought briefly. He couldn’t possibly be suggesting—oh, hell, of course he could. Not that that is going to happen. But I’d better be on my toes here. He’s definitely in full possession of his faculties. Which really makes the Melville thing all the more bizarre. Is he trying to catch me off guard? Or does he just find it amusing? Trying to prove that she wasn’t easily rattled, she replied, “It depends on what you are willing to offer.” She ignored his now blatant leer. “If you can provide me with substantial information concerning your Dark Arts items, I may be able to have your sentence shortened, or possibly commuted to a facility other than Azkaban.”
Still relaxed, Lucius’ eyebrows raised in surprise. “Indeed? And the Ministry sends a slip of a girl to make this negotiation? Either the Ministry doubts my mental capacities, or they have a great deal of faith in yours. I wonder which is closer to the truth,” his voice dropping as if he were speaking to himself.
“I am the one working in your house, sir. I am the best person to determine whether the information you give me is worth anything or not,” she replied, her voice a bit tight, but hoping the “sir” came out as patronizing.
“So I could tell you everything, you could use the information to further your, ah, career, and then come back and say I told you nothing useful, and everything you discovered was through your own cleverness.” His lips were pinched in controlled fury, and Hermione started to speak but was immediately cut off. “I don’t think so,” he finished, coldly.
Damnit. And damn Lucius to hell, with Ahab and the fucking whale. “Just because that is something you would do does not mean it is something I would do.” She paused for a brief moment, collecting her thoughts. “I guess I mistook you for a man who was willing to take chances. I mean, I would have thought someone who was willing to risk his own life and those of his family, not to mention his fortune and family name, on the slightest chance that some maniacal wizard would grant him some semblance of power would be willing to take a chance to remove himself from the predicament in which his earlier risk-taking resulted. But,” she sighed dramatically, “I guess I was wrong.” She fought but failed to keep a smirk off her lips.
“It could be argued,” Lucius drawled, sounding as though he were holding a civilized discussion in the refined atmosphere of his study, “that since my ‘risk-taking’, as you have named it, had such catastrophic results in the past, I might not be willing to take additional chances. Surely you wouldn’t expect a man who has lost a fortune gambling to place a bet on the next horse race he encounters.”
“I would expect it of a man who gambled in the past and was now being told he was being handed a ‘sure thing’,” Hermione replied icily. Damn him. If he’s going to be stubborn for the sake of being stubborn, I may just leap across the table and throttle him. It’s not like anyone ever choked to death by swallowing their pride.
“I have likely gambled more Galleons on horses than you have ever—” he paused, clearly thinking better of what he was about to say, and then continued— “than you have. And I can assure you a ‘sure thing’ does not exist.” His grey eyes surveyed her dispassionately. “So while I appreciate your offer to further your career at my expense, I am afraid I must decline said offer.” He paused and smirked. “But please send me an owl sometime—if it can find its way out of the back cupboard that comprises your office at the Ministry, that is.” He lifted his chin to indicate he was done with this conversation.
”From hell’s heart I stab at thee”, Hermione echoed viciously, before her calmer self regained control. Hold on. Calm down. This is what he’s trying to do. Time to pull out the big guns, Granger.
She took a breath and muttered, “Muffliatio”. She didn’t think anyone from the Ministry was listening in on this conversation, but it wouldn’t hurt to be careful.
“Fine. To hell with your Dark Arts stuff. It can sit and rot in your secret chambers, for all I care.” She felt a frisson of pleasure to notice his face registering a look of genuine surprise. “If no one can get at it, then it can’t cause any harm, now, can it?” Her lips curved into a smile, but her eyes stared hard at his. Lucius looked as though he was about to say something, but it was Hermione’s turn to cut him off. “I really don’t give a damn. Particularly if you remain in Azkaban for the rest of your life. I’m here because I want to know why you cast the Killing Curse at Voldemort, when you were—apparently—supposed to be part of his elite guard.” She sat back, a satisfied smirk forming on her face as Lucius’ face went from smug to shocked.
He recovered quickly. “And what is the Ministry offering for that piece of information, pray tell?” he drawled, although still clearly shaken.
The young witch looked at him evenly. “Nothing. It’s a personal question.”
“Then, unfortunately for you, the answer is equally personal. And I sincerely doubt you can offer me anything,” his eyebrows raised significantly while his lips twisted into a leer, “that would make me divulge anything.”
Dammit, dammit, dammit. You arrogant bastard. “I have a preserved memory that shows you cursing Voldemort before Harry did,” Hermione tried to hide her desperation. “I know you cursed him. And likely killed him. I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell the Ministry. I don’t understand why you’d rather be in Azkaban than free.”
Lucius sat forward with interest, his forearms resting on the table, the handcuffs hindering the movement of his arms. “A memory, eh? And how, if I may ask,” his voice mockingly solicitous, “did the Ministry take this memory?”
“I haven’t shown it to anyone. Yet,” she added at his mocking sneer.
“At least you have some sense about you.” He nodded slightly in approval. “I cannot imagine the Ministry would be too keen about anything that detracts from the image of the Boy Wonder Who Destroyed Voldemort.” Sadly, Hermione had to agree with him.
“But if you remember it, with Veritaserum to verify the memory, you could get out of here,” she stated emphatically.
“True,” Lucius drawled. “But why do you care whether I’m here or not? It seems to me you would feel safer if you knew that I locked away in Azkaban. Guilty or not,” he added.
“No!” Hermione responded a little more loudly than she had planned. “If you cursed Voldemort—if you changed alliances—you shouldn’t be in here. And the truth is, you did curse Voldemort. Didn’t you?” she added lamely.
Lucius smirked. “You think the truth matters to the Ministry? Poor, naïve girl,” he finished mockingly. “Besides,” he added more wistfully, “There is nothing for me out there any more. The Ministry would never recognize me in any capacity. I have no power. No influence.” He paused. “It is not a world for me, any more.”
Then there’s nothing to be gained here, Hermione thought and stood up, preparing to leave. Lucius was still talking. “It is Draco’s world, now. Not mine. It really doesn’t matter where I live out my days. Here is as good as anywhere.”
Hermione paused as she reached the door and turned back to Lucius, not immediately hearing his final words. “Give some consideration to the Ministry’s offer about the Dark Arts items. And think about—” she paused, the blond wizard’s last words finally registering. “It’s not Draco’s world. He’s in St. Mungo’s, his memory Obliviated. It’s unlikely that he’ll ever recover. I’ll be back in a week or two, to see if you’ve changed your mind.” She turned again and left the room, her mind returning to the idea that Lucius Malfoy, of all people, could quote Melville. She never saw Lucius’ stricken face.
Circe’s wand! Was she telling the truth? Of course she was, he sighed inwardly. Anyone who is willing to take credit away from Harry Potter for the sake of a Malfoy is, well, a complete imbecile, for starters. But she was serious about seeking truth for the truth’s sake. She certainly isn’t going to lie about Draco. He cradled his head in his hands. Poor Draco! My only son. My only child. Obliviated. It was all in vain. I only meant to end the battle quickly, to make sure Draco wasn’t killed. To make sure he could carry on the family name. And I’ve failed. He uttered an almost feral growl of frustration, wishing desperately that he had something to throw.
But the girl from the Ministry—Miss Granger. She said she had a memory of me cursing Voldemort. Will she still help me? Can she help me get out of here? So I can save Draco? What would I need to convince her to help me? Certainly she offered her memory freely, but since I’ve turned her down, would she be willing to give me another chance? And if she did, she’d likely want something in return for destroying her own life. He considered for a moment. Dark Arts items. That’s what she was after. If I gave her entrance into a chamber—or possibly two—it would certainly be worth it. And if no one in the wizarding world wanted to ever associate with her again because she had freed me, well, that’s her problem, isn’t it? When was it she was coming back? A week? His lips curled into a vicious grin. A week. And I’ll be free. Or well on my way.
Hermione sighed. After leaving Azkaban she had Apparated directly back to Malfoy Manor and headed straight to the library. Is it too early for a drink? She looked out the windows at the darkening sky, and started the fire. If it’s not five o’clock here, it certainly is somewhere. She went to the sideboard and poured herself a scotch. What the hell is wrong with Lucius Malfoy, anyway? Why stay in Azkaban, when you have the opportunity to get out? Either the loss of “power and influence” is truly so devastating to him that he’d just as soon be in Azkaban, or he is, as Ron would put it, just mental. She shook her head and took a swallow of a very fine scotch. ”Mental” isn’t a real reason. What is he afraid of? More importantly, she asked herself as she took another sip, why do I care? If Lucius doesn’t care, why do I?
“Short-sighted bastard,” she grumbled out loud. No doubt he doesn’t want help from a “Mudblood”. Is he really so focused on this blood-purity nonsense that he’d cut off his aristocratic nose to spite his face? Ah, well. His fucking loss. I know the truth. I guess that will have to be enough. And I guess I’d better figure out what I’m going to do about these secret chambers. She sighed audibly. Tomorrow. Tonight I’m going to have a drink—or several—have a long bath, dinner, and curl up with a good alchemy text. I’ll owl the Ministry tomorrow.
But it was the Ministry who owled Hermione first, while she was still composing her report.
Miss Granger—
Please see me at your earliest convenience. Marcus (the owl, Hermione deduced) will wait for your reply.
K. Shacklebolt
Hermione had a brief moment of panic; had the Ministry somehow heard her conversation with Lucius about the Killing Curse? No. She didn’t think so. But she was definitely curious as to what the Minister wanted to see her about. Of course he wanted to hear how the meeting with Lucius Malfoy had gone, but she had a feeling he wanted to talk with her about more than just that.
She scribbled a quick reply:
Dear Minister (she still didn’t feel entirely comfortable referring to the Minister on a first-name basis),
I am free all afternoon. I will plan on being at your office at 2 p.m., unless I hear otherwise.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
“I’ve asked you here on a bit of a delicate matter,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said, his brow furrowed. “We, uh, have a bit of a problem.”
Hermione felt a stab of panic. Did the Ministry somehow know about her ex parte conversation with Lucius? She hoped she had masked her anxiety convincingly.
The Minister continued talking, oblivious to her concern. “The Finance department has been looking over our expenditures, and, like all accountants, is looking for a way to cut back.” Hermione nodded, relief flooding through her. Kingsley opened his mouth as if to say something, shut it briefly, and then began to speak. “In short, the Ministry is looking at the cost of the long-term care of Draco Malfoy. The accountants aren’t sure there are sufficient resources to cover his care unless an investment is made now that can be managed over time to provided continued support for Draco’s care.”
Hermione nodded but stayed silent, uncertain as to where the Minister was going with this. “The Gringotts Goblins told the accountants that if they get 100,000 Galleons to invest, Draco’s care can be secured for the rest of his life.” The Minister paused for a moment. “It’s not so much that the Ministry doesn’t have the money as that they’d rather allocate the gold elsewhere. Draco isn’t exactly a high priority item on my budget, you see.”
The young witch nodded again, uncertain as to how she was supposed to respond. “You, Ron, and Harry each received 100,000 Galleon rewards for bringing down Voldemort.” Hermione felt the panic rising again. Will the Ministry ask for the money back if they found out Harry didn’t cast the curse that actually killed Voldemort? she wondered. The older wizard must have seen the unease on her face because he added hastily, “Don’t worry; we’re not going to take back those rewards. You all earned them. However—” He paused significantly.
Damn it. Would he just get to his point? Hermione clenched her jaw muscles in frustration.
“However,” he repeated, “You have 100,000 Galleons. And the Ministry has a property it is looking to sell. A property that is unlikely to sell.” He looked at her purposefully. Hermione still had no idea what he was talking about.
“Malfoy Manor,” he prompted. Hermione had a sinking feeling; no doubt the Minister was looking to hear that she had been successful in her meeting with Lucius. But it quickly became apparent that that wasn’t the issue he wished to pursue at the moment. “You could buy it for Knuts on the Galleon.” He looked at Hermione expectantly.
“Uh, sir, the reward money is the only money I have.” Normally cautious with her funds, Hermione couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of panic at the idea that if she did what Kingsley obviously hoped she would, she would be effectively penniless. Me? Buy Malfoy Manor? Is he serious? Demeter’s grain! He’s not kidding.
“The property is worth significantly more than the 100,000 Galleons we’re asking. And,” he paused meaningfully, “you would be buying the Manor, the surrounding land and out-buildings, as well as all of the contents contained within.”
Hermione stifled a gasp. Given some of the objects she had seen in the Manor, the Minister was making her an offer that could be worth millions to her. Except for the Malfoy taint, she reminded herself.
As if reading her mind, Kingsley added, “The Malfoy name certainly makes the property hard—if not impossible, right now—for us to sell, but does not, ultimately, diminish the value. And,” he smiled, “it would provide you with a place to call your own. You could even change the name to, say, ‘Hermione House’ if you found the current name distasteful.”
Hermione chuckled. No matter what I name it, it will always be “the old Malfoy place”. Still, the offer is almost too good to be true. And if it weren’t for the Malfoy association, it would be, too. “If I changed the name, I’d have to remove the Malfoy coat of arms from the library, and I don’t think I’ll have funds left to do much redecorating after I’ve bought the place.” In spite of the fact that the purchase would result in emptying her Gringotts account, she didn’t see how she could pass up the offer. Actually, she realized giddily, I’ve already decided to buy it. But then a serious thought struck her. “But, sir—we—you—can’t sell it until I get the Dark Arts objects out of there, and Lucius was, well, uncooperative.” To say the least, she added silently.
Surprisingly, the wizard just smiled. “I didn’t expect you’d have much luck with him.” Dismissing the issue with a wave of his hand, he looked directly at her. “How are you getting on at the Manor?”
Hermione blinked at the Minister, still uncertain as to where he was going with his apparent change of subject. “Fine. Although I’m a little disappointed that I haven’t made any progress on the secret chambers.”
“How would you like to have as much time as you want to deal with the chambers?” The Minister’s eyes sparkled with pleasure.
Something was still bothering Hermione, though. “Sir, how can the Ministry legally sell Malfoy Manor?”
“Narcissa Malfoy is dead, Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban for life, so all of his property would have been inherited by his son Draco. But with Draco mentally incompetent and reliant upon state care for, quite likely, the rest of his life, the Ministry can sell Malfoy holdings to ensure Draco’s care. You see, because the only viable heir to the Malfoy line is Lucius himself, and all of Lucius’ physical property became forfeit when he openly supported Voldemort, the Ministry is free to sell his holdings as they see fit. And I see fit to do so. To you.”
“Oh,” Hermione replied softly. She considered for a brief moment. The Ministry has taken care of me—and would have taken care of me for life if I hadn’t emerged from my coma. Can I deny Draco the same care? And can I deny him the possibility that his memory might be restored some day, no matter how slim that possibility might be? No. In good conscience, I can’t let Draco be subjected to substandard care. “Very well.” She took a breath, trying to calm her racing heart. “Draw up the papers. Let’s do it.”
Your house, Mr. Malfoy? Hermione reflected on Lucius’ words. Not any more, you smug bastard. That would be my house, now. And those Dark Arts items can stay buried for centuries, now. The only question, Mr. Malfoy, is whether I should let you know you are soon to be homeless. Hermione considered. No. He had effectively lost his son. There was no point in adding insult to injury. And it certainly didn’t do to gloat.
Lucius sat on the bunk in his sparsely furnished cell. How many days have passed since the Granger girl’s visit? Seven? Eight? And when did she say she’d be back? A week, wasn’t it? Where the hell is she? If I don’t see her tomorrow, I’ll have to figure out how to request an audience with her. I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t believe Draco has been Obliviated. If it were true. And why would she lie? If it wasn’t the Ministry, and just Hermione, what possible gain was she looking for? And why was she bringing up the Varian Glen? Had she really seen him kill Voldemort? Or was she just fishing? She was friends with Potter. What possible motivation would she have to identify someone other than the Ministry’s Golden Boy as the killer of Voldemort? And kill it was. Voldemort was had been dead before he’d hit the ground. And long before Potter’s curse had hit the body. But he had done it for Draco. Draco! Damnit! If Draco wasn’t alive and healthy, then what was the point of trying to secure his son’s future by killing Voldemort? Maybe he should have taken control of the Dark Lord’s forces when he’d had the chance. He sighed. How did the Granger girl know? And why does she care?
He turned the problem over and over in his mind but couldn’t find satisfactory answers to his questions. One thing was certain, however. If Miss Granger can give me the opportunity to get out of Azkaban, I’ll do whatever she needs me to. I’ve got to get out and take care of Draco! Gods. Draco. My only son and heir. The future of my line. Obliviated. Is this it, then? After nine hundred years of struggle and strife, is the Malfoy line really going to come to an end? He sighed. No. He was still relatively young and virile. Most definitely virile. He suppressed a smirk. It’s not like there is much else to do in prison. No question about my virility. I am definitely capable of fathering another child. Assuming, of course, I can find a woman willing to bear my child. Perhaps if I was pardoned. Thor’s balls! Another twenty years of child rearing? Certainly nannies and elves can do a great deal, but there is so much that has to be passed from father to child. It was so much work with Draco. And I’m tired. More than tired. I’m weary. I can’t imagine having to start over again. But what choice do I have? If Draco is truly lost to me, I have no choice but to start over. I’ve got to get out and see Draco for myself; maybe there is a treatment for him. Maybe all is not lost. And if it is? He sighed again, running his fingers through his hair. If I have to start over, I will do what needs to be done. I am a Malfoy, and I have no other choice. The line cannot end with me. Lucius stood up and walked across his cell to the small window on the opposite wall. He could smell the sea and hear the crashing of the waves against the rocks of the island. He could also see that daylight was fading.
It had been exactly eight days since Hermione had signed the paperwork that emptied her Gringotts account and transferred ownership of Malfoy Manor to her. Standing in the library, looking out the large windows into the darkening sky, she reveled in her amazing good fortune. Me? Owning Malfoy Manor? Who’d’ve thunk it? Hermione “Mudblood” Granger, owner of one of the oldest continuously-occupied dwellings in the wizarding world! Hah! I know it’s awful to gloat, and frankly, I am dead-ass broke, but this is the single best decision I have ever made. She beamed, reflecting on the veritable acres of books that had come along with the behemoth of a house she had just purchased. If it weren’t for Dobby assuring me I didn’t have to worry about buying food, and for informing me as well that none of the house-elves wished to be freed but wanted to stay at the Manor for as long as they were welcome, I’d be stressing in a big way. But since I don’t have to worry about food, and generations of Malfoys have conveniently laid in the most spectacular wine cellar I’ve ever seen, all I have to do is read. Heh. This is awesome! Hermione grinned in appreciation. True, the mystery of the Varian Glen won’t ever be completely answered, but Lucius’ face made it quite clear that he did curse Voldemort first. I’m not crazy. I have no idea why he did it, but at least I know I’m not crazy. Still smiling, she settled herself in the wing chair in front of the fire and began to read.
The owl found her as she was banking the fire for the night.
Hermione—
Lucius Malfoy has requested an audience with you. I will leave it to you to decide whether you wish to meet with him or not.
I hope you are enjoying your new home.
—Kingsley Shacklebolt
~~~~~~
A/N: Lucius’ quote at the beginning of the chapter is from Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, when Ahab realizes the whale has won (hopefully I haven’t spoiled the plot for anyone! *grin*) It is also the same quote that Khan Noonien Singh (played by Ricardo Montalban) utters in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan when his ship is disabled, his crew is dead, and he’s dying and is trying to kill Captain Kirk. In my humble opinion, it is one of the great “track you to the ends of hell” quotes of all time, and it really seems like something Lucius would say. Did I mention I am a SERIOUS nerd? Oh, that goes without saying, huh?
Just as an FYI, this story will be finished. Mamacita-san has threatened (in the nicest possible way, of course) to duct-tape me to my computer if I start to hint that I won’t finish it. That said, I am also working on a “real” (original characters, etc., etc.) Regency romance, and so my writing time is divided. But I will finish this. Because Lucius is a nice change when I get too wrapped up in dance cards and crinolines.
Thank you all for the kind reviews – and patience. Lucius and Hermione just seem to take a while to regard each other as something other than “The Enemy”. *grin*
Hermione looked over the parchment one final time. She was to Apparate to the gates of Azkaban, where she would be met by Julian MacKennon, warden of the prison. He would have Lucius Malfoy brought to a secure room where Hermione would be able to interview him. Lucius would be shackled, although it was still recommended that Hermione leave her wand with the warden. That wasn’t a worry; she was quite proficient in wandless magic. Although if Lucius were restrained, she didn’t know why there would be a concern about Lucius being able to overpower her and take her wand. Regardless, it really wasn’t an issue. The parchment did, however, emphasize that there was no guarantee that Lucius would be willing to talk to her. No kidding, she thought dryly. But I’ve got something that might just make him willing to talk. At least she hoped she did.
“’To the last, I grapple with thee; From hell’s heart, I stab at thee,’” the long-haired, wild-eyed wizard sitting across the table hissed at her, his face wild with rage, his features almost unidentifiable. Hermione tried to hold back a smirk; she had said nothing when she entered the room, but merely sat down, uncertain as to how she was going to begin. Lucius, however, saved her from having to decide how to proceed by beginning his tirade. And now she felt like she was in an old Muggle movie about warring space travelers. The resemblance was surprisingly uncanny, yet Lucius couldn’t possibly have seen the movie. He just couldn’t.
“Melville,” Hermione commented calmly. Or Ricardo Montalban, she thought inanely, successfully suppressing a hysterical giggle; this was absurd. “I didn’t realize you were so well versed in Muggle literature, Mr. Malfoy.”
“’For hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at thee,” he snarled, his eyes flashing malevolently. Hermione sighed. Maybe almost seven months in Azkaban had taken its toll on the wizard. She suddenly worried whether he’d even remember about secret chambers or Dark Arts items in his house.
“Very well, Captain Ahab.” Lucius’ eyes’ narrowed somewhat. Maybe he was surprised that I know the reference? Why would he be surprised? I’m the Muggle around here. Frankly, I’m amazed that he knows it well enough to quote it. “Although, if memory serves me, the whale wins, despite Ahab’s fulminations.” She smiled serenely at him, watching him closely for a reaction.
She wasn’t disappointed. His eyes became hard but lost the wild, confused look they had held moments ago. So is this just an act he puts on? Lucius may be many things, but I don’t think crazy is one of them. Perhaps he isn’t as affected by Azkaban as he wants people to believe. Even with the Dementors gone, Azkaban is still a scary place. And yet Lucius seems to have weathered his stay fairly well. Interesting. His jaw muscles clenched but, ironically, his face seemed to soften. In fact, he looked quite a bit more like Lucius Malfoy in his glory days than some poor soul who had been in Azkaban for over a half a year. Even the plain blue cotton shirt he was wearing couldn’t detract from his inherent aristocratic bearing.
For a moment neither witch nor wizard spoke. They sat across the table from one another, taking each other’s measure. Finally, Lucius spoke in a surprisingly soft voice that was marred by the slight sneer on his lips. “You are not a whale, Miss, ah—” his eyes searched the air around her for a moment— “Miss Granger. And unlike Ahab, I did not damn myself to the unceasing pursuit an impossible desire.”
Hermione made a point of looking at the stark walls of the room in which they were sitting. “I would argue that you’ve done just that. This time you and the whale just happened to be on the same side; and you both lost.”
Lucius’ nostrils flared angrily although the rest of his face remained calm. “Why are you here? Is it considered sport at the Ministry to taunt the failed?” His voice was icy.
Hermione considered for a moment; best to stick with her original story to begin with. “Mr. Malfoy,” she began, fighting to sound pleasant in the face of Lucius’ coldly superior tone. “I am here because the Ministry has tasked me with identifying and removing Dark Arts items from your Manor.”
There was a sneering laugh from the blond across the table. “And you accuse me of pursuing an unobtainable goal? I hope you’ve got a lifetime to dedicate to my house. And I doubt even that will be enough. No matter how good you are.” The emphasis on the word “my” made Hermione smile inwardly. Lucius was still Lucius; maybe he would be able to provide some insight into the night of the Final Battle after all. Surely someone with such a great sense of personal pride wouldn’t want to hide his key role in the death Voldemort. But he has hidden his role, she reminded herself, still puzzled.
“Mr. Malfoy,” she continued, hoping that by treating him with respect, she’d be more likely to make some progress, “I have been authorized by the Ministry to negotiate your sentence in Azkaban if you are willing to provide information relating to the Dark Arts items in your Manor.”
A hint of a smile crossed the blond wizard’s lips and he sat back in his chair, his eyes surveying her with more interest. “Are you, now? And what sort of negotiations are you allowed to enter into?” He ended his question with the slightest of leers.
Merlin’s balls, Hermione thought briefly. He couldn’t possibly be suggesting—oh, hell, of course he could. Not that that is going to happen. But I’d better be on my toes here. He’s definitely in full possession of his faculties. Which really makes the Melville thing all the more bizarre. Is he trying to catch me off guard? Or does he just find it amusing? Trying to prove that she wasn’t easily rattled, she replied, “It depends on what you are willing to offer.” She ignored his now blatant leer. “If you can provide me with substantial information concerning your Dark Arts items, I may be able to have your sentence shortened, or possibly commuted to a facility other than Azkaban.”
Still relaxed, Lucius’ eyebrows raised in surprise. “Indeed? And the Ministry sends a slip of a girl to make this negotiation? Either the Ministry doubts my mental capacities, or they have a great deal of faith in yours. I wonder which is closer to the truth,” his voice dropping as if he were speaking to himself.
“I am the one working in your house, sir. I am the best person to determine whether the information you give me is worth anything or not,” she replied, her voice a bit tight, but hoping the “sir” came out as patronizing.
“So I could tell you everything, you could use the information to further your, ah, career, and then come back and say I told you nothing useful, and everything you discovered was through your own cleverness.” His lips were pinched in controlled fury, and Hermione started to speak but was immediately cut off. “I don’t think so,” he finished, coldly.
Damnit. And damn Lucius to hell, with Ahab and the fucking whale. “Just because that is something you would do does not mean it is something I would do.” She paused for a brief moment, collecting her thoughts. “I guess I mistook you for a man who was willing to take chances. I mean, I would have thought someone who was willing to risk his own life and those of his family, not to mention his fortune and family name, on the slightest chance that some maniacal wizard would grant him some semblance of power would be willing to take a chance to remove himself from the predicament in which his earlier risk-taking resulted. But,” she sighed dramatically, “I guess I was wrong.” She fought but failed to keep a smirk off her lips.
“It could be argued,” Lucius drawled, sounding as though he were holding a civilized discussion in the refined atmosphere of his study, “that since my ‘risk-taking’, as you have named it, had such catastrophic results in the past, I might not be willing to take additional chances. Surely you wouldn’t expect a man who has lost a fortune gambling to place a bet on the next horse race he encounters.”
“I would expect it of a man who gambled in the past and was now being told he was being handed a ‘sure thing’,” Hermione replied icily. Damn him. If he’s going to be stubborn for the sake of being stubborn, I may just leap across the table and throttle him. It’s not like anyone ever choked to death by swallowing their pride.
“I have likely gambled more Galleons on horses than you have ever—” he paused, clearly thinking better of what he was about to say, and then continued— “than you have. And I can assure you a ‘sure thing’ does not exist.” His grey eyes surveyed her dispassionately. “So while I appreciate your offer to further your career at my expense, I am afraid I must decline said offer.” He paused and smirked. “But please send me an owl sometime—if it can find its way out of the back cupboard that comprises your office at the Ministry, that is.” He lifted his chin to indicate he was done with this conversation.
”From hell’s heart I stab at thee”, Hermione echoed viciously, before her calmer self regained control. Hold on. Calm down. This is what he’s trying to do. Time to pull out the big guns, Granger.
She took a breath and muttered, “Muffliatio”. She didn’t think anyone from the Ministry was listening in on this conversation, but it wouldn’t hurt to be careful.
“Fine. To hell with your Dark Arts stuff. It can sit and rot in your secret chambers, for all I care.” She felt a frisson of pleasure to notice his face registering a look of genuine surprise. “If no one can get at it, then it can’t cause any harm, now, can it?” Her lips curved into a smile, but her eyes stared hard at his. Lucius looked as though he was about to say something, but it was Hermione’s turn to cut him off. “I really don’t give a damn. Particularly if you remain in Azkaban for the rest of your life. I’m here because I want to know why you cast the Killing Curse at Voldemort, when you were—apparently—supposed to be part of his elite guard.” She sat back, a satisfied smirk forming on her face as Lucius’ face went from smug to shocked.
He recovered quickly. “And what is the Ministry offering for that piece of information, pray tell?” he drawled, although still clearly shaken.
The young witch looked at him evenly. “Nothing. It’s a personal question.”
“Then, unfortunately for you, the answer is equally personal. And I sincerely doubt you can offer me anything,” his eyebrows raised significantly while his lips twisted into a leer, “that would make me divulge anything.”
Dammit, dammit, dammit. You arrogant bastard. “I have a preserved memory that shows you cursing Voldemort before Harry did,” Hermione tried to hide her desperation. “I know you cursed him. And likely killed him. I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell the Ministry. I don’t understand why you’d rather be in Azkaban than free.”
Lucius sat forward with interest, his forearms resting on the table, the handcuffs hindering the movement of his arms. “A memory, eh? And how, if I may ask,” his voice mockingly solicitous, “did the Ministry take this memory?”
“I haven’t shown it to anyone. Yet,” she added at his mocking sneer.
“At least you have some sense about you.” He nodded slightly in approval. “I cannot imagine the Ministry would be too keen about anything that detracts from the image of the Boy Wonder Who Destroyed Voldemort.” Sadly, Hermione had to agree with him.
“But if you remember it, with Veritaserum to verify the memory, you could get out of here,” she stated emphatically.
“True,” Lucius drawled. “But why do you care whether I’m here or not? It seems to me you would feel safer if you knew that I locked away in Azkaban. Guilty or not,” he added.
“No!” Hermione responded a little more loudly than she had planned. “If you cursed Voldemort—if you changed alliances—you shouldn’t be in here. And the truth is, you did curse Voldemort. Didn’t you?” she added lamely.
Lucius smirked. “You think the truth matters to the Ministry? Poor, naïve girl,” he finished mockingly. “Besides,” he added more wistfully, “There is nothing for me out there any more. The Ministry would never recognize me in any capacity. I have no power. No influence.” He paused. “It is not a world for me, any more.”
Then there’s nothing to be gained here, Hermione thought and stood up, preparing to leave. Lucius was still talking. “It is Draco’s world, now. Not mine. It really doesn’t matter where I live out my days. Here is as good as anywhere.”
Hermione paused as she reached the door and turned back to Lucius, not immediately hearing his final words. “Give some consideration to the Ministry’s offer about the Dark Arts items. And think about—” she paused, the blond wizard’s last words finally registering. “It’s not Draco’s world. He’s in St. Mungo’s, his memory Obliviated. It’s unlikely that he’ll ever recover. I’ll be back in a week or two, to see if you’ve changed your mind.” She turned again and left the room, her mind returning to the idea that Lucius Malfoy, of all people, could quote Melville. She never saw Lucius’ stricken face.
Circe’s wand! Was she telling the truth? Of course she was, he sighed inwardly. Anyone who is willing to take credit away from Harry Potter for the sake of a Malfoy is, well, a complete imbecile, for starters. But she was serious about seeking truth for the truth’s sake. She certainly isn’t going to lie about Draco. He cradled his head in his hands. Poor Draco! My only son. My only child. Obliviated. It was all in vain. I only meant to end the battle quickly, to make sure Draco wasn’t killed. To make sure he could carry on the family name. And I’ve failed. He uttered an almost feral growl of frustration, wishing desperately that he had something to throw.
But the girl from the Ministry—Miss Granger. She said she had a memory of me cursing Voldemort. Will she still help me? Can she help me get out of here? So I can save Draco? What would I need to convince her to help me? Certainly she offered her memory freely, but since I’ve turned her down, would she be willing to give me another chance? And if she did, she’d likely want something in return for destroying her own life. He considered for a moment. Dark Arts items. That’s what she was after. If I gave her entrance into a chamber—or possibly two—it would certainly be worth it. And if no one in the wizarding world wanted to ever associate with her again because she had freed me, well, that’s her problem, isn’t it? When was it she was coming back? A week? His lips curled into a vicious grin. A week. And I’ll be free. Or well on my way.
Hermione sighed. After leaving Azkaban she had Apparated directly back to Malfoy Manor and headed straight to the library. Is it too early for a drink? She looked out the windows at the darkening sky, and started the fire. If it’s not five o’clock here, it certainly is somewhere. She went to the sideboard and poured herself a scotch. What the hell is wrong with Lucius Malfoy, anyway? Why stay in Azkaban, when you have the opportunity to get out? Either the loss of “power and influence” is truly so devastating to him that he’d just as soon be in Azkaban, or he is, as Ron would put it, just mental. She shook her head and took a swallow of a very fine scotch. ”Mental” isn’t a real reason. What is he afraid of? More importantly, she asked herself as she took another sip, why do I care? If Lucius doesn’t care, why do I?
“Short-sighted bastard,” she grumbled out loud. No doubt he doesn’t want help from a “Mudblood”. Is he really so focused on this blood-purity nonsense that he’d cut off his aristocratic nose to spite his face? Ah, well. His fucking loss. I know the truth. I guess that will have to be enough. And I guess I’d better figure out what I’m going to do about these secret chambers. She sighed audibly. Tomorrow. Tonight I’m going to have a drink—or several—have a long bath, dinner, and curl up with a good alchemy text. I’ll owl the Ministry tomorrow.
But it was the Ministry who owled Hermione first, while she was still composing her report.
Miss Granger—
Please see me at your earliest convenience. Marcus (the owl, Hermione deduced) will wait for your reply.
K. Shacklebolt
Hermione had a brief moment of panic; had the Ministry somehow heard her conversation with Lucius about the Killing Curse? No. She didn’t think so. But she was definitely curious as to what the Minister wanted to see her about. Of course he wanted to hear how the meeting with Lucius Malfoy had gone, but she had a feeling he wanted to talk with her about more than just that.
She scribbled a quick reply:
Dear Minister (she still didn’t feel entirely comfortable referring to the Minister on a first-name basis),
I am free all afternoon. I will plan on being at your office at 2 p.m., unless I hear otherwise.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
“I’ve asked you here on a bit of a delicate matter,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said, his brow furrowed. “We, uh, have a bit of a problem.”
Hermione felt a stab of panic. Did the Ministry somehow know about her ex parte conversation with Lucius? She hoped she had masked her anxiety convincingly.
The Minister continued talking, oblivious to her concern. “The Finance department has been looking over our expenditures, and, like all accountants, is looking for a way to cut back.” Hermione nodded, relief flooding through her. Kingsley opened his mouth as if to say something, shut it briefly, and then began to speak. “In short, the Ministry is looking at the cost of the long-term care of Draco Malfoy. The accountants aren’t sure there are sufficient resources to cover his care unless an investment is made now that can be managed over time to provided continued support for Draco’s care.”
Hermione nodded but stayed silent, uncertain as to where the Minister was going with this. “The Gringotts Goblins told the accountants that if they get 100,000 Galleons to invest, Draco’s care can be secured for the rest of his life.” The Minister paused for a moment. “It’s not so much that the Ministry doesn’t have the money as that they’d rather allocate the gold elsewhere. Draco isn’t exactly a high priority item on my budget, you see.”
The young witch nodded again, uncertain as to how she was supposed to respond. “You, Ron, and Harry each received 100,000 Galleon rewards for bringing down Voldemort.” Hermione felt the panic rising again. Will the Ministry ask for the money back if they found out Harry didn’t cast the curse that actually killed Voldemort? she wondered. The older wizard must have seen the unease on her face because he added hastily, “Don’t worry; we’re not going to take back those rewards. You all earned them. However—” He paused significantly.
Damn it. Would he just get to his point? Hermione clenched her jaw muscles in frustration.
“However,” he repeated, “You have 100,000 Galleons. And the Ministry has a property it is looking to sell. A property that is unlikely to sell.” He looked at her purposefully. Hermione still had no idea what he was talking about.
“Malfoy Manor,” he prompted. Hermione had a sinking feeling; no doubt the Minister was looking to hear that she had been successful in her meeting with Lucius. But it quickly became apparent that that wasn’t the issue he wished to pursue at the moment. “You could buy it for Knuts on the Galleon.” He looked at Hermione expectantly.
“Uh, sir, the reward money is the only money I have.” Normally cautious with her funds, Hermione couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of panic at the idea that if she did what Kingsley obviously hoped she would, she would be effectively penniless. Me? Buy Malfoy Manor? Is he serious? Demeter’s grain! He’s not kidding.
“The property is worth significantly more than the 100,000 Galleons we’re asking. And,” he paused meaningfully, “you would be buying the Manor, the surrounding land and out-buildings, as well as all of the contents contained within.”
Hermione stifled a gasp. Given some of the objects she had seen in the Manor, the Minister was making her an offer that could be worth millions to her. Except for the Malfoy taint, she reminded herself.
As if reading her mind, Kingsley added, “The Malfoy name certainly makes the property hard—if not impossible, right now—for us to sell, but does not, ultimately, diminish the value. And,” he smiled, “it would provide you with a place to call your own. You could even change the name to, say, ‘Hermione House’ if you found the current name distasteful.”
Hermione chuckled. No matter what I name it, it will always be “the old Malfoy place”. Still, the offer is almost too good to be true. And if it weren’t for the Malfoy association, it would be, too. “If I changed the name, I’d have to remove the Malfoy coat of arms from the library, and I don’t think I’ll have funds left to do much redecorating after I’ve bought the place.” In spite of the fact that the purchase would result in emptying her Gringotts account, she didn’t see how she could pass up the offer. Actually, she realized giddily, I’ve already decided to buy it. But then a serious thought struck her. “But, sir—we—you—can’t sell it until I get the Dark Arts objects out of there, and Lucius was, well, uncooperative.” To say the least, she added silently.
Surprisingly, the wizard just smiled. “I didn’t expect you’d have much luck with him.” Dismissing the issue with a wave of his hand, he looked directly at her. “How are you getting on at the Manor?”
Hermione blinked at the Minister, still uncertain as to where he was going with his apparent change of subject. “Fine. Although I’m a little disappointed that I haven’t made any progress on the secret chambers.”
“How would you like to have as much time as you want to deal with the chambers?” The Minister’s eyes sparkled with pleasure.
Something was still bothering Hermione, though. “Sir, how can the Ministry legally sell Malfoy Manor?”
“Narcissa Malfoy is dead, Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban for life, so all of his property would have been inherited by his son Draco. But with Draco mentally incompetent and reliant upon state care for, quite likely, the rest of his life, the Ministry can sell Malfoy holdings to ensure Draco’s care. You see, because the only viable heir to the Malfoy line is Lucius himself, and all of Lucius’ physical property became forfeit when he openly supported Voldemort, the Ministry is free to sell his holdings as they see fit. And I see fit to do so. To you.”
“Oh,” Hermione replied softly. She considered for a brief moment. The Ministry has taken care of me—and would have taken care of me for life if I hadn’t emerged from my coma. Can I deny Draco the same care? And can I deny him the possibility that his memory might be restored some day, no matter how slim that possibility might be? No. In good conscience, I can’t let Draco be subjected to substandard care. “Very well.” She took a breath, trying to calm her racing heart. “Draw up the papers. Let’s do it.”
Your house, Mr. Malfoy? Hermione reflected on Lucius’ words. Not any more, you smug bastard. That would be my house, now. And those Dark Arts items can stay buried for centuries, now. The only question, Mr. Malfoy, is whether I should let you know you are soon to be homeless. Hermione considered. No. He had effectively lost his son. There was no point in adding insult to injury. And it certainly didn’t do to gloat.
Lucius sat on the bunk in his sparsely furnished cell. How many days have passed since the Granger girl’s visit? Seven? Eight? And when did she say she’d be back? A week, wasn’t it? Where the hell is she? If I don’t see her tomorrow, I’ll have to figure out how to request an audience with her. I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t believe Draco has been Obliviated. If it were true. And why would she lie? If it wasn’t the Ministry, and just Hermione, what possible gain was she looking for? And why was she bringing up the Varian Glen? Had she really seen him kill Voldemort? Or was she just fishing? She was friends with Potter. What possible motivation would she have to identify someone other than the Ministry’s Golden Boy as the killer of Voldemort? And kill it was. Voldemort was had been dead before he’d hit the ground. And long before Potter’s curse had hit the body. But he had done it for Draco. Draco! Damnit! If Draco wasn’t alive and healthy, then what was the point of trying to secure his son’s future by killing Voldemort? Maybe he should have taken control of the Dark Lord’s forces when he’d had the chance. He sighed. How did the Granger girl know? And why does she care?
He turned the problem over and over in his mind but couldn’t find satisfactory answers to his questions. One thing was certain, however. If Miss Granger can give me the opportunity to get out of Azkaban, I’ll do whatever she needs me to. I’ve got to get out and take care of Draco! Gods. Draco. My only son and heir. The future of my line. Obliviated. Is this it, then? After nine hundred years of struggle and strife, is the Malfoy line really going to come to an end? He sighed. No. He was still relatively young and virile. Most definitely virile. He suppressed a smirk. It’s not like there is much else to do in prison. No question about my virility. I am definitely capable of fathering another child. Assuming, of course, I can find a woman willing to bear my child. Perhaps if I was pardoned. Thor’s balls! Another twenty years of child rearing? Certainly nannies and elves can do a great deal, but there is so much that has to be passed from father to child. It was so much work with Draco. And I’m tired. More than tired. I’m weary. I can’t imagine having to start over again. But what choice do I have? If Draco is truly lost to me, I have no choice but to start over. I’ve got to get out and see Draco for myself; maybe there is a treatment for him. Maybe all is not lost. And if it is? He sighed again, running his fingers through his hair. If I have to start over, I will do what needs to be done. I am a Malfoy, and I have no other choice. The line cannot end with me. Lucius stood up and walked across his cell to the small window on the opposite wall. He could smell the sea and hear the crashing of the waves against the rocks of the island. He could also see that daylight was fading.
It had been exactly eight days since Hermione had signed the paperwork that emptied her Gringotts account and transferred ownership of Malfoy Manor to her. Standing in the library, looking out the large windows into the darkening sky, she reveled in her amazing good fortune. Me? Owning Malfoy Manor? Who’d’ve thunk it? Hermione “Mudblood” Granger, owner of one of the oldest continuously-occupied dwellings in the wizarding world! Hah! I know it’s awful to gloat, and frankly, I am dead-ass broke, but this is the single best decision I have ever made. She beamed, reflecting on the veritable acres of books that had come along with the behemoth of a house she had just purchased. If it weren’t for Dobby assuring me I didn’t have to worry about buying food, and for informing me as well that none of the house-elves wished to be freed but wanted to stay at the Manor for as long as they were welcome, I’d be stressing in a big way. But since I don’t have to worry about food, and generations of Malfoys have conveniently laid in the most spectacular wine cellar I’ve ever seen, all I have to do is read. Heh. This is awesome! Hermione grinned in appreciation. True, the mystery of the Varian Glen won’t ever be completely answered, but Lucius’ face made it quite clear that he did curse Voldemort first. I’m not crazy. I have no idea why he did it, but at least I know I’m not crazy. Still smiling, she settled herself in the wing chair in front of the fire and began to read.
The owl found her as she was banking the fire for the night.
Hermione—
Lucius Malfoy has requested an audience with you. I will leave it to you to decide whether you wish to meet with him or not.
I hope you are enjoying your new home.
—Kingsley Shacklebolt
~~~~~~
A/N: Lucius’ quote at the beginning of the chapter is from Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, when Ahab realizes the whale has won (hopefully I haven’t spoiled the plot for anyone! *grin*) It is also the same quote that Khan Noonien Singh (played by Ricardo Montalban) utters in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan when his ship is disabled, his crew is dead, and he’s dying and is trying to kill Captain Kirk. In my humble opinion, it is one of the great “track you to the ends of hell” quotes of all time, and it really seems like something Lucius would say. Did I mention I am a SERIOUS nerd? Oh, that goes without saying, huh?
Just as an FYI, this story will be finished. Mamacita-san has threatened (in the nicest possible way, of course) to duct-tape me to my computer if I start to hint that I won’t finish it. That said, I am also working on a “real” (original characters, etc., etc.) Regency romance, and so my writing time is divided. But I will finish this. Because Lucius is a nice change when I get too wrapped up in dance cards and crinolines.
Thank you all for the kind reviews – and patience. Lucius and Hermione just seem to take a while to regard each other as something other than “The Enemy”. *grin*