L\'amore è tre quarti di curiosità

Title: L'amore è tre quarti di curiosità (Love is three quarters curiosity)
Author: ianthe_waiting
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




V.


Before I went on holiday, I, hindsight, made a terrible error. As I said, this I figured out, in hindsight.

Being an Unspeakable, there is little I can divulge about what it is I actually do in the Department of Mysteries, but I can say this: the Department of Mysteries, at least, one room, is the home for some of the most dangerous magical devices created in the past millennia. Part of the fun of this room, which we, Unspeakables, fondly call the ‘junk cupboard,’ is that half the rubbish in the room is so old that no one knows what most of it is. This ignorance is fraught with danger, of course, and we take every precaution not to blink ourselves out of existence in touching a device that looks suspiciously like a Muggle electric toothbrush or something as benign as a shoehorn.

Two days before my holiday, I drew the short straw.

Every so often, we tidy up the ‘junk cupboard’ to make room for new acquisitions, and as it was, we had several large crates of mysterious confiscated magical devices cluttering up the Time Room. It was my turn to enter the ‘junk cupboard,’ taking precious time from my current project, which I cannot speak about.

The cupboard was more like a warehouse; so long, that no one truly knew how large the ‘cupboard’ was or how far it ran underneath Greater London. Only the stupidly curious would venture far, sometimes returning, sometimes not. I was only planning on going within sight of the door, shifting things on the wooden racks that ran the length of the room, seven racks in all reaching so high that one would need to Levitate oneself to reach the top approximately three stories up.

To make a long and complicated story short, I found an interesting device on the twenty-third shelf up, about twenty feet from the door. I had Conjured a ladder, preferring to have my feet on something solid.

The only way to describe the device that I found is by trying, and most likely failing, to have one picture a ball, like a child’s toy ball, as large as a Quaffle. The ball is composed of several bands that can be twisted along one axis; differing from a Muggle Rubix Cube my father likes to play with between dental appointments.

The only reason I noticed it was that it was pretty.

Yes, Hermione Granger likes pretty and shiny things.

The seven tracks were jewel tinted in garnet, emerald, sapphire, topaz, diamond, amethyst, and onyx. Embossed in polished bronze were tiny markings, similar to cuneiform. There was no tag attached, as most objects had tags, usually marked with question marks and speculations as to what the object could be.

I touched it, and nothing happened. I fitted the ball into my palm, and nothing happened.

Never one to pass up a puzzle, or perhaps because I was so enchanted by the colourful surface, I, stupidly, twisted the emerald track so it clicked pleasantly. Maybe it was a puzzle box, I thought, only in spherical form. Leaning into the ladder, I turned the ball around and around, admiring the colours, studying the markings. The ball did not seem magical at all, there was no humming that I found with most magical items when I touched them—it seemed benign if not mysterious.

I suppose I handled the ball for about five minutes before remembering that I needed to shove things out of the way to make room for more things. It was as I was settling the ball on the rack again, making sure it would not roll off the edge and fall to the floor far below, that I noticed that it did indeed have a tag, half obscured by dust resting near to where I had lifted the ball from the rack.

‘Absolute luck/Destiny device. Handle with caution. Creator/creation date unknown.’

Absolute luck/Destiny device?

The sound of one of my colleagues Levitating the crates into the room distracted me, and I, as I can do at times, did not think of the strange ball again. I was anticipating my holiday, and I was anxious to unload the crates and place the objects on the racks and go home to pack. I did not think of the Absolute luck/Destiny device again, not until I woke to the sensation of Lucius Malfoy kissing my mouth in a cold room in a cold house in some unknown location after being involved in an attempted bank robbery and being shot in Missoula, Montana four and half thousand miles away from home.

I thought about the ball, my mind’s thoughts still picking up my last waking thought about luck.

I had had quite a bit of bad luck lately.

Lucius was only slightly aware of whom he was kissing, and when I jabbed a thumb into his Adam’s apple, he jerked away roughly and nearly tumbled off the bed.

Said bed was dusty and bloody and my clothes were stiff with a combination of his blood and mine. At some point during my sleep, I had pulled my ruined coat over me, and was warm enough under it to be annoyed that Lucius Malfoy had opened the cocoon of warmth in moving to kiss me.

We sat up on the bed simultaneously, the hurricane lamp nearly out of oil and the magical fire I had cast in the fireplace gone. It was still dark, but by the light, I decided it was just past dawn with snow clouds obscuring the sun. We stared at each other, blinking away sleep and confusion, and realizing how filthy and bloody we still were.

Though I could still feel his warm, dry lips on mine, I could not be angry. I was more hungry, more cold, more worried than angry.

“I thought you were…” he trailed, but shook his head to stop himself from saying more.

He thought I as Narcissa, I assumed.

I shivered and pulled my coat up from my lap to my chin. Lucius’ clothes were ruined from where I had ripped and pulled to find the wound in his side, and as he ran a hand absently along the patch of dried blood on his side, he sighed, and began laughing softly, sardonically.

I said nothing. I began searching for my wand, which I had relinquished at some point during sleep, and found it resting under my left thigh.

“Where are we?” I asked, my voice very dry, as I rose from the bed and cast a new bluish fire in the fireplace to give the room, a bedroom, more light.

Lucius had found his own wand and began repairing his clothing.

“Twenty miles north of Missoula,” he answered, but not answering what I really wanted to know.

Where was this house, and why had we come here?

The room was sparsely decorated, and what décor there was, it was coated in years, maybe decades, of dust and grime. The papered walls were peeling with a pattern of what should have been pink tea roses, and the wooden floor was uneven under my feet. The bed we had laid on was an ancient four-poster, missing its hangings, and a bureau, possibly walnut, with a grimy mirror attached to the top, rested near the door in which we had entered.

There was no electrical wiring, no outlets, and no lights. The window, which was a casement window, looked over pines near the house and to bare snow covered hills beyond and dark grey mountains beyond that. There was a terrible draft from the window and I could hear wind whipping above the room in the attic space.

“This house?” I half asked, moving closer to the small grate fire and the low burning hurricane lamp on a dusty mantle.

“Just a house,” he muttered, casting a Charm to cleanse away the blood from his skin and clothes.

It was, again, not the answer I was looking for.

I sighed and my stomach grumbled in consternation. The sound filled the room and gave Lucius pause.

I did not glance to him, sinking to the floor to see the damage to my own clothing in the light of the fire. I was missing a sleeve, the jumper ruined. Holes in my coat marked the entrance and exit of the bullet that wounded me, and I sighed again, beginning to Charm my own clothes, Summoning the torn sleeve from the floor beside the bed, Charming away the black, dried blood.

The sound of Lucius rising to his feet made the floorboards creak, but I did not look at him.

I suppose I was embarrassed about his kiss, not meant for me. I suppose I was in shock by the bank robbery and being shot.

I had never been shot before… Tortured via Cruciatus, suffered a near fatal Cutting Curse by Anton Dolohov, been Petrified, yes, yes, and yes, but never shot by a Muggle with a gun.

“I’m missing work,” I breathed, in a type of shock, the reality of my current situation settling into my brain.

Lucius snorted as he moved to the window, casting a spell to seal the gap around the window to stop the icy breeze blowing into the room.

His snort mocked me. As if to say ‘who cares about your stupid little Ministry job.’ I ground my teeth as I stared into the bluish fire.

I wanted to know where I was and how soon I could leave.

“Is this your house?” I asked, none too pleasantly.

“It was my father’s,” he answered just as he began pacing the floorboards.

The nervous habit did nothing to soothe my fraying nerves.

Lucius continued, however, his voice angry as he paced, making the uneven floor rattle under where I knelt by the fire.

“No enchantments, no wards, just a fucking Muggle house in the middle of fucking nowhere…”

I blinked. Lucius Malfoy’s father had a Muggle house in the middle of nowhere, Montana?

“No elves, no amenities, my father and his ridiculous notions of solitude…” he continued.

I sniffed, rubbing my face with my hand and then moving the hand to my rumbling stomach. I could not remember the last time I had eaten.

As Lucius had said, I could feel no magic in the house, nothing to tell me that this house, no matter what the state, had been owned or inhabited by anyone the least bit magical.

“Why Missoula?”

My question, the sound of my voice, seemed to startle Lucius and he stopped pacing. I could feel his eyes on my back, as I donned my repaired and cleaned coat.

“Location,” he answered calmly. “It is so far removed from anything magical, and there is this house, that is mine by right, and it not warded against me.”

I think I nodded, understanding a bit better. “You intend to live here then?”

He sighed, and his boots shuffled slightly to the fire, where he leaned against the mantle to warm his once wounded side.

“No,” he muttered. “I had intended to find the one to help break the curse so I could return to my life.”

No lack of sarcasm there.

“But I had a back up plan, as should anyone in this sort of situation. This is the back up plan,” he said, his hand moving as if to reveal the room as part of the house, his new home.

I read the ‘back up plan’ as this: if he could not find or have a chance at wooing the one who could break the curse, he would content himself, somehow with living outside the world that had nurtured him—alone.

It was all the makings of a good tragedy, and for a millisecond, I felt sorry for him. A millisecond, I say again.

“You still need your money,” I reminded him, but wanted to slap myself for speaking.

He nodded, crossing his arms before his chest and pressing his shoulder into the mantle. In the magical firelight, the features of his face were cast in harsh relief. Lucius Malfoy looked ancient and exhausted. He also appeared to be thinking.

“I will pay you…”

I blinked and turned my face up to him fully.

“If you would set the account up in a manner in which I could easily access the funds, that is. I would hire your for a reasonable sum to manage my Muggle finances…”

“I am not an accountant,” I muttered, pulling my knees up under my chin to hug my legs.

“No, but you know how the Muggle system works…”

I sniffed again. Was I really the only person who would have to do this? I was not indebted…no, I was indebted to him for saving my life, but I had also saved his. That made us even, in my opinion.

“No.”

“No?” he asked if I had somehow offended his honour by existing.

“I am going home.”

And I was on my feet, despite the weakness from hunger that was beginning to take its toll, and away from the fire before Lucius could blink. I would Disapparate on the spot. I could go anywhere in North America, I assumed, and I thought of the nearest ‘magical’ city, trying to remember basic geography. I could go to Chicago, Seattle, or Las Vegas and obtain a Portkey back to London, surely.

“You are going nowhere.”

Why in the world had I assumed just because Lucius Malfoy was vulnerable that he was not dangerous? Why had I turned my back on him?

I had taken perhaps five paces away from the fire, my wand drawn, picturing what I knew of Chicago in my head, when I was suddenly frozen in place, my wand slipping to the floor from my stiff fingers, unable to even blink.

I was not so tired and hungry that the anger that bubbled up began to make my face burn. It was the anger that let the enchantment that held me broke.

I should note that I do have a temper. Of course, if you were to ask Harry, Ron, or even Draco Malfoy, I have more that a ‘little’ temper. So, when I whirled to find Lucius Malfoy moving up behind me to do whatever evil thing he intended to do, I attacked.

During my schooldays, I had a sharp hand that would slap a ferret like Draco Malfoy senseless. I also had a vicious right jab that had a tendency to break noses. Considering my height and my overall size, I was underestimated very often. As an adult, and an Unspeakable who must endure hours of physical training comparable to that of an Auror, my physical defense was lethal.

It was obvious that Lucius Malfoy thought trading blows was too plebian for when my fist connected with his patrician face, he howled. More blood was shed, and as his hands flew to his nose, I took the opportunity to plunge my fist, a right uppercut, in his hard gut, forcing him to double over. As a finishing touch, I threw a left hook into the side of his head, which was just in reach, and he went flying. I had not even had to use the jujitsu.

I would say that at six feet four inches and approximately fifteen stone, the fact Lucius Malfoy flew across the room, colliding roughly with the bureau near the door, shattering the mirror, I had probably added a bit of pent up magical energy to attack.

Besides feeling rather satisfied with myself that Lucius Malfoy’s sharp nose was broken and he was lolling, dazed on the dusty floor with shards of mirror, I was ravenously hungry, and I had no American money.

Supposing I could find a bank, not the Sterling Savings Bank, that would exchange pounds for American dollars, I could tuck into a fatty American meal. Maybe a cheeseburger… I felt that my change purse was in a hidden pocket, shrunken, in my coat. I always carried some Muggle money; on the off chance, I would need it.

Lucius moaned on the floor, his eyes fluttering, his mouth stained from the slow ooze of blood from his nose.

I did not feel sorry for him in the least. He had dragged me all the way to America, and factoring in that my luck had turned bad ever since I collided into him in an alley in Trento, the best solution was to run.

Therefore, I ran, more like Disapparated, as soon as I plucked my wand from the floor.



I had not been focusing well when I Disapparated. Where I ended up, I attributed to my continued bad luck; of course, I only say this because it was not Chicago. In fact, I should have been grateful I did not end up in the middle of Lake Michigan.

Where I was took a bit of panicked searching, but I stood on a near empty street in a town near a large body of water.

Sister Bay, Wisconsin, I learned by looking at a storefront window. Picturing a map of the United States, I realized I had Apparated approximately fifteen hundred miles, give or take. I wondered, idly, if I had set a new record. This thought was immediately wiped from my mind as a gust of wind from Lake Michigan slammed into my body, penetrating my wool coat and blowing my disgustingly dusty and mussed hair back behind my skull.

I was beginning to hate winter.

With no Muggle money or American currency, I stood on an icy sidewalk on a generic street corner, wondering what to do. My stomach made me decide, and I acted.

Pawnshop, the neon sign said, and it had just opened for the day, it being just ten after eight in the morning according to the electric board on a bank down the street, which would not be open soon enough to make stomach stop devouring itself.

However, before I approached the pawnshop, I ducked into a smaller side street in an alee of a door and drew my wand from my pocket and a handful of gold galleons. Gold always sells, and if I only fetched enough American dollars for a big breakfast, I did not care.

A little alchemy, a little Transfiguration, and I had what appeared to be a handful of gold British Britannias. Thank Merlin I remembered what they looked like—hurrah for eidetic memory! Of course, I had only seen one in my life, my great uncle Basil had given one to me on my tenth birthday, and it was sitting in a fire proof lock box in my parent’s closet in Melbourne still.

My stomach made me irritable, but to sum up, I walked from the pawnshop with four hundred dollars for two fake Britannias. I was now a criminal, a counterfeiter, but I was too starved to care. I only sold two, keeping some sensibility that I might be questioned, by Bill, the proprietor of the pawnshop, standing before a shiny glass case of Muggle handguns. He only gave me a once over before calculating the worth of the pure gold bullions. Pawnshop owners never ask too many questions, apparently.

A fair amount of walking, more like slipping down the icy sidewalks, had me in the first open diner.

The Sister Bay Diner was the type of place you saw on American television, bright and cheery, smelling of deep fry and grease, with waitresses with too much makeup and old men sitting in booths, having risen early to congregate and drink coffee. It was just foreign enough to make me stand just inside the glass door and look about.

Please seat yourself, a sign said near the door, and so, I did, in a cracked red upholstered booth near the counter in the back of the diner where several men in heavy camouflaged coats were eating breakfast from platters and drinking strong coffee. Over the counter, on the wall, were boards with the day’s breakfast specials written in jazzy script.

“What’ll be, hun?”

I had not sensed the waitress approach, a buxom bottle blond woman with a nametag that read ‘Brenda.’ She had a small receipt tablet in her hand and a blue biro, waiting with a bored expression on her middle aged face.

“The Great Lakes Special?” I said with a plaintive edge. I had no idea what it was, but by the name, I assumed it was a large breakfast.

“How ya want your eggs?”

I blinked. How did I want my eggs?

“Scrambled,” I said, seeing out the corner of my eye that one man was dripping egg yolk from his fried egg onto his lap from a bit of toast.

“Patties or links?”

“Pardon?”

‘Brenda’ looked at me, amused.

“You’re not from ‘round here, are ya?”

I shook my head, “Links.” She had meant bangers…

“And to drink?”

“Coffee,” I said with a hungry, caffeine starved tone.

‘Brenda’ flashed a smile, stretching her pale pink painted lips and told me it would ‘come right up,’ but she would bring the coffee first, pulling out wrapped silverware from her apron and setting it before me on the table.

When she was gone, I sighed. It was not a minute before she returned with a thick mug, pouring coffee, and asking if I wanted cream. I did not and thanked her.

The first sip was heavenly, albeit very strong and bitter. I could almost feel the caffeine suffusing my brain, spreading to the rest of my body. I was fueling my brain, and I was thinking of what to do next.

I would Apparate to Chicago, find the local branch of the AMC, and arrange for a Portkey back to London. It might take a while, but I was sure I could afford it. My department head would be furious with me for missing work, and though I could not legitimately explain why I was in Chicago, I had a pleasant working relationship with my head. I could smooth it over.

A ‘Great Lakes Special’ was just what I had hoped—a large serving of scrambled eggs, link sausages, fried potatoes, thick sausage gravy, two biscuits, and a side of heated spiced apples. I ate as if I had been starved for years.

Brenda refilled my coffee twice as I ate, a satisfied smile on her lips, and I was not asked any questions. I had to resist the urge to lick the plate clean.

I asked for the lavatory, and finally saw myself in the mirror of the small room after tending to necessities and washing my hands. There was dust on my coat and in my hair, which was a literal solid tangle of curls. I had a streak of dried blood on my neck for some reason, and I remembered that when I had punched Lucius’ nose, it had spurted blood. The collar of my wool coat hid the blood, for the most part, but I then noticed that one of my knuckles was swollen on my left hand. My hands looked as though I had been punching a brick wall repeatedly, but my hands did not hurt, not yet.

I sighed and proceeded to wash my face and try to drag my fingers through my hair, unsuccessfully. I considered using my wand, but left it in my coat pocket with my Muggle American money. Until I could find a more private place, I would not draw my wand so near to Muggles.

As I exited the bathroom to finish my coffee and pay my bill, I realized as soon as I stepped out into the diner the cheery atmosphere had taken a turn toward the dark.

Standing in the middle of the diner, his nose repaired, the blood Vanished, was Lucius Malfoy. Everyone was staring at him. It was the combination of his dusty coat, his wild pale hair, the sneer on his face, and his overall air of ‘not belonging.’

He did not see me. I had pressed myself into the wall of the small corridor leading back to the lavatories, kitchen door, office, and back door. Ah, the back door, which had a sign reading in red letters ‘No Exit.’ It would be an exit if I wanted it to be an exit.

“I am looking for my wife,” Lucius announced to the morning patrons who looked at him with suspicious eyes over rims of coffee cups or over morning newspapers. “She would be about this tall…” and he raised a pale hand to his chest, approximately to where I would stand. “…in her early thirties, brunette, and in a dark red wool coat.”

What a generic description… I almost expected him to say ‘with a rat’s nest for hair, freckles on the bridge of her nose, dusty, with a sour expression on her face.’

“Has she been in?” he asked, his purring voice filling the diner.

No one spoke, but stared, suspicion turning into a type of enchantment.

I began edging for the backdoor. I had not thought he would come after me…

“She’s just in the bathroom, hun,” I heard my waitress say with a nervous chirp from somewhere near the counter where I could not see. “That’s her table there, if you wanna wait…”

I saw Lucius nod and then glide out of my range of vision.

I could just as easily slip out the back; have him pay for my meal, and Apparate to Chicago.

I did not, and for the life of me, I do not know why. I inhaled deeply, smoothed my hands over my coat, feeling my wand and money in my outer coat pocket, and nodded to myself. I returned to my table, seeing that Brenda, Merlin love her, brought Lucius a cup of coffee and had warmed my cup as well and taken away my empty plate and silverware.

Sliding into the booth, I found that the eyes of the customers had moved to the booth where Lucius sat with his elbows on the table, smiling demurely at me, as if we had planned to meet at the diner for breakfast.

We stared at each other, me with a scowl, he with the fake smile, until the eyes drifted away from our table and life resumed in the Sister Bay Diner.

“If you were my wife, Miss Granger, I would horse whip you for such an assault,” he said with a pleasant purr. “Luckily, you are not my wife…” he trailed.

I was not his wife so he would have no qualms about returning the favour in kind; I supposed he wanted to say.

I wanted to ask why he had ‘tracked’ me again, which was, obviously, the only reason why he would ever set foot in a ‘greasy spoon’ like this diner in Wisconsin. Then I remembered he wanted his money.

“You will return with me to Missoula once everything has settled down after the robbery, and you will get me my money, do you understand?”

He said this through his teeth, which were perfectly straight, white, and at the same time, menacing.

I did not answer him, my hands going for my mug to hold it between my hands to keep them from visible shaking from my anger and anxiety. I wanted to whinge and say that I wanted to go home, that I never wanted to see him again, but I hate whinging about anything.

“I will get your damned money, if you vow that you will never show yourself to me for the rest of your natural, or unnatural, life,” I hissed so low that I would not cause a stir.

Lucius did not make a sound, but barred his teeth a bit more, the smile turning into something far more sinister. He did not answer, and after several moments of this teeth baring and scowling, I could take no more.

I dug out two twenty-dollar bills and tossed them on the table from my coat, and slid out of the booth, not caring about change. I would find a way to keep him from tracking me, and that would be the end of it. As far as I was concerned, my dealings with Lucius Malfoy were over, he could figure out how to access his money by himself.

However, as I began to move to the door, his hand lashed out and caught my left wrist and I was jerked back toward the booth. Lucius’ scowl and barring of teeth had turned into a mask of unrestrained fury, and the hold on my wrist was crushing. He was about to rise when suddenly, thankfully, a voice sounded next to me.

“Is he bothering you, miss?”

I turned my eyes to the new figure, and saw that he was one of the men who had been sitting at the counter, and under his heavy camouflage coat, he had on a sheriff’s badge and carried a side arm in a holster at his waist. The Sister Bay Sheriff was a shorter man in his forties with a neatly trimmed moustache, black, and a full head of straight black hair that was also neatly trimmed and combed.

“Yes, sir,” I managed to grind out as Lucius squeezed my wrist tighter, apparently to warn me not to say a word.

The Sheriff’s right hand, which had been hanging by his side, slowly inched toward his gun.

“Is he your husband?”

The peace officer had a rich, deep, locally accented voice, and in that voice, I heard authority. This man was respected in the community, and again, all eyes were upon us.

“No, sir, he is not,” I stated, meeting the Sheriff’s dark eyes under thick black brows.

The stern façade of the man’s face only strengthened and he nodded, turning those dark eyes to Lucius who did not seem to want to acknowledge the only man with a gun in the diner.

“Sir, you will release this lady.”

My feeling of safety with a Muggle sheriff was misplaced. Lucius had proved that he could cast faster than a man could draw a gun. Compared to the Muggle sheriff, Lucius Malfoy was a seasoned warrior, a professional killer.

I considered this quickly as I glanced back to Lucius whose right hand was moving to his coat, slowly, out of the view of the sheriff.

“Sir, I am sorry to cause a stir, but I…” I started, but already the sheriff had a hand on my shoulder, stepping around me to speak to Lucius more directly, and already, Lucius had his wand in his hand under the table while slowly releasing my wrist with the other in order to move.

I could see the chain of events about to be set into motion, and the result would not be pleasant. Therefore, I did the one thing that made my insides scream about my pride, but my brain said ‘this is the best for all involved.’

I pretended to faint.

I am not a good actress. There was the time when I lured Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest to have her ultimately accosted and Merlin knows what else… There was the time I had to pass as Bellatrix Lestrange to enter the Lestrange vault… Other than that, I was a terrible actress.

However, my little ‘act’ had the desired affect.

I swooned, eyes rolling back into my head, mouth opening to release a sigh, my knees crumpling, my body going lax. There was a cacophony around me, and I was in the arms of Lucius Malfoy, his wand poking into the small of my back, hidden from view, and the waitress calling out for help. The sound of shuffling feet and the questions came.

Someone had pulled chairs from the central tables together to form a makeshift cot and I was laid down while someone pressed a cool towel to my forehead. I suppose I had pulled the swoon off, as Brenda was commenting how pale I looked.

Lucius, I could just see through my eyelashes, was bending over me, and to my surprise, he truly looked concerned, and began, like an idiot, slapping my cheeks gently, bringing colour back to my face.

Merlin’s hairy arse…

With a soft moan, to keep in the act, my eyes fluttered open.

“Oh thank goodness,” I heard Brenda say, but I did not see her.

Then the sheriff was leaning over me, pushing Lucius out of the way, his dark eyes studying my face with what appeared to be conflict.

I spoke, and the act evolved into something greater, worthy of an award.

“I’m sorry,” I began. “It is all a misunderstanding, sir…”
I went on to explain that Lucius was not my husband, but my lover. I was his ‘girlfriend,’ and we had had an argument the night before.

“What about?”

I played that I might faint again, and the sheriff’s tone softened as he knelt down next to me on the chairs.

I confided in a whisper that I was pregnant. I did blush, honestly, at this false confession. I continued by saying that we, as in Lucius and myself, were on a vacation of sorts, as to explain our accents. The simplicity of the explanation worked.

“I don’t want the baby…” I trailed, feeling tears begin to well up in my eyes.

Oh what tripe.

I did not want the ‘baby,’ he did. We argued, I left our hotel in a rush the night before, and he found me, hoping to ‘work things out.’ It was all a misunderstanding, officer…

All the while, I was telling the Sister Bay Sheriff this tale, Lucius was standing near my feet, and he was still with blood draining embarrassment.

“Will you be safe with him, miss?”

I nodded, the damp towel falling from my forehead. “Yes, sir,” and said again, it was all a misunderstanding and that I was sorry for causing such a fuss.

Then, I was on the icy street again, holding Lucius Malfoy’s hand, still acting. We had left the diner; the bill paid with an extra tip, acting very much like the lovers I had claimed we were. The sheriff had followed us out, and before we turned the corner, I paused to move to the tips of my toes and kiss Lucius on the cheek before turning back to the sheriff to call out a thank you.

I did feel a little faint after the diner and the sheriff was out of sight. Though I felt faint, Lucius looked like his head was going to explode or implode, depending on how you wanted to interpret the bloodless skin, pale furrowed brow, and compressed lips. He looked as if he were trying to mentally wish something into existence or out of existence—that was how hard his face was…

We ended up walking right out of town, which took quite a while, and along the icy shore of the bay. The wind was cutting, but it was not enough to cause Lucius to stop from glaring at the dark water.

“I’m going to Chicago,” I said, breaking the silence, pulling my hand out his.

He said nothing, but stared out across the water.

I waited, my hunger gone, but my head aching as if I were still hungry.

“No, you are not.”

I sighed. I was so very much finished with this battle of wills. I took a step back from him, and he whirled, face shifting from stillness to ire.

His arms flew around me, and I knew he thought I was going to Disapparate. I had not planned to do such a thing at that moment, and his forward momentum had us both falling to an icy and rocky shore, knocking the air out of me and nearly sending my Great Lakes Special into the Great Lake.

I coughed for air, which burnt into my lungs, icy and dry.

Despite the clumsiness of the action, Lucius was still furious.

“You are the only magical person I have seen in five years! The only witch I will ever see for the rest of my life! Do you expect me to simply let you go on your way?” he shouted in my face, his breath hot and scented with coffee. “If I have only you, a filthy Mudblood, to connect me to my life, I will follow you to the ends of the earth just to be able to be…be Lucius Malfoy, Pure-blood wizard!”

He rolled off me, while I was wide eyed with the violence of the sound of his voice that had assaulted my ears. I could even feel spittle on my face, cooling in the winter air.

Lucius stood with his back to me, his fists clenched at his sides, shoulder quaking.

“This is a fucking nightmare!” he screamed to the water.

I jumped at his voice just as I was sitting up on the shore.

“I don’t want to fall in love with you!”

I winced. The feeling was mutual, however, he had turned on me like a wild beast, his grey eyes flashing dangerously. His worn boots scuffed in the rocky shore, and I found myself scrambling backward, the palms of my hands cutting into the sharp ice and wet stone.

“But I have to, if I want to…”

His voice had dropped to a low growl, more dangerous than his expression.

I thought he might have gone mad.

“I will make you love me and break this sodding curse.”

I was on my feet by this point and my own boots dragged into the shore. My hand was on my wand in my pocket, and if I would need to hex him, I would. Or, if I had to use my fists again, bruising the knuckles until the skin broke and bled, I would.

“You, just you…” he mumbled, his shoulders dropping in defeat, his eyes growing distant, his voice softening. “Of all the witches in the world, it would be you.”

I blinked at his tone. Did he hate me so much?

Personally, I had never done anything, directly, to harm or offend the man. His son? Of course. But Lucius Malfoy? Never.

The idea of him hating me, offended me, and I felt a rush perilous pride.

“And you should be thankful it was me, Malfoy!” I shouted at him, my hands balling into fists.

I was inviting more misery, but I was not really thinking that far ahead.

“I could have killed you and I would not have minded what consequences there were. I would be killing no one!”

The anger was in full throe, and I could not stop myself. I was screaming at him, venting my spleen. I was not fully aware how much bile I still had inside after so many years. I had come into realizing I was a witch in a world with Tom Riddle, and after his demise, I was still adjusting my mindset.

“Love you? I despise you and everything you stand for!”

Just like my temper, my true anger was extreme, and I was saying half-truths. I did despise him and everything he stood for, but the force behind my words was not so strong, at least, not in my head.

Lucius Malfoy expected compliance from everyone and everything, and when he did not get it, he attacked. I was not a victim, and would not be ever again.

“I hope you rot in your self-pity. I hope you never find peace or love or happiness. You deserve nothing bu—“

And he kissed me, and this time, I was Hermione Granger and not Narcissa Malfoy.