The Kill Shot

Chapter Four





Hermione was warring with herself. Why would Lucius want to see me now? He made it rather clear that he wasn’t interested in talking with me, either about the Dark Arts items or about the Varian Glen. Now he’s so interested in talking with me that he somehow convinced Warden MacKennon to contact the Ministry about obtaining an audience with me? Has the universe suddenly turned itself inside out? Lucius Malfoy actively seeking me out? Okay. I can safely say I would have never expected that in a million years. Why does he want to see me? What is he after? Does he just want to get out of Azkaban? But if he gets out of Azkaban, the Ministry will stick him with me because I own Malfoy Manor. I can’t imagine sharing a house – even one the size of Lincolnshire – with Lucius Malfoy. Heh. And I can’t imagine Lucius Malfoy being too excited about sharing a house with a Muggle-born witch like me. Of course, he probably has no idea I own his ancestral home. Double heh. That’ll be a shock to his system. I wonder if he’ll change his mind about wanting to be released as soon as he hears that his home is no longer his own. But what does he want to talk about? The Ministry would be awfully happy to recover the Dark Arts items from the house. And if he wants to talk about the Varian Glen? Hmm. Maybe I could wait until after he’s told me what I want to know before I tell him about his house. But I really don’t want to torture the guy, surprising as that seems. Especially since he killed Voldemort. Oh, hell.



“I hope you won’t quote Melville to me today, Mr. Malfoy. And please don’t quote anyone else to me, either, actually. I have a lot on my plate at the moment, and I don’t have time to play games. What did you want to see me about?” Hermione had purposely dressed in a severe business suit and kept her tone firm, her words clipped. This time Lucius is the one who is going to be asking for favors. Not me.



Much to Hermione’s surprise, Lucius actually looked pained. “Miss Granger. I most certainly do not wish to waste your time. I would like to see if we can come to some sort of arrangement that might be, ah, mutually beneficial.” The grey eyes searched her face.



Hermione tried to conceal her growing interest with a frown. “Indeed,” she said noncommittally.



“When you were here last, you mentioned that Draco –” he swallowed – “my son – is in St. Mungo’s. Will you please tell me more about his condition?” Lucius continued to look directly at Hermione, and she failed to detect even a hint of malice in his eyes. This was weird.



“Er. I actually visited him a couple of days ago. He is physically healthy, and generally quite happy. Unfortunately, he has absolutely no memories of who he is, where he came from, or what he was doing before he woke up in St. Mungo’s several months ago.” She had gone to see Draco shortly after the purchase of Malfoy Manor was completed; she wanted to ensure that he was receiving the care he deserved and that the hospital’s Board of Directors were directly aware that his medical expenses had been taken care of. Of course, Draco had had no idea who Hermione was, but he was quite friendly and she had spent a companionable hour with him as he marveled at the moving pictures in the story books she had taken him.



Lucius sucked in his breath and looked for all the world as though he had just been punched. He swallowed hard. “What do you need from me?” When Hermione looked at him blankly, he spoke faster. “When you were here before, you said you might be able to negotiate a release for me from –” he lifted his chin to indicate his surroundings – “this place.”



Wow. What the hell happened in the last week and a half? Was it the news about Draco? Interesting. “Um. Well, yeah. I, uh –”



“Can you do it or not?” His voice was strained, and Hermione noticed lines around Lucius’ eyes that she hadn’t seen on the previous visit.



“It depends. If you can give me access to the hidden chambers in Malfoy Manor so the Dark Arts items can be safely removed, I can have you released to supervised probation at Malfoy Manor.” Her heart pounded as she spoke. Lucius Malfoy. In my house. Under my supervision. Am I crazy? And he’s got to know Malfoy Manor isn’t his any more. I’ve got to tell him.



He nodded his assent, his shoulders squaring slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, and Hermione raised her hand. “Hold on a second.” She summoned one of the guards and requested that Lucius’ shackles and handcuffs be removed as a gesture of good faith.



Lucius was surprised at her consideration but immediately felt better. Maybe she really can get me out of here. Mentally crossing his fingers, he began to speak.



Hermione scribbled notes for the next four hours as Lucius explained all of the wards, curses, and protections on each of the three chambers and the sequence for disarming each of them. He also described in exacting detail what she could expect to find in each chamber. When he finished, he leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair, looking relaxed for the first time that day.



After finishing up her notes, Hermione stood up and extended her hand to Lucius. “Mr. Malfoy, I solemnly swear to do everything in my power to secure your release.”



The wizard’s lips curved into an unexpected smile as he stood and took her hand. “A magical contract, eh? By all means.” He shook her hand firmly, the slight tingle indicating that the agreement was sealed.

---

It took specially trained Aurors half a day to remove the protections on the previously inaccessible chambers, and an additional three days to catalogue and remove all of the Dark Arts items from the chambers. Dark Arts Handlers in dragonskin protective suits removed the objects while Hermione verified each item on her list. Lucius was certainly thorough. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with his memory.



When the Dark Arts Handlers had removed the last of the objects and finished packing up their protective gear, Hermione Apparated to the Ministry.



“Lucius was extremely detailed in his instructions and descriptions. Everything that was detailed in the notes was found in the house. Based on the information provided and his complete cooperation, it is my opinion that Lucius Malfoy should be released from Azkaban.” Hermione had already had a discussion with Kingsley about Lucius’ potential release, and the Minister had given provisional approval based on the accuracy of the findings in Malfoy Manor.



Kingsley Shacklebolt sat back in his chair and gave Hermione a broad smile. “I don’t know how you managed it, but this is the single largest collection to be recovered by the Ministry in modern history.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of Ogden’s firewhisky and two glasses. “A toast to your incredible success!” He poured out a healthy measure for both of them, and then pushed one glass toward Hermione.



Hermione took the glass and raised it in a salute. “To the Ministry.”



“To the Ministry. And to you, Hermione!” His deep voice resonated in the office. They both swallowed, Hermione grimacing only slightly as the fiery liquid burned down her throat. Maybe I should give the Minister a bottle of good scotch, she thought amusedly.



“Sir. Do we have approval to release Lucius now?” Hermione was obligated to Lucius, driven by her own conscience as well as the contract she had made with the wizard.



“Of course. As we discussed, however, Lucius will need to be monitored. The Ministry as a whole does not feel comfortable with him returning as a full member of wizarding society. There are still some concerns about his, ah, conduct before the fall of Voldemort.” Hermione’s brain quickly replayed the memory of Lucius cursing Voldemort, but she knew she’d have to take things one step at a time. Now was most definitely not the time to bring up Lucius’ behavior in the Glen. Particularly since he still denied it. “As I anticipated, the Ministry is willing to release Lucius to Malfoy Manor with the assumption that he will be magically bound to the property and will be under your supervision. He can only leave the property if accompanied by you or another approved member of the Ministry, and only after the Ministry has given approval of his destination.”



Hermione nodded. It’ll have to do. He won’t be completely free, but if he’s concerned about Draco, Lucius will be much better off at the Manor than in Azkaban. I’ll just have to figure out how to break it to him that he no longer owns Malfoy Manor. “Excellent. How long will it take to draw up the paperwork? I’ve got an agreement with Lucius and I’d like to honor it as soon as possible.”



Kingsley smiled, taking another sip of his firewhisky. “You’re a brave woman, Hermione. I can’t imagine too many people who’d be willing to accept Lucius Malfoy into their house. Even with all the magical protections that are now in place.” The wizard paused briefly. “That said, the Ministry is eternally grateful to you. And I’m even happier that you were the one who ended up owning the Manor. I’m not sure we would have retrieved these Dark Arts items without your intervention. I, for one, am certainly looking forward to what you are able to do with the library.”



His grin broadened. “As for the paperwork?” He reached into his desk again and pulled out a scroll. “Here is your copy. A copy has already been owled to Azkaban. All that remains is for Lucius to be released into your custody.”



At those words, Hermione took a gulp of her firewhisky. Crap. I’m really doing this. Fuckityfuckityfuck. I am going to be responsible for Lucius Malfoy. Am I fucking crazy? What the hell was I thinking? Too late now, Granger. Besides, you’re committed. So suck it up and go get Lucius. “Thank you, sir, for doing the right thing. I have a feeling Lucius Malfoy is not the person he once was.”



The older wizard raised his eyebrows skeptically, but smiled. “I hope that’s true. I certainly see his recent actions as a step in the right direction. Perhaps, in time, he’ll be able to convince the Ministry that he is a changed man and we can loosen the restrictions on him. In the mean time, I have complete faith in your ability to keep him under control.” Kingsley stopped for a moment, appearing as if he wanted to say something else, and then thought better of it. “Please do not hesitate to ask for assistance at any time.”



“Thank you for the vote of confidence. I hope I don’t disappoint you.” Hermione was beginning to feel increasingly nervous about the task ahead of her but didn’t want the Minister to know her fears.



“I am certain you won’t disappoint. Now, let’s get this paperwork finished up so you can get on your way.” He handed Hermione a quill so she could sign the parchment releasing Lucius Malfoy into her custody. With an exaggerated flourish that she hoped would cover up her nervousness, she signed her name and took the parchment.

---

“The Ministry still has some, er, reservations about your past associations. And, unless you are willing to own up to cursing Voldemort, the Ministry – and the public – will insist on keeping the restrictions in place.” Noticing Lucius’ impassive face, she continued. “You, um, are restricted to, ah, Malfoy Manor,” Hermione felt her face flush, “unless you are with me or another authorized member of the Ministry. This includes communication by Floo.” She looked down at the piece of parchment in her hand. “ You aren’t allowed to have more than two guests at any one time without prior authorization from the Ministry. You can communicate by owl, but the Ministry reserves the right to intercept the owls.” She looked at Lucius Malfoy, who continued to be quite placid given the number of conditions placed on his release. “Not that they are likely to,” she added quickly, “but the Ministry wants to have the option.” She took a breath. “Basically, they expect me to keep an eye on you.”



Lucius’ face remained inexpressive, but his pale eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “Really? And they think you will be able to, ah, manage me? In my own house? How interesting,” he concluded silkily.



Hermione felt herself flush again. “Um. Yeah. About that. I actually will have more control over you than you think.” She took a breath. Merlin’s beard. Get on with it, Granger. “Malfoy Manor isn’t yours. I own it.”



Lucius stood up abruptly, his tone sharp. “What in Hades are you talking about? You? The Manor? No.” He slammed his hands down on the table, his eyes narrowing menacingly. “Impossible.”



Keeping her voice as calm as possible, she responded, “Quite possible, and entirely true. I’ll get you a copy of the paperwork, if you like. Your property was forfeit when you were arrested and thrown in Azkaban. The Ministry found itself in need of money and sold the Manor to me.” She paused, glaring back into the hard grey eyes, hoping she looked at least somewhat intimidating. “Do you think the Ministry would release you back to your house, with me as your only overseer, if I didn’t have complete control over the environment? You vastly underestimate the Ministry – and me – if you think we’d do that.” Hermione clenched her jaw muscles, and then forced a saccharine smile onto her face. “If it’s any consolation, the Goblins at Gringotts wouldn’t turn over access to your family vaults, so your money is still safe.” She glanced down at the parchment, taking a moment to collect herself. “Of course, any expenditure over 500 Galleons will have to be approved by the Ministry.”



“Hex me now,” he muttered uncharitably.



Hermione tried to hold her temper in check. “Look, Mr. Malfoy. Being at Malfoy Manor is a hell of a lot better than being here, isn’t it?” She didn’t give the wizard a chance to reply, but continued. “Your son – Draco – is in St. Mungo’s. There’s no way you would ever have been able to see him, or see to his care, being stuck in here. And there’s no way you could clear your own name while in Azkaban.” Seeing that she was making no headway with Lucius, she decided to take another approach. “Do you know why I bought your house? No offense,” she continued snidely, “but the snake motif doesn’t really do much for me. I bought the damned place so that the Ministry would have funds to ensure Draco’s care. So suck it up, Mr. Malfoy. I. Own. Your. House.”



Lucius remained silent, his grey eyes veiled. Hermione felt extremely exasperated. Is he really this stubborn? Mab’s knickers. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea. “The last time I checked, the Manor was quite a bit more comfortable than Azkaban. And the wine cellar is better.” No response from Lucius. Heavy sigh, she thought. Then she smirked, unable to help herself. “Besides, the house-elves will be so disappointed if you don’t go to the Manor; they’ve had your snake-print pajamas specially washed for you.” The blank look on Lucius’ face told her he probably had no sense of humor when it came to jokes at the expense of Slytherins. Or he just has no sense of humor, period, she thought with a sigh.



“Fine. If you want to stay here, you’re more than welcome to. But you won’t be able to see Draco from here. Ever.” She tilted her head to see if she was making any impression on him whatsoever, although she was rapidly reaching the point where she didn’t care if he remained in Azkaban for the rest of his life.



“Let’s go. I just hope my house is still recognizable,” he muttered.



Hermione suppressed a grin as she felt the muscles of her body relax. It’s not your house. But it’s not like I can afford to redecorate. “Don’t worry. It looks pretty much the way you remember it. But be nice to the house-elves – they are mine now, and will only do as you ask if you ask nicely.”



The blond wizard grunted something unintelligible but nodded.



***



If there was a Miss Manners in the wizarding world, I wonder how she’d recommend a hostess welcome an aristocratic wizard of highly dubious reputation, just recently released from prison, to his ancestral home which has just been purchased by said Muggle-born hostess. Hermione suppressed a hysterical giggle. This was absurd. “Welcome home. Er....” She paused. “Welcome to my home,” she repeated more firmly. Charon’s paddle. This is beyond awkward. The blond wizard raised one eyebrow with palpable distaste as he silently surveyed the entrance hall. “Uh, I’m sure you know your way around. The house-elves can help you with basic requests.” She looked directly at Lucius. “If you’re nice to them,” she repeated. “Make actual requests, not demands. I’m sure you know the difference.” He remained silent, the look of aversion still etched on his face. “I’ll, ah, be in the library.” Drinking heavily, she added silently.



“Indeed,” Lucius finally muttered, his voice sounding somewhat baffled.



Hermione swallowed her surprise. Is he trying to make me feel as uncomfortable as possible? Or is it that he’s just trying to cover up the awkwardness he feels? Regardless, a scotch is going to be needed in short order. She bit her lip in sudden realization. He probably feels the same way. She looked at the wizard. “Care to join me for a scotch?” she asked with feigned enthusiasm.



The corners of Lucius’ mouth curved upward as he inclined his head. “I think I will.”



***



Lucius followed Hermione up the stone stairs to the library. He couldn’t help but notice how her skirt fit snugly across her backside before it flared out, ending at mid-calf. Alas, she was wearing low-heeled leather boots. High heels would have been much more interesting. Especially as his imagination easily imagined filled in the details the skirt hid. His eyes looked a little higher up her frame. Miss Granger has a nice arse. He smirked happily. Maybe house arrest won’t be so bad after all.



Hermione opened one of the heavy oak doors to the library and Lucius caught it and held it for her, the smirk still on his lips. Hermione mumbled a muffled “Thanks” and walked into the room, noting that one of the house-elves – Dobby, probably – had anticipated that she’d go straight to the library and had already started the fire. She headed to the sideboard, noticing that the decanters of scotch and brandy had been filled. Definitely Dobby. She reached for a crystal glass and felt Lucius right behind her. She pulled a second glass off the shelf and placed it on the sideboard. Turning, she asked, “Scotch or brandy, Mr. Malfoy?” She bit back a smirk at the look of stupefaction that flashed across his face before he masked it with a look of practiced indifference.



“Scotch, please. And please,” he paused, the smirk firmly back on his lips, his eyes glittering, “call me Lucius. And may I call you Hermione?”



Hermione poured each of them a large measure of scotch and handed a glass to Lucius before replying. “Of course, Lucius.”



His smirk turned into a tight smile and he raised his glass. “Sláinte mhath,” he murmured. Good health.



“Sláinte mhor,” she replied, smiling into her glass before she took a sip. Great health.



Lucius took a swallow of his scotch and sighed appreciatively. Damn. She’s drinking the good stuff. Of course she is. It’s hers now. Is that why it tastes even better?



Hermione sat down in one of the two wing chairs by the fire. Lucius moved unconsciously toward his preferred chair, only to notice that the young witch had already taken his seat. My seat! Her seat. Zeus’ balls. I’ve got to remember this isn’t my home any more. Except it is my home. Until the Ministry sees fit to release me. If they ever do. He gritted his teeth. At least the scotch is good. Attempting to quash any further thoughts, he sat in the other chair, wriggling a bit in an attempt to get comfortable. This chair just isn’t comfortable. How could she have taken my chair? If I still owned this place, I’d have my own chair back, damnit.



Hermione took another sip of her drink, hoping the glass hid her smile as she watched the blond wizard try to hide the fact that he was seeking a comfortable seat in the opposite wing chair. I seem to be in his chair. Hah. Lucius Malfoy squirming. There’s something you don’t see every day. She set the glass down on the side table and looked at Lucius, who was studying the library as if he were looking for something. “Nothing’s been changed. Well, I mean, nothing substantial. I’ve been cataloguing and reorganizing the books, but nothing else has changed.” Her eyes flicked to the heavy green drapes, currently closed against the rain outside. “In fact, not much has changed here at all.”



The pale blond eyebrows rose in what Hermione was coming to recognize as a very common expression for Lucius. “Really.” His aristocratic drawl became quite pronounced. “I would have expected you to have made, ah, dramatic changes.”



Is he mocking me? Or does he actually think I have money for redecorating? Whatever. I can give as good as I get. “I think it would be a shame to make changes to such an, ah –” she paused, mimicking Lucius’ cadence – “impressive estate.” He smirked openly and she smiled in response. At least my jab wasn’t lost on him. This could be fun.



“Excellent choice in scotch,” he said, shifting slightly again in his chair. “My great-grandfather Cassius – and actually my grandfathers for many generations before him – sought out the best scotch they could find. It seems every generation has been able to locate good sources for very old scotch.” He raised his glass to eye-level, studying the amber liquid refracted through the facets of the lead crystal. “This, for instance, is a 75-year-old scotch from Islay; this was a personal favorite of Cassius’, and he purchased rather a lot of it. Unfortunately, when the main distiller died, the quality declined dramatically and Cassius was forced to seek other sources. You’ll find quite a variety in the cellar,” he added, taking an appreciate sip.



Hermione studied the liquid in her glass. “When I was down in the wine cellar I noticed there was quite a bit of it and thought that had to be a reason for it. I asked Dobby to bring up a bottle, and, well –”



“Dobby?” Lucius couldn’t hide his contempt.



“Yes.” Her voice was steely. “Dobby.”



“What’s he doing here? He’s not bound to this house.” The wizard’s eyes narrowed.



“Dobby is here to help me. He knows the Manor better than anyone, and he thought I could use a little help. Especially since I’m not used to having house-elves, and this place is quite a bit larger than the last place I lived.” Mostly because the last place I truly lived was my dorm room at Hogwarts. “Be nice to him. He’s my friend, and he can stay here here as long as he wants to.”



The blond looked at her dubiously but said nothing and took another swallow of his drink.



Hermione sat silently as the alcohol, the warmth of the fire, and the stress of the day seeped into her bones. She was tired. Maybe she’d see about having a dinner tray brought to her room. Stifling a yawn, she swallowed the last of her drink.



“Can I get you another?” Lucius stood up and reached for her glass.



What the hell. One more drink, and then a little dinner and bed. “Sure. That’d be great, thanks.” Lucius nodded and went to the sideboard. He poured their drinks and returned.



“Do you like living here?” The question caught Hermione by surprise. She had been mesmerized by the flames dancing in the fireplace.



“Uh. Yeah. I guess so. I mean, it’s a bit of a step up,” she blushed as Lucius smirked, “and it’s weird having a portrait hall full of people I don’t know,” or having a portrait hall at all, for that matter, “but the grounds are beautiful, the great hall is very grand, and, well, the library is comfortable. It’s probably one of my favorite rooms. And not just because of the books,” she added.



Lucius’ lips gave a hint of a smile. “Funny, I’ve always felt the same way. About the library, that is.” He paused. “Well, about the portrait hall, too, actually. I never met most of the people there – most were dead long before I was born, of course – and while some are willing to talk to you for hours about minutiae that happened hundreds of years ago, most of them are too interested in each other to be able to spend much time getting to know you.” He stared into the fire, clearly seeing something other than the flames. “If you are persistent enough, some of them will open up, but it takes time.” He paused. “No, I agree with you. The library is one of the most relaxing rooms in the Manor.” He stared into the fire for several moments, his thoughts guarded. Suddenly he looked up again, his expression unreadable. “What, if I may ask, do you do here? That is, how do you spend your time?”



Excuse me? She blinked at him.



“I don’t mean to pry. I’m just curious. I, ah, find myself wondering how I am to fill my days,” he mused.



“Well, ah. You are at liberty to do whatever pleases you.” Erm. Maybe that didn’t come out quite right. “Within the limits of the property of the Manor, and the law, of course,” she added, sounding more prim than she had intended. She sipped her scotch.



“What is it that you do for pleasure?” he asked innocuously.



Hermione felt herself flush, despite the bland tone of his voice. His reputation was too well-known and too sordid for her to take the question as entirely innocent. “Uh. Well. I’ve been tasked by the Ministry to catalogue the library, so I spend a good deal of time in here. Not that that’s too much of a chore. Tedious at times, but not awful.” His eyebrows rose at her comment, and she continued. “Tedious in that – well, for example, so far I’ve come across five copies of the same edition of Turba Philosophorum, all copied in what seems to be the same hand. One copy is a must for any library. Two, well, everyone occasionally forgets what they have on their shelves and buys something they already own. Three? Maybe a well-meaning friend gives you a copy for Christmas or Saturnalia, or whatever. But five? And all by the same hand? Either I’m missing something, or –”



Lucius cut her off. “Or they were on sale. My many times great-grandfather Aodh was always one for a bargain,” the wizard added mildly.



Good thing they didn’t have Costco in his time. “Okay, I can accept that,” Hermione muttered, unconvinced but not really caring. It had been a long day. “Clearly whoever bought Crasselame’s Light Coming Out of Darkness had a sense of irony.” Her eyes flicked to the Malfoy crest over the fireplace. “Or maybe it was a gift from someone who had an extreme sense of irony.”



“Ah. Yes. The text on methods for the perfection of gold. I’m sure someone saw the title and felt that it was a ‘must-have’. Or someone thought it was a clever twist on the driving motives of so many of my ancestors. And –” he paused to take a sip of his scotch – “and me.”



“And you”? She wondered at his meaning but was too tired to pursue it.



“Other than sorting through a collection of books, scrolls, and Merlin knows what else that’s been collected for the last 900 years, how do you spend your time? I’m curious to see the virtues of this house from an outside perspective.” His voice was thoughtful, and Hermione found herself amused.



“The lap pool is great. I’ve been swimming several times. But when I want to get away from it all, I run.” The grounds around the Manor had miles of paths and trails; Hermione wasn’t sure how long it would take to explore all of them, but she was enjoying the process.



“Run?” Lucius was genuinely confused. “What do you run from?”



Hermione stifled a giggle. Did he think she was chased by wild animals for fun? “Um. I don’t run from anything. Or to anything, for that matter. I just go out and run for anywhere from three to ten miles, depending on how I feel. It’s relaxing. And it clears the mind.” She took a final swallow of her scotch.



“Really.” He looked at her, the confusion still apparent on his face. “And this is enjoyable for you? How very interesting.” But it explains the rather shapely form of your buttocks, Hermione. His mind flashed back to the walk up to the library. Running. Indeed.



Hermione covered her mouth with her hand, unable to hold back a yawn. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m going to call it a day. If you need anything to eat –”



Lucius stood up, “I know, ‘ask nicely’.” His smirk teetered on becoming a smile. “Sleep well. And thank you.”



The witch nodded, trying to mask her surprise. “You’re welcome. Sleep well yourself.” She left the library and headed to the master suite, unaware of Lucius’ fixation on her backside.

---

Hermione finished the soup Dobby had brought her and pushed the tray to the side of the desk. She sat for a moment staring into space, waves of exhaustion washing over her. This had been far too long a day. Was it really only today she had Apparated to Azkaban with parchments releasing Lucius Malfoy into her custody? And only today she had told Lucius that she owned his ancestral home? Neptune’s trident, she needed a shower. And then bed. What time is it? Eight o’clock? Maybe? Who cares. It’s bedtime. She left the dressing room and headed for the bathroom, barely cognizant of the luxury of the rooms that comprised the master suite in Malfoy Manor. On automatic pilot, she hung her clothes on hooks in the bathroom and stepped into a steaming shower. Minutes later, her skin pink from the heat of the water, she toweled off and headed straight for bed. Slipping naked between the 1200 thread-count Egyptian sheets, she was asleep within moments of her head hitting the pillow.



Dobby pulled the covers up around her shoulders before he removed the dinner tray.

---

Lucius Malfoy poured himself another glass of scotch. It was good scotch. Even if it wasn’t his any more. Maybe especially because it wasn’t his any more. Expensive scotch always seemed to taste better when it came from someone else’s cellar. Someone else’s cellar. Thor’s hammer, gilded and hung on the wall! It wasn’t so long ago that Lord Voldemort’s power had been increasing, the Malfoy fortunes had been on the rise, Draco had been healthy, and the next generation of Malfoys was closer to becoming a reality. He couldn’t have asked for more. And yet now, less than a year later, here he was: just released from Azkaban, entrusted to a Muggle-born witch who owned his ancestral home, and his only son in St. Mungo’s with his memory destroyed. Damn it. He took a long sip of scotch, the liquid gliding down his throat.



Tomorrow. I’ll deal with all of this tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to get very drunk. Lucius stared into the fire and drank steadily, an amber fog enveloping and soothing his racing brain. He munched absentmindedly on some nuts that had appeared on the table next to him as he continued to drink, his eyes flitting around the library. This really was the best room in the house. The maps, volumes, scrolls, and folios comprised a collection built over generations. And I lost it. Gods. I fucking lost everything the family built up over the last 900 years. Fuck. He ran his fingers through his already disheveled hair and then rested his head against the back of the chair, closing his eyes briefly. There were solutions to these problems. Draco. The Manor. The taint of Azkaban. There were answers. There had to be.



Lucius refilled his glass again, absently noting the level in the decanter; there was plenty more in the cellar where this had come from. He stood in front of the fire, watching as a burning log broke into two, sending sparks into the chimney. Hermione. Hermione Granger. The world was definitely different than it had been a year ago, when she had been a mere schoolgirl, her nose buried in books if the stories were true. His lips twisted into a smile. She was enthralled by the library, so it was probably true. She certainly had been a good student; Draco was a bright boy, and yet Hermione had bested him in every subject. But she had been a girl. Hell, she still was only a girl. She couldn’t be more than nineteen or so. Reflexively he sucked in his breath. Nineteen. And with an arse you could bounce a Galleon off. And she was his “keeper”. He swallowed the last of his scotch. If Hermione is my “keeper”, being a kept man might not be so bad, he smirked lazily.



Lucius carefully placed the empty glass near the decanter and walked out the doors of the library, the world swaying gently around him. Yes. He was pleasantly drunk. It had been a long time since he’d indulged to this level, and it felt good.



With deliberate steps, he made his way to his rooms.

---

Lucius shed his vest and sat down on the stool in the dressing room to remove his boots. Leaving them strewn on the floor, he weaved his way into the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall to the floor. He pulled back the blankets on the bed and stopped. Hermione Granger. Was. In. His. Bed.



Naked.



He swallowed hard, his eyes fixated on the naked witch sleeping in his bed. Merlin! It’s not my bed. The thought made it through his fogged brain, and yet he couldn’t turn away. His eyes traced the muscles in her back down to the trim waist and over the curves of her hips and buttocks. Oh, gods. He had always been a sucker for a woman with a nice arse. He wanted to cup those cheeks with his hands, moving his hands over the taut muscles before sliding a hand between her legs. He could practically feel the soft, slick flesh he was certain he would find. He felt himself harden despite his current state of inebriation. Unthinkingly, he reached out a hand to stroke the pale flesh before him.



He was immediately interrupted by a sharp tug on his pant leg. Looking down in shock, his gaze was met by Dobby’s fierce glare. Lucius folded his arms across his bare chest and looked down at the steadfast house-elf. “Miss is not to be disturbed. You has your own rooms now. These rooms is for the Mistress of the house, and you is not her,” Dobby hissed. With surprising agility, the elf grabbed one of Lucius’ hands and began to half-drag him out of the room while forcing a bottle a Hangover Relief into the wizard’s free hand.



Hermione’s eyes tried to focus; she awoke when the blanket was pulled off her, although she remained still out of habit. Through heavy-lidded eyes she saw a half-naked Lucius standing over her, studying her the way a gourmet would inspect a prime cut of beef. He clearly didn’t realize she was awake. Still not moving, she examined Lucius in return. With a well-defined torso and loose long blond hair, he looked as though he had just stepped out of a trashy Muggle romance novel. Wow. How old is he? He’s got to be in his 40s, anyway. Mab’s knickers! He’s in great shape. Broad shoulders; not an ounce of fat on him. And that hair. That hair. She wondered how it would feel to run her hands over his chest and his shoulders. How it would feel to run her fingers through his hair. Her lips curved into a smile as sleep overtook her again.







A/N: Hiya! As always, thanks for the feedback! (And yes, thankfully, crinolines are out of my time period. Evil things! *grin*) I am having fun with this, especially since I’ve now got Hermione and Lucius stuck in the same house together. They are a bit stubborn, but they will come around, I promise! And, as always, a thousand times a thousand thank-yous to Mamacita-san for her Most Excellent editing (and without whom you would find a lot more 'that's in the text...)!!!