Daughter of Leda

Hermione began to wait longer and longer to send each letter. At first Lucius waited as well, thinking to get her back for it, but finally gave up and would reply immediately. Weeks passed, she spoke to him only through letters, and Lucius was at his wits’ end. He thought of her constantly. When he’d finally manage to forget her that little voice in the back of his mind would realize it and remind him of her all over again.

Two weeks, three days, eight hours, and twenty-three minutes. That’s how long it had been since her last visit, and that’s how long it took for Lucius Malfoy to charge as directly into the problem as a bloody Gryffindor. The knowledge that he was behaving as such was not beyond him, and irritated him a good deal. But then he sent the letter anyway and tried to convince himself that to act so Gryffindor was very Slytherin of him. Of course it was.

She had just gotten home from some muggle shopping with her mom when the letter arrived. She did what she had forced herself to do each time he sent her one – set it aside for several hours. It wasn’t that Hermione didn’t want to know what the letters held. Nor was it that she had better things to do. The problem was, it infuriated her to think of how strongly he affected her thoughts and actions. The sound of his voice alone was enough to make her want to spread her legs for him, and reading his letters was enough to make her want to apparate to him to hear that voice. So she forced herself to wait, to be patient, and only read them when she felt confident that she could resist temptation.

After all, she held the stronger position only so long as she could hold his vow over his head. The moment she allowed herself to get caught up in her emotions would be the moment she lost the nerve, the willpower, to force his hand with the vow. And, really, what good would Leda having procured the vow be to her if she couldn’t bring herself to use it?

Later that night she curled up with a cup of tea and a warm blanket, staring down the letter that sat in her lap. Finally, she gave in.

Lioness,

I see now how greatly your newest range of thoughts and opinions must be affecting you. The Hermione I knew originally would have been honest in her feelings, whereas now she has become a woman who holds herself cold and aloof. This has become a game to you where I am but a pawn for you to move at will. Do you think I don’t recognize it? I, who have spent my life making pawns of others?

Do not think that my actions towards you have been to cage you in such a way. I would not seek to make Leda’s daughter a pawn – only to show her by whatever means I may that she has captivated me, and shown me that I am not so controlled a man as I had thought myself.

I love my son, to be sure, but have done things that make me either the very best of fathers or the very worst. Regardless of intentions, I fear that my actions have made me the latter. I sought the best for him, but I’m beginning to understand that I couldn’t even make myself happy, and knew even less what would make him so.

Other than Draco, I can’t say that there is anyone who can cause much emotion in me. Much affection, or concern. Until you. And now you spurn that affection as though it is as tainted as the Dark Lord himself. Is there nothing about me that you believe still holds some good? Or am I now completely tainted?

It tortures me to believe that you think so poorly of me, and yet I still wait anxiously for any word from you. I wait for the slightest hint of regard. I have known desperation in the past, but never felt so shattered.

Completely yours,

Lucius

Hermione sat there for several minutes before her thoughts once more became coherent. The letter seemed to give her a window into his very soul, and she felt his pain as though it were her own. She wanted to run and hide from him, but equally felt the desire to go to him and hold him as if he were a little child. She had thought that if she still spoke to him, but kept him at a distance, then everything would be alright. She would retain control, and no harm would be done. She failed to account for the idea that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and was now forced to face the fact that it may well be true.

The affection for him that had woven its way into her heart had gone nowhere. She was not nearly so emotional as Lucius seemed to be – a surprising enough notion since he carried himself as though his heart were made of ice – but her own struggles were still no laughing matter. She felt backed into a corner, but unlike a snake she cared too much for the man to strike.

How torn must he be? To apparently care so much and yet go repeatedly before Voldemort and do his bidding? Hermione was no fool. She was fully aware of his being a Death Eater, and all that the name entailed. He was all sweet and caring to her, but that didn’t change the fact that he was still causing the pain of others. That was something that she needed so badly to remember. It was vitally important, and yet that part of her thought so little of it when she was standing near him or held one of his letters in her hand.

Reaching up to her neck, Hermione caressed the necklace he had given her. What would he do if it ever warned him of danger to her while he was out doing Voldemort’s bidding? Who would he choose? She was beginning to think that, if she asked it of him, Lucius would turn his back on his Dark Lord. How could she do that, though? His life, and that of his family, would be forfeit. He would be reduced to nothing, and she had little confidence that the Order would shelter him. Too many still harbored ill will against him to look with opened eyes if he ever did good.

No, she wouldn’t ask that of him, no matter how tempting it might be. Instead she would write him a letter in return, not delaying it or mincing words. She would be honest, as he had been with her, and hope it didn’t come back to bite her.

Lucius,

You say that you do not seek to make me your pawn. Perhaps you do not. Instead you have caused such feelings in me that I feel even more at your mercy than a pawn – as if I have no mind of my own and no choice but to keep myself near you. It’s a frightening thought, to wish to be at another person’s mercy, and I feel as though I would be betraying Leda as well as my friends if I allow myself to indulge in it.

I will not deny that my actions have been cold at times, but it’s not because I lack feeling. If anything, it’s because I have too much of it. I don’t trust myself in my actions, especially when you are around. Will you now claim that you would not take advantage of my willingness if I were there? Would you hold back for fear I would regret things later or would you convince yourself that we could do as we pleased and I wouldn’t need to regret?

Soon the summer will be over, and I will not be at leisure to write letters or even visit. I will be busy with my friends and what they stand for – you will be busy with yours and your Dark Lord. What will become of all of this then?

Your Lioness

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A/N: We are getting closer to... well, something. ;) Lucius is becoming so desperate. It's charming, not to mention amusing -- but I swear that I am not that much of a sadist. There will be a happy ending, but Lucius and Hermione aren't going to get it overnight.

werewolfhime -- Oh but this is like equal payback for how you are making me suffer waiting for Only Time to get to the happy ending! ;) Really though, how can I make Hermione go see him right now? She'd be begging for him to fuck her within minutes. Or... wait... is that ME that would be begging? Hmm... either way... I think thats the affect Lucius has on all women and therefore has to be on his own for the moment. *nods* lol

Citten -- You flatter me. :) I share your finals stress though - I just really want the semester to be over already. It kills off my brain cells.