(if this ends up having chapters)
Chapter 1
Hermione slipped quietly into the Leaky Cauldron and looked around furtively. It was the usual Thursday evening crowd: bedraggled wizards trying to drink their way into the weekend, the few market witches who did not work Fridays. Sorry-looking and silent. It was late.
Her table was reserved as usual, her little corner nook with a glass of imported Muggle vodka, and the Daily Prophet. Gratefully she hurried to the table and collapsed into the armchair, her thick brown hair spilling over her shoulders. Keep your head down, Hermione. You're stronger than this.
But her brain was powerless over reflexes, and uncontrollably she looked up. Yes. He was there. And as usual, he was watching her.
Get a grip on yourself, Hermione! she thought sharply. He doesn't know you're investigating him.
Oh, he had to know. Hermione and the other Aurors had been trailing him for months. And he wasn't stupid, she knew. In fact, she took some kind of relish in the fact that he was intelligent. And if he was watching her …
She could feel his eyes on her skin. It was annoying, and distracting, and without thinking she glanced up and glared fiercely into his eyes. Her stare remained long enough on his face to see his eyes flicker in response.
Furious with herself, she took a gulp of the vodka, grimacing as it seared her throat. Why was he here every night, watching her? Sure, it made her job easier, but no Death Eater who knew he was under suspicion would linger in the same place for … had it really been three weeks?
Three weeks of hoping desperately that he would not have left Diagon Alley, that he would continue to indulge her voyeuristic pleasure … she loved watching him; she had admitted it already. She had known she would when she was first assigned her mission. Any predator will have a curious relationship with its prey, when it intends to bring about its death but depends on it for survival. How would I amuse myself without him?
It had only been three weeks, and already she was attached to him. 'Never develop feelings for a quarry,' Moody had said. He was right … and so was she, she reminded herself. She had no feelings for him. Anyway, she knew he hated her, although they had not spoken in years. She was only a filthy Mudblood to him.
And yet, in all her twenty summers of experience, Hermione had never shivered quite so much as she did under the eyes of Lucius Malfoy.
*****
Concentrating on the newspaper did not help at all. She could still feel his gaze. Piss off, she swore crossly.
Lifting the glass to her lips, she studied his distorted figure through the crystalline liquid. Those silver eyes glimmered through the alcohol, resting malevolently on her face.
Hermione shook herself, and slammed down the glass in frustration. Control …
Ah, here was action. Malfoy had called over a waiter and was muttering in his ear. The man nodded silently, and disappeared.
Hermione closed her eyes, for a second. He was only ordering a drink.
And yet … he had a full glass of wine next to him …
Oh, no.
And as Hermione had feared, a bottle of white wine materialised on her table, and the smirking waiter murmured: 'From the gentleman over there … he also sent this,' and he handed her a folded piece of parchment.
'Thank you,' Hermione whispered. As soon as she was alone again, she pulled the note open, hungry eyes feeding on Malfoy's beautiful handwriting:
May I join you?
Her head snapped up to meet his eyes. They were steady, a darker, more sincere grey than before, waiting for her answer.
What opportunity …
What danger …
She could not refuse this chance; she nodded imperceptibly. She had nothing that could betray her.
A tinge of a smile creased Malfoy's mouth, and he rose gracefully from his table, and walked to her. 'Miss Granger.' His lips barely moved.
'Mr Malfoy.' Hermione deliberately let some hostility into her voice. 'Sit down …'
As Malfoy sat back opposite her, creaking the leather seat, her mind raced desperately. What did he want? He knew she was an Auror … did he suspect she was his tail? Of course, he was clever … Hermione knew it was more than likely that he had guessed.
He was looking at her again. Even this close to her, he still observed, his eyes delving into hers.
Hermione waited patiently. He was, after all, the initiator. He obviously wanted something.
She raised an eyebrow in question.
Malfoy smiled, amused. 'I was merely wondering whether you would appreciate some company, since we've both been alone every night for the past twenty-two evenings.'
Hermione's eyes darted uncomfortably, and she shifted her weight in her seat. 'Thank you.'
To be flattered?
To be scared?
Malfoy ran his eyes along her cheekbone, and down with the neckline of her emerald robes, across where it revealed the slight curve of her breasts. 'My, my, how you've grown …'
'Don't even think about it, Malfoy,' Hermione snapped. 'We hate each other, remember?'
'If you hate me, then why do you keep coming back to see me?'
She curled her lip in a snarl. 'I'm not here to see you. I'm trying to research something for the Ministry.'
'Ah yes, your precious little Ministry,' Malfoy murmured. 'Still sucking away at Potter and Weasley?
Hermione took a very deep breath. Control … 'I'm superior to Ron, Malfoy. And generally I have nothing to do with Harry … he travels too much for that.'
And then she cursed herself. Yes, perhaps it was true, but Ron resented her for it and it had caused them numerous arguments. Coupled with the fact that Hermione had been dating Harry at the time, Ron had felt so excluded that he had not spoken to either of them for months. Yes, it was true, but it was one of her weaknesses, and ought not to be admitted.
And Harry … by the Gods, she missed Harry. They were not together any more, to both of their regret, but Hermione knew that she still loved Harry more than she had ever loved anyone. And now he was the main Auror working for the Order of the Phoenix, and he was away all the time. Another weakness.
Hermione, now is really not the time.
She focused on Malfoy again, and blinked as for a second she thought she saw a glimmer of sympathy in his grey eyes. Then the clouds returned to marbled steel, and he said: 'It must be tedious, having to put up with such immaturity from them.'
She did not know how much he had guessed, or how much he already knew. But for a second she was shocked at herself, because her mind had murmured quiet, embarrassed agreement.
Cover it up, Hermione. They're your friends. Defend them.
She was nearly thirty seconds late, but her conscience was stubborn, and so she still said lamely: 'Don't insult my friends, Malfoy.'
He snorted. 'Miss Granger, the whole world knows you're too good for them … I wonder what you could have done with pure blood.'
'It wouldn't have made any difference,' she snapped. 'Purity of blood doesn't have any effect on your intelligence, or your morality, or courage, or …'
He raised a hand to silence her. 'You generalise, Miss Granger. Yes, there are those such as yourself where it has made no difference. But you cannot say that for the whole wizarding world; you know that.'
There was a compliment there, and Hermione figured that she should probably accept it. But it was the first time he had admitted that she was intelligent, and of course Hermione was suspicious. And she decided to be blunt.
'Why are you being nice to me, Malfoy?'
'Oh, call me Lucius, Hermione. We know each other well enough for that.' He placed his hand on hers, still clasping the glass of vodka.
She jerked her hand away, anger and fear mounting in her velvet eyes. 'What doe you want from me?'
This time he slid his hand under the table, and placed it on her knee suggestively. 'What do you think?'
Hermione was ready to storm from the pub, regardless of the attention it brought her. But she was totally unprepared for the stab of warmth between her thighs, and she gasped in surprised.
She looked at him, and suddenly realised that he was handsome: a strong face and mouth, with those crystal diamond eyes and aristocratic nose. His figure was good, solid but not even close to fat … and he had to be forty, at lest. Twice as old as her, and she thought him attractive?
She had not had sex since she was with Harry, and that was nearly a year ago, and the touch of Lucius' skin to hers brought back her astonishingly strong need for physical love, even if it did mean sleeping with the enemy. She was a strong person – it would not mean anything, and it was not something that he could reliably use against her, since she could deny it vehemently and nobody would believe him.
'I'm sensing, my dear,' Lucius said slowly, 'that you are considering my proposal?' He slid his hand up her leg, tightening his grip.
Hermione's body decided for her, and she smiled slightly at the irony of her words at the beginning of the evening. 'All right, sir … I suppose I could allow you to seduce me.' He hoped fervently that that was all he wanted.
'But how wonderful of you, Hermione.'
A fire flared at hearing her own name in that elegant voice, and she allowed him to take her hand, and leaving the win untouched, lead her from the room.
The journey up to Lucius' room was frustratingly long, and Hermione had to bite her lip to keep herself from begging him to hurry. He walked in front of her, graceful and lithe, and she realised that he had never expected her to refuse him.
'Lucius …' Her voice escaped her lips, and he stopped, and turned, regarding her sternly. 'I …'
'You're a virgin?'
Stunned, she replied immediately. 'No.'
He looked slightly disappointed. Well, he would take pleasure in being the first. Bad luck, Lucius.
'What is it, then?'
'It's not that … it's just … well …' She had to work to fight the desire closing in on her mind. 'We can't tell anyone about this … if the Ministry found out, I'd be sacked … and your wife …'
'Of course, of course. I wasn't exactly planning to broadcast it, my dear. Come on …'
And she quickly followed him, let him take her into his room and lock it with a word.
Then he pushed her fiercely back against the door in the darkness, and pressed a harsh kiss to her lips. 'Who are you working for, Hermione?'
At once she was alert, scared. 'What are you talking about?'
Lucius ran his hands down her sides, over her slim hips, and murmured huskily: 'Don't play stupid, my dear …' Then his voice turned hard again. 'Who are you working for?'
Hermione's brain was going into overdrive, but the heavy heat of desire was still intruding on her mind, and Lucius' hands on her thighs did not help. She fumbled for an answer. 'I …'
He shook her hard, and his fingers rubbed further, intrusive. 'Who – are – you – working for?'
Sulkily, she slid her hands around his neck, trying to stall. 'Why … why do you …' But she gasped suddenly as Lucius' hand became more demanding, more teasing. 'The Ministry …'
'And are you investigating me, Hermione?'
Her name … she knew she would easily be able to control herself if it wasn't for his skill with words. But she was powerless, and her head fell against his shoulder, lips parted, and she murmured, 'Yes.'
Immediately he lifted her, and flung her onto the luxurious bed. She was shocked at herself, sickened, even, but the reproaches were distant, pale in the glow of her need to be satisfied.
Lucius lifted himself over her, and then grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head on the sheet with his strong fingers, ran his other hand down her jawbone gently.
'Lucius …' He had won. He had forced her to admit her mission to him. Now she wanted compensation for it, and she wanted it now.
He lowered his mouth to her, and she could feel her lips tingling as his own crept nearer.
Then he whispered to her. 'You Mudblood bitch.'
'Lucius,' she whispered desperately. 'Please …'
His mouth twisted in disgust. 'Get out.'
For months, Hermione had never come so close to crying as she was now. Desperately she begged him, pulled her hands from under his and pleaded with him. 'Please, Lucius, I didn't want this mission, I was assigned it … and now I don't want it anymore … I'll tell them to give it to someone else, I swear … just please have me …'
Lucius let his eyes scorn her, and then stood up and turned away. 'Don't be a fool, girl.'
'Lucius, if you want me, you can have me … why bring me here if you don't want me?' And then she knew, and she looked at him, stared yearning at his aristocratically long hair before turning her helpless gaze to his profile, half looking at her.
Then he laughed coldly. 'Miss Granger, you didn't think I actually want you, do you?'
She stared at him open-mouthed, fear and frustration and anger mingling in the stinging tears in her eyes. Then, quite suddenly, she released a string of insults, desperate to convey come of her conflicting emotions. 'You bastard, Lucius, you utter bastard … you're nothing but a lying, cheating, twisted wizard. Nobody loves you, nobody even likes you except your Master, and he only because you're the only one willing to sink low enough … you're nothing!'
Lucius' grey eyes were quietly, sadly amused. 'Temper, temper, Hermione.'
The little guilt Hermione had begun to feel vanished, and she took the stride between Lucius and her, and slapped him as hard as she could. But immediately Lucius caught her arm and sneered. 'Honestly …' He seized her other arm, holding them carefully together so she could gain no leverage.
'You monster,' she hissed, struggling breathlessly. He was stronger than she was, much stronger, and her wand was in her pocket. If it came to a fight, Luicus would win quite easily.
He looked at her, silky and mocking, eyes flickering harshly. Then suddenly he bent his head and crushed his lips against hers briefly.
Hermione gasped, startled, but he had already retreated, and now he was smiling bitterly. 'Run along, then.'
He had let her go, and she was safe. But she hesitated. Lucius' lips had been warm, warmer than the Slytherin snake that lurked in the mouth of his son. There were feelings there, tender feelings, vulnerable to a wolf's teeth. Waiting to be snatched.
But you are not a wolf, Hermione. Nor do you want him. You could never love him, you know that. And there are other places where you can satisfy your desire.
Lucius took a deep breath, and suddenly she noticed again how close he was to her.
'If you're going, Hermione, go,' he told her softly. 'If you're staying …' His voice trailed off, and Hermione shivered at the grim hope implicit in that phrase.
She decided to ask him. 'What would you want from me, if I stayed?'
'Whatever you would be willing,' he replied slowly, 'to give me.'
There were now no illicit suggestions, and Hermione wondered if he meant anything deeper than simple night. 'Say I was willing to give anything … what would you take?'
He did not answer for almost half a minute, and when he did it was not to her question. 'I can't tell you that … I'm not about to bargain my whole life for the hope of the love of one girl.'
She felt her face grow pale and cold. 'Love?'
He smiled again sadly. 'Do you think the only reason I was watching you is because you were watching me? No … you're attractive, Hermione. Not just physically … but if I give in then I'll demand far more than you'll give me, more than you can give, to me, anyway. So I can't – it's too dangerous.'
Hermione watched him curiously. Was he sincere? Training as an Auror had taught her to pick out truths, and he definitely seemed truthful, but Lucius was clever – she knew he could lie very convincingly.
And yet … this was the only time she had seen him like this. He seemed greyer, and he looked exhausted, emotionally. Hermione's mind flicked to his life, and he eyes widened involuntarily. Draco had been killed, Narcissa had gone mad with grief … she'd read it, remembered her vindictive smile. But he had constantly had to balance his life between the Death Eaters and his false position at the Ministry. So much thinking, turning over of situations in his head, and he had had no real trusted friends.
And now he had mentioned love, and in spite of all her hatred of Lucius, Hermione was frighteningly inclined to believe.
She was growing weary of charades. She needed to know.
'Lucius, I'm tired. I'm tired of tracking people, handing them over to the Dementors, pretending I don't care …'
'You – you wouldn't do that?' Evidently Lucius was not able to sneer at the fear of the Dementors, no different from anyone else.
Hermione's hands began to tremble at the possibility of throwing away this man, this person whom she had just begun to understand. 'I don't know,' she sighed. 'You've done some terrible things, Lucius … God knows you'd deserve it …'
But she knew that for all his smirks and seductions, Lucius Malfoy was just as tired as she was. Tired of the war that looked to be never-ending, each side desperately struggling to gain an advantage. Tired of everything, of life.
And as she watched him, Lucius lowered himself into an armchair, crystal eyes fixed on her, emotionless, waiting.
Hermione shivered. She was still not immune to that stare; she knew she wanted him. And giving herself to him would alleviate some of his pain …
'All right, Lucius. I'll let you have your way for now, I'll let you take what you want …' She rested her weight on the arm of his chair, and then his hands slid around her waist and pulled her down onto his lap. He sighed in satisfaction. 'Hermione …'
As his hands began to slide over her body, tugging at the fastenings of her robes, needing physical forgetting of torment, Hermione felt a peculiar sense of relief and calm. Even if this was wrong, in all possible ways, it felt perfect. The contours of her body fitted exactly into his … flawless.
She had not known it was possible to fall in love in a night.
Lucius spoke, straining his vocal chords in their excitement. 'You could have anyone you wanted, Hermione … hell, you could've had my son at one point … why me?'
'Draco told you, then.'
'Mmmm.'
She looked into his face seriously. 'What did he tell you?'
'Nothing, actually. I mentioned you once, and he … well, he broke something. A few things, really. So I knew he loved you at one point. That was when I first started to notice you … I knew he hated you before, and I had no idea what could have prompted a … a change like that.' He laughed briefly, without humour, and she remembered too late that his son was dead. 'Now I know.'
'I'm sitting in your chair, Lucius. Not Draco's. Not Harry's. Not Ron's.'
And then Lucius smiled, and Hermione was astonished. Never before had she ever seen him smile, not without sarcasm. He was a real person after all, then … his face was younger … admittedly less seductive, but the change was easily reversed. He looked happy, almost desperately so.
'You know, some day, Hermione, you'll have to tell me what happened with you and Draco.'
She nodded, smiled assuredly. What a strange turn of events. How ironic. Then she burrowed her face into his neck and murmured, 'Seduce me now, Lucius … please?'
At once his smirk returned, and she knew he was back in familiar waters. This was how she wanted him, sure and all at once confused. The way she was.
And as he bore her down to the floor, their flawed and doomed relationship began, and the clouds parted, shifted the moon as they made love in the noise of sorry night.
*****
A/N: What are we thinking? Good? Are we continuing? There are loose ends, I know … but it could be somewhat of a mystery.
Reviews would definitely help, though. ;)
~SS~