Disclaimer: not mine.

AN: Just a plot-bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. essentially a one-shot. Born out of a strong conviction there are too little HG/LM stories around ;-)

I was not entirely certain of the character development in this story, but shy-n-great managed to convince me it was okay to post (thank you for that, sis!).

Anyway, comments are welcomed; I definitely am willing to tweak this story a little.

Please, enjoy.

A Simple Act of Kindness

"Fuck!" Lucius Malfoy swore under his breath. Normally, he would consider vulgar terms like that beneath him, but tonight was truly a night that deserved the adjective.

First of all, the Dark Lord had been most seriously displeased with him. In all honesty -a quality Lucius rarely exhibited – he could not disagree. They had been given an order to abduct a fairly influential Ministry wizard who was a firm supporter of Dumbledore. The plan was solid, seeing that it was devised by Lucius himself, who was a brilliant strategist, if nothing else and they had encountered no problems at all in entering their target's house. Locating the master of the house and incapacitating the two house elves the man owned hadn't proven too difficult either and they had been on the point of Apparating the man to the predestined location, where the Dark Lord and some dozen of his faithful servants would be waiting for them, when the wizard's fifteen year old daughter had entered the room. The girl was brandishing her wand and even though she was trembling violently, Lucius had to admit that a small, very small part of him admired the girl for being so brave as to try to intervene. Stupid, but brave. After all, if there was one thing that inspired more loyalty in him than the Dark Lord, it would be his family.

That didn't stop him from sneering at the girl from behind his mask and disarming her almost languidly with a single spell. If the girl had had any brains to complement her bravery, she would have realized that one nervous fifteen-year old was no match for two of Voldemort's Death Eaters. No doubt the girl was a bloody Gryffindor. Their courage was inferior only to their stupidity. The only notable exception to that rule was Miss Hermione Granger. Not that he had seen her recently, but the Dark Lord was keeping taps on her and he got a lot of his information on her from Lucius' own son. Again, he wouldn't admit it to anyone but himself, but the older Malfoy had a grudging respect for the girl's intelligence and her ability to hold her own in a world she didn't even know existed until she was eleven.

Up until that moment, everything had gone as well as anyone could hope for. And then that lecherous old fool Avery had to go and blow it all. Lucius had instructed him to kill the girl and be done with it, but the other Death Eater had entreated him to let him have his fun with the girl first.

"Oh for heaven's sake, just get it over with, quickly," he'd snapped and he didn't need to see his companion's face behind the mask, to be able to imagine the delighted leer. He had witnessed the other man's depravities one too many times.

Avery had dragged the girl to the corner and while he tore the clothes from her body, her father pleaded with Lucius to have mercy, to take him, anything to spare his daughter.

Lucius had viciously snarled, "Silence!" before subjecting the man to a rather nasty curse which made whoever was subjected to it feel as if their intestines were pulled inside out. Or was it like every blood vessel in one's body was on fire? He frowned at his own little slip of memory and, while the man was howling in agony on the floor, resolved to look it up in his private library when he got home that night.

With Avery forcing himself on the girl and himself pleasantly occupied with trying to refresh his knowledge on the obscure spell he was subjecting his victim to, Malfoy's formidable senses had been engaged to the point that there was an opportunity to catch him off guard. It lasted no more than half a second, but it was enough. The moment the realisation hit him that there was someone standing behind him, a heavy object was brought down on the back of his head and the world turned black almost instantaneously.

When he regained consciousness, he had only had enough time to use his emergency Portkey, to avoid capture. Needless to say, Lord Voldemort was less than pleased. When he had finally managed to apparate to the agreed location, he had been an hour late and Avery, the filthy rat, had already reported what had happened and naturally managed to present the whole matter as if Lucius was the one to blame.

He could of course have argued, but the Dark Lord was not the sort of person whom you told that the owl ate your homework. So he took the punishment his master saw fit to dole out and swore to himself that the moment he got Avery alone, the man would learn once and for all that it was very unwise indeed to cross Lucius Malfoy.

By the time the meeting was over, his vision was starting to blur and he knew that he had not much time to get home. Trying to concentrate over the rushing in his ears, he Apparated.

When his feet once again found solid ground, he opened his eyes, to find that he was not standing in front of the imposing gates of his Manor. He didn't recognize his surroundings and to make things worse, he appeared to be in the middle of a Muggle neighbourhood. While he was momentarily stunned by the predicament he found himself in, it started to rain. That's when the normally eloquent wizard found that his extensive vocabulary contained no words better suited to describe his sentiments than a heartfelt 'fuck'.

He looked up at the sky, one elegant eyebrow pulled up, as if to show he was most seriously displeased with the weather gods for having the audacity to let it rain on him. Then, deciding that he had to find out most expediently where he was exactly, so that he might locate a public floo-portal, he was about to pull his wand out of his sleeve, when one of those infernal machines the Muggles used for transportation came barrelling around the corner and stopped not three feet from him. In the condition he was presently in, keeping a low profile until he could get home was most likely to assure that he would be getting home in one piece tonight. Well, at least as much in one piece as he was currently. Stepping back into the shadows, Lucius sneered at the primitive vehicle as a, from the looks of it, female Muggle got out and held an odd, more or less circular shaped object over her head, probably to keep from getting wet. If he had known Hagrid a little better, he might have seen the similarities between the object the Muggle woman was holding and the odd, pink thing the half-giant carried around with him.

To his annoyance, the woman bent over and talked to someone inside of the yellow monstrosity and didn't seem in a hurry to go inside. The throbbing at the back of his head was steadily worsening and his fingers itched to hex the living daylights out of the stupid Muggle. Unfortunately, in the condition he was currently in, that would probably take the last of his powers and he had no intention of dying in a way as humiliating as a severe pneumonia. So he clenched his teeth together tightly and pressed closer to the wall.

After what felt like an eternity to him, the woman straightened and said loud enough for him to hear: "Well, if that's how you feel, than I don't think I want to see you anymore!" The door was closed and as the woman took a step back, the yellow thing drove off.

By now the pounding in Lucius' head was all but drowning out everything that was happening around him. Only through sheer force of will was he able to prevent the black clouds hovering at the edges of his vision to take him over and pull him into a soothing oblivion, until he could get out of this place.

He could not have said how much time had passed when he felt a hand on his shoulder and a concerned, female voice asking him softly if he were all right.

Despite his formidable self-control he flinched lightly at her touch. If she had been able to get this close to him, touching him even without him noticing, he must be in worse shape than he had already thought. To be snuck up on by a mere Muggle…. Lucius shuddered in disgust.

He wanted to snarl at her, tell her to get her filthy hand off of him and leave him the hell alone. He wanted to hex her into oblivion. Yet all that managed to pass his lips was: "I have felt better…" just before his body started shaking in post-Cruciatus agony.

He felt the woman slide an arm around his waist and she started to guide him somewhere. She was talking to him, her tone of voice soothing, but he didn't understand a word she was saying.

Knowing that he was too weak to get home on his own and that the Muggle was apparently willing to help him, he allowed himself to be guided towards a house. He'd take some time to regain his strength, and dispose of her afterwards, he decided when he walked with her to the best of his abilities. Finally, he fell onto the soft pillows of a deep grey sofa, with little to no recollection of how he'd gotten there.

The Muggle woman was talking to him again while she took off her coat, but he was unable to concentrate on the words. His eyelids were drooping and he felt his head sink to the side, as his consciousness was starting to fade. Knowing that he was in an unknown environment and he would be almost totally unguarded when unconscious, he made an effort to stay awake. He focussed his attentions on the Muggle, now kneeling in front of a cosy-looking fireplace.

Within minutes, a fire was blazing merrily and warming his tired bones. He hadn't realised until now, but he had forgotten to cast an Impervius spell and therefore was soaked to the skin because of the rain. He was shivering, both from the after-effects of Cruciatus and from the cold.

The Muggle walked over to the door and while one hand reached down to slide off a high-heeled shoe, the other reached out to a small, white square on the wall. As soon as her fingers touched it, the room was flooded with light from a lamp overhead.

Lucius blinked owlishly at the sudden light while the Muggle took off the other shoe as well. Now that the room was properly lighted, he could see that she wore a long, elegant, dark blue gown. Folds of fabric were draped from one shoulder to the other and fell gracefully around her chest. The fabric hugged her slim waist flaring to the ground in sleek waves. She only wore a thin silver chain, with a long, tear-shaped pendant for jewellery. Her dark curls were pulled up in soft waves around her face, with a few mischievous strands escaping at the neck. When she crossed the room to where he sat on the sofa, modest silver patterns on the lower half of the skirt caught his attention, as the thin fabric swirled around her feet and trailed after her on the floor.

As far as Muggles went, this one was quite pretty, Lucius decided as the woman turned her deep-brown eyes on him in concern. She knelt in front of him, looking up into his eyes without reserve.

"Can you tell me what is the matter; where are you hurt?" she asked him. Her voice was pleasant; feminine and warm. It really was a pity she was a mere Muggle and he was going to have to kill her. Had she been a pureblood witch, he probably would have been rather interested in getting to know her better. As it was, he was hard pressed not to scrunch his nose at the filth surrounding him.

"I am not hurt," he countered, frowning. And he wasn't. He was only suffering the after-effects of the Cruciatus and a couple of other curses that were rather nasty. Nothing the potions in his private bathroom at the Manor couldn't cure. The problem was getting there.

The woman shook her head at him. "There's blood in your hair," she stated and had the audacity to touch some of the wet strands plastered to his robes. As she held them up for his inspection, he saw that they were indeed painted in a telltale reddish-brown.

Automatically, his hand came up to touch the back of his head. He could feel a rather large bump there and what appeared to be a gash: his hair was sticky. Damn. He was fairly adept at healing charms, but a wound in such an inaccessible place was highly inconvenient. And he was not going to ask Narcissa to cast the spell for him: that woman was no better at charms than the average Hufflepuff. The only spells he trusted her to handle were glamour charms.

The Muggle had been studying him while he tried to ascertain the extent of his injury, still in a crouch in front of him.

"Is it still bleeding?" she asked, "let me have a look."

And before he could protest, she had pulled his head forward and was gently moving aside the long blond tresses so that she could see how serious the gash was. The aristocratic wizard was outraged at the fact that the Muggle was touching him and combing her filthy hands through his hair without as much as asking if she was allowed. He abandoned his plans to kill the infernal creature that night in favour of going home to take his potions and then come back the next night so that he could hex her properly before he finished her off. Yes, that would be much preferable, he mused, almost smiling.

He jerked out of her grasp as best he could, considering the state he was in and struggled to sit up and stare down at her imperiously. Unfortunately, his attempts were thwarted by the fact that violent tremors shook his body at that precise moment. The steadily worsening after-effects of the curses his Lord had subjected him to were indicating that his physical condition was deteriorating fast.

The Muggle, of course, misunderstood.

"Oh you poor man! You must be so cold, you're soaked through!" She got up and gently pushed him back to rest against the generous pillows strewn over the sofa. Muttering softly under her breath, she swiftly walked out of the room. Moments after she had disappeared through a door to the left of the fireplace light spilt into the room from what appeared to be the kitchen. Lucius could hear water running and some unfamiliar sounds. Taking the opportunity to study his surroundings while he was unobserved, he took in the decoration of the room he was in. The cosy sofa he'd been dropped onto was part of a comfortable sitting area grouped around a low, hardwood table in front of the fireplace. The soft grey of the sofa coloured quite nicely with the dark floor and the cream-coloured walls. There was a pair of double doors with large glass panels that looked like they would lead to a garden or patio of some sort. Large windows would probably allow for a practically unhindered view of the garden, but seeing that it was dark outside, the panes of glass surrounded by sleek ivory drapes showed nothing but the night sky. The room wasn't big by any stretch of the imagination. Lucius rather thought his closet was bigger than the room he was in at the moment. But the light, natural colours and well thought out furniture choice gave the room a pleasant feel. Well, except of course for the fact that the house screamed 'Muggles live here' to him.

By the time his thoughts had arrived at this point, the Muggle came back in the room and Lucius inwardly braced himself to endure her ministrations. She only gave him a quick, reassuring smile when she passed him though, which he didn't return, and disappeared back through the door they had entered through. He heard someone quickly jogging up wooden stairs, the sound of a door opening and almost immediately after her quick footsteps as she came down again.

As she entered the living room she was carrying a thick, but worn looking light blue garment of some sort.

"We have to get you out of those wet clothes; you'll catch a pneumonia like this," she declared. But before she could put that truly horrendous plan of disrobing him into action, there were a couple of strange sounds from the kitchen. At first there was a sound that resembled the whirling of water or maybe even the sound that Severus's potions made on a high flame, then there was a rather sharp 'tack' and the whirling sound ceased almost immediately.

Evidently the sound was perfectly comprehensible to the Muggle, since her face lit up and she eagerly threw the light blue bundle on the sofa next to him and disappeared into the kitchen again.

This time as she entered the living room, she was carrying a teapot made of delicate porcelain that looked hand-painted. Even Lucius had to admit it was very pretty. She set it on the table and got back to the kitchen to fetch some teacups, made of the same delicate porcelain. She knelt in front of the low hardwood table and poured some tea into a cup. She added a generous dollop of honey and stirred it. Turning back to face him she repeated her last remark.

Lucius shook his head rather vehemently. He did not want to be touched by the Muggle again and he most certainly did not want to take off his robes. He never took off his robes unless he was at home, at the Manor. After all, they were quite useful in intimidating people.

The woman studied him for a moment and apparently had enough common sense to see that he was not going to budge. She gave a small nod, reached for the teacup and offered it to him.

"It's herbal tea with honey. It should get you warm. There's more if you want."

Lucius took the cup from her. In spite of being in the home of a lowly Muggle, tea sounded rather lovely for he was cold. He took a suspicious sniff of the brew before taking a sip though. One never knew what kind of sludge these Muggles cooked up.

To his cold nose the tea smelled heavenly. It was somewhat different from the wizarding tea flavour, but nice nevertheless. What was more, he couldn't detect anything in the mixture other than the tea and honey he had seen her pour into the cup himself. Satisfied that the beverage, although maybe quaint, was not dangerous to him, he lifted it to his lips.

The Muggle, having seen all this, didn't seem to think his behaviour was strange in any way. Probably thought he was trying to ascertain if the flavour agreed with him. He couldn't really care.

The first sip that slithered down his throat elicited a tingly feeling of warmth, spreading from his stomach through his chest and belly. The second, larger sip had the warmth starting to spread to his arms and legs. Before he realised it, the cup was empty and he was starting to feel content with the warm feeling in his stomach.

Without a word from him, the Muggle took the cup from his hands and poured him another one, again adding a spoonful of honey. He took it eagerly this time, his hands trembling less than before and savoured the spicy flavour and the warmth of his drink.

The woman was watching him while he drank, but he was hardly aware of it. If he had been, he might have wondered about the intensity with which she studied him. Lucius, however, was rather immersed in enjoying the wonderful warmth spreading, driving away some of the shivers that ran through his body. By the time he finished his second cup, a feeling of well-being and contentment had spread through him to the extent that he was almost ready to close his eyes and just fall asleep, in spite of post-Cruciatus tremors and wet clothes.

The Muggle reached for the cup and gently disentangled it from his fingers. He let her. When her hands came up to the clasp of his cloak, there was a light frown on his forehead; something niggling in the back of his mind told him that he shouldn't allow her to undo his robes, but the thought didn't quite solidify. After having accepted the drink from her his reasons for not allowing her to take off the cumbersome, wet garment were fading into the background.

He gazed at the Muggle as she undid the clasp, his silver eyes intent on hers. The eyes that looked back at him were wide, brown and had an almost childlike innocence in them that he rarely saw in a woman her age. Perhaps it was the company he kept, he thought. As she pushed the cloak off of his shoulders the distance between the two of them diminished as a result. In contrast to his earlier aversion, he very nearly leaned into her touch, letting a faint smell of vanilla-and-orange caress his nostrils. Foggily, he wondered why he had been so reluctant to come close to her earlier. She really was quite pretty. And that smell was delicious…unassuming and therefore much more to his tastes than the expensive, obtrusive perfumes Narcissa appeared to bathe in.

He jerked away from her, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

"What are you trying to do?" he demanded. Inwardly, he cringed at his own question. So much for Slytherin cunning…

The Muggle had the audacity to quirk her mouth at him.

"I am trying to keep you from catching pneumonia," she said in a tone of voice one would use when dealing with a particularly slow three-year-old. He tried to loosen her grip on his cloak, which was still hanging halfway around his shoulders. "You're shivering," the Muggle pointed out reasonably.

As if on cue, a violent tremor shook his body. Now that the outer layer of his clothing, soaked as it may have been, was partly removed, the cold started to assault his senses anew. He told himself that was the only reason he relented.

The creature made an approving sound. As she proceeded to peel his wet cloak from his body, he was once again wrapped in the scent of orange and vanilla. Unable to resist, he closed his eyes. The voice in the back of his mind, which sounded remarkably like he himself had earlier that night and was demanding to know what in Riddle's name he was thinking, was growing fainter.

When small hands undid the buttons of his robes and divested him of those as well, leaving him in his shirt, while cooing softly to him that it would be all right, that he would be warmer soon, it grew fainter still. He hardly noticed the insidious cold seeping into his bones with renewed vigour or the shudder that wracked his body.

Then, there was warmth. As he opened his eyes in surprise, he noticed that the Muggle had pulled the light-blue garment around his shoulders. It was soft, thick and if he didn't know better he'd have thought a warming charm had been cast upon it.

"There," the woman said with a soft smile, "I always keep it hanging over the radiator. It'll get you nice and warm in no time." Lucius didn't know what a radiator was nor did he care. The blissful warmth that was spreading through his body from the outside was very satisfying. He was beyond protesting as she gently pulled his hair from under the garment.

"Now, let me take another look at your head," she insisted. Once again her hands pushed aside the silvery locks, but this time he wasn't nearly as appalled as he had been the first time. He closed his eyes again and allowed himself to drift off on a cloud of her warm scent.

Barely aware of anything but the comforting warmth and the pleasant smell he let her clean the gash at the back of his head, then gently wash the dried blood out of his hair.

Finally satisfied, she pushed him back into the cushions of the sofa. Preparing another cup of the wonderfully fragrant tea for him, she looked at him compassionately.

"Are you going to press charges? I could testify, you know."

Lucius frowned. "Press charges?" he repeated dimly.

"You were mugged, right?" the woman asked, looking him over with concern.

The wizard curled his fingers around the delicate cup in his hands and stared down into the honey-coloured liquid. Try as he might, he found himself unable to come up with a half-way plausible lie. He was startled out of his reverie when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Are you all right?"

He looked up and locked gazes with the creature. Dear Merlin, she was beautiful. How could an average Muggle look so pretty? And why did she smell so good? More importantly, since when did he care? He was the Dark Lord's second-in-command, for Riddle's sake, he wasn't supposed to care what Muggles looked like, let alone come close enough to one of them to ascertain what they smelled like. They were filthy, unworthy creatures that were beneath him.

So why, when he stared into her eyes, did he feel so gratified by the concern he saw there?

His silence and obvious confusion convinced the woman in front of him that he was too upset to deal with what had happened. Her eyes grew even softer if that was at all possible and her hand came up to rest on his shoulder.

"It's alright," she soothed and gave his shoulder a soft squeeze, "finish your tea."

She got up from her position in front of him and seated herself in a comfortable chair to his right. While he sipped his tea Lucius felt himself relaxing further to the sounds of the crackling fire. He studied his benefactor's profile, his gaze sliding from her face to her feminine dress and ending at the dainty little toes peeking out from under the hem of her skirts. She was like a vision of a flesh-and-blood muse, the folds of the midnight fabric flowing around her like waves. To the wizard's tired mind that observation didn't even seem wrong anymore.

The peaceful atmosphere was suddenly disturbed by a loud pop. Before the Muggle woman was halfway out of her chair, a menacing voice had spoken 'Stupefy'. The blue yet of light that came from an ebony wand hit her squarely in the chest, causing her to fall back into the chair, her arms hanging limply over the sides.

Lucius felt an inexplicable wave of regret wash over him when he looked at the Muggle, who looked nothing more than a girl now, her pale neck vulnerable and exposed due to the fact that her head hung to one side. He put his teacup down and looked up to see Severus Snape in his black Death Eater robes but sans mask standing next to the fireplace.

"Getting comfortable, Lucius?" he asked sardonically.

"What are you doing here?" the blond wizard bit out.

"Narcissa was worried when you didn't come home; she called me."

Lucius wanted to know how the raven-haired wizard had divined his location, but found that he was too tired to be bothered to ask. He got up from the sofa he'd been sitting on shrugging off the garment the Muggle had draped around his shoulders. His body was once again assaulted by the cold and an unwelcome sensation of dizziness. For a moment he swayed unsteadily and the Potions Master grabbed his arm to steady him.

A pale fine-boned hand disappeared inside the folds of his robes and when it re-emerged, it held a vial with a pearly lilac potion. Lucius recognized it immediately as the potion he had been longing for for the better part of the evening: it was designed to counter-act the after-effects of the Cruciatus. He took it from the potions master's hand and emptied it without hesitation.

He didn't even have time to realise that something was amiss as his vision turned black for the second time that evening and he fell to the ground in a dead faint.

- - - -

"Enervate!"

Hermione Granger opened her eyes to look up into the stern features of one Severus Snape. To be honest, it was rather intimidating to open one's eyes to the sight of the dark Professor standing over her, his wand pointed straight at her. In a split second, however her thoughts returned to something much more important.

"Did it work?" she asked eagerly.

"See for yourself," he commented as he held out his hand to her.

She allowed him to pull her from the chair and smiled at the sight that met her eyes.

Lucius Malfoy was stretched out on her sofa looking for all the world as if he had just fallen asleep there. On the table there was a telltale empty potions vial with just a hint of a pearly lilac potion in it, disabusing anyone of the idea the blond was merely sleeping.

For a fleeting moment, the young Gryffindor thought the powerful wizard looked very handsome and oh-so innocent like that. His features were for once not distorted by that horrible perpetual sneer and the surprisingly dark lashes rested like butterfly kisses against the pale cheekbones. Yes, the older Malfoy was a handsome man indeed.

"How much of the potion did you get him to drink?" Snape asked her breaking through her ruminations.

"He had about three cups of tea."

"And the conditioning? Did it work?"

"At the beginning of the evening he wouldn't let me touch him, he loosened up after I gave him the tea. Before you came he had allowed me to clean the wound on the back of his head, nearly burrowing his head on my shoulder."

The Potions Master gave her a small nod of approval. "That should suffice," he commented absent-mindedly. He was staring down at his unconscious one-time friend apparently deep in thought. After a long silence he finally spoke.

"He used to be a decent man."

It sounded like an apology or an explanation, Hermione wasn't sure.

"He might be a decent man once again," she said softly, not knowing what else to say.

Snape let out a harsh bark of laughter at that.

"Don't be naïve, Granger. Moody was right; there are some spots that don't come off…"

After that, Hermione didn't know what to say. It didn't seem like she was required to anyway. It was quiet.

"But I daresay," Snape continued suddenly, "Lucius will find himself developing a bit more of a charitable attitude towards Muggles and Muggle-borns in the morning."

"How went things at the Marstons?" she asked after a little while.

Snape's gaze switched from Lucius to her before he answered. "Everything went virtually as planned; the family was out of the house by the time Lucius and Avery arrived and the Aurors that took their place have not come to serious harm. I have not been spotted by Avery so he won't be able to connect me to this. Malfoy I knocked out before he had the chance to turn and see me."

"Virtually?" Hermione gently prodded.

Snape gave her a dark scowl. "Apparently the vase I hit Lucius over the head with was Mrs. Marstons' favourite."