Chapter 2

Malfoy moved so fast, Hermione felt like she had just blinked and he was back behind his desk, sitting in his desk chair, the picture of elegance in recline. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the sitting Prime Minister, walked through the doorway, seemingly unaware of the very unprofessional events that had just transpired, his warm smile greeting both of them like this was the most normal thing in the world. Hermione did her best to look natural (because it was totally natural for her to be leaned up against Lucius Malfoy's desk in the middle of the day like they were best pals).

What (and I cannot stress this enough) the actual fuck just happened?

Hermione took deep breaths through her nose as she sought to calm herself, closing her eyes to get recentered. Too much had happened in the short amount of time she had been in that godforsaken office. She had stormed in, thoroughly in control of the situation and had ended up pushed against a desk by a man, a very large one at that, who effortlessly plucked that control right out of her clenched fists.

She always felt off-balance around him, never completely on her two feet. Where she was self-assured and confident in literally every other setting, around him she felt thoroughly off kilter at every moment, struggling to stay up with him as he danced circles around her. Malfoy was incredibly intelligent, but also cunning, which made for a powerful and dangerous combination. He could maneuver people and events in his favor so effortlessly his victims would think his manipulations were their own thoughts or ideas. Plainly speaking, he honestly was the best candidate for Ministry Managers of Affairs as his Affairs never went awry. But Hermione would be damned if she ever told him that. His ego was big enough as it was.

Malfoy was the living definition of power and poise. There were few times she had ever actually seen the man disheveled, those being the only moments when his normally well chilled temper flared white hot. And then the already powerful man became a force to be reckoned with. But usually, even when she was at her most livid at him, he would just slap on that fucking smirk and respond to her quickly and cooly, never stumbling over his words. In fact, Hermione couldn't even remember the last time the man had even stuttered. It was positively maddening.

The worst part? She could never tell what the man was thinking. Everything he did came as a surprise because there was no way to predict his thoughts. The war had made Hermione quieter, willing to watch and listen before speaking, a trait that made it easy to read people. One just had to pay attention, and Hermione had lots of practice at paying attention as her time at Hogwarts had taught her that if something was worth studying, it was worth studying with no distractions. The normal witches and wizards of the Ministry were relatively easy to read as ministerial workers really had no reason to hide their thoughts. But Malfoy? A complete enigma. Like just a few moments ago: it felt like Malfoy was about to kiss her. Actually kiss her.

Shrill, panicked laughter of sheer disbelief bubbled in Hermione's throat. She fought to keep silent, almost choking on her own breath.

Get yourself together, stupid. It was just another game. Another trick. Another way to make him feel more powerful than you. Not to mention, you were having a Stage 5 panic attack right in front of him, you could have imagined the whole thing. It's not like you were in the sanest state of mind.

It had been a while since her last panic attack. Hermione thought she had some control over those episodes, but with how close Lucius was, her focus had wavered and her mind had gone back to — him. Hermione inwardly shook her head, cramming that thought back down into the metal lock box in her brain and wrapped it back up in its well-deserving chains. There's no need to go back there. We're moving on and moving forward, right?

Hermione took one last gulp of air, turned her head, and smiled her warmest smile she could muster to greet Kingsley.

/

Lucius, again, praised the Veela blood for letting him be quicker than the average mortal eye could perceive. Otherwise, the two of them might have been caught in a less than desirable (and certainly difficult to explain) position.

He did his best the wrestle the Veela blood from raging hard-on status to just barely simmering, his resting state now that Granger was around.

He watched Granger intently through the corner of his eyes as she tried to regain her composure. It was impressive how short a time it took for her to get back to business-as-usual Granger, only needing to take a few deep breaths. Her smile at Kingsley was warm and inviting, almost believable if Lucius hadn't been present to practically feel the waves of terror rolling off of her a few moments before.

He was glad to see that her magic was wrapping itself back around its master, a comforting glow like a hearth fire instead of the molten lava he was used to. It never ceased to amaze Lucius how lifelike magic was when it came to acting toward and reacting to its holder.

Granger's hand barely moved by her side, the slightest movement that any normal person wouldn't have noticed, but which Lucius easily caught. Tendrils of her magic curled down her arm, drifted off her fingers , and gracefully arced through the air like calligraphy to wrap around the wand that Lucius had knocked from her hand. Her wand was carried smoothly back to her hand and she quickly pocketed it like nothing had happened.

Lucius was floored. It was immensely unusual for wandless and wordless magic to be used, as it required incredible focus and power. For Granger to summon her wand like it was absolutely nothing was flabbergastng. Lucius was by no means a weak wizard, but wandless and wordless magic was a difficult task, even for one such as he.

I knew she was strong, but fucking hell. What other secrets do you have hidden in you, witch? Besides an unusually strong attraction to being bossed about? It was difficult to conceal his smirk as Lucius thought of all the wicked things he could do to a surprisingly compliant little witch like her.

Granger's undivided attention was on Shacklebolt, so the wizard followed suit after confirming that she was relatively fine for now.

Absolutely incredible that the minister seemed to notice nothing at all. Lucius liked Shacklebolt considerably. He was the very definition of a good man, someone that the wizarding world needed in power right now, a formidable wizard and experienced Auror (Lucius should know, he had dueled the man multiple times. And it wasn't for practice), but Merlin's Beard was he always this unobservant? He was by no means complaining, thankful that his activities had gone unnoticed as he knew being caught would harm Granger's reputation much more than his (the wizarding world was still not without its double standards regarding witches and wizards). But one would hope the Minister of Magic would be a bit more aware.

"Why hello, Hermione." Kingsley said, warmly, as if her being there was complete unsurprising. "I was going to head to your office after meeting with Lucius, but now I can kill two birds with one stone." Granger's eyebrows rose in a quizzical look, obviously wondering what the Minister of Magic would have to say that concerned both her and Lucius Malfoy. Kingsley turned to the seated blonde.

"I apologize for how blasted long it took us, but we finally know what's happening at the Manor. Damned Unspeakables sometimes take their jobs a little too too seriously. They research deep magical issues and then proceed to not say a damn word." The minister shook his head irritably.

Lucius leaned forward in his chair, eager to hear the news. It the past couple of months, a shadow seemed to have fallen on the Manor. Granted, it wasn't the friendliest piece of architecture in the first place, but this shadow felt like the weight of evil had infiltrated its very walls. Lucius had asked the Ministry to look into it, as all of his research had ended up fruitless. He desperately wanted to be rid of it, as his attempts at redemption in the minds of the Ministry and Wizarding World were already balanced on shaky ground.

He had been wrong. Plain and simple. He was raised up in a world that was terrified of those that were different and used hatred as a guard. He was no better than those that came from two, one, or no magical parents. They all bled the same color blood. Hell, watching Granger, the muggleborn Gryffindor princess, absolutely destroy multiple pureblooded Death Eaters was humbling enough. Lucius knew and thoroughly accepted now that power could rest in any type of blood as magic knew no discrimination. Magic was pure in its on part. It was the masters of such that adulterated it for their own means.

Lucius knew the damage he had done was immense and the people he had hurt, even killed, were many, but he had a nagging (and often self-described pathetic) hope in the back of his mind that he could work to repay his debts. Even if he died before he could do it totally, he would fight to earn some degree of forgiveness, whatever it took. That's why his work at the Ministry was so important to him: if the Ministry succeeded and did right by its constituents, then that was one more step in the right direction.

One more step to being worthy of her. Lucius angrily shooed that thought away. Not the time or the place. You need a good fuck, you silly man. You're losing your mind.

Not that finding a willing witch was particularly difficult for Lucius. He had spent many a night in the arms of an overzealous lover. It would seem that the title of ex-Death Eater did little to keep the witches at bay. Most came to him out of some odd quest for meaning, equating his "bad boy-ness" (as one tipsy witch had described) as either a rebellion of societal/familial standards or as an escape into an exotic world where one could safely play with darkness. But lately, the witches weren't piquing his interest. They were hungry for attention or gold but lacking in every ounce of intellect except for that which involved sex. Lucius grew bored with them rather quickly.

He simply used them to satisfy that Veela quivering underneath his skin, one that desperately urged him to jump Granger daily. Lucius chose to not delve into the reason why his blood was so hot for the witch, choosing to believe that because he was attracted to her and denied himself, the Veela trait raged for her. After all, he was not used to not getting what he wanted. Gods forbid he ever lost control (something he generally very much had, but around her, all bets were off): he would be ravishing her in an instant, ripping her clothes off, his mouth on whatever uncovered skin he could find. And with her mouthwatering, lightly tanned golden skin, he would take his sweet time tasting her. Lucius imagined his blond head between two deliciously toned thighs, the witch's back bowed as she moaned his name, her hands stroking his head in rhythm with his mouth as he fucked her with his tongue. One would think with his ancestor being so removed, the strength of genetics would have diminished, but the Veela traits dominated his entire being.

Lucius turned his attention back to the Minister who had paused (maybe for dramatic effect?) hoping to distract the hot blooded creature within him.

"Well? What is it? What was found?" Shacklebolt sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, seeming to mull over the words he was about to say. He looked up, his face stern and his dark eyes meeting Lucius's. Lucius cursed.

"Not him." Lucius flopped back in his chair, both hands covering and rubbing his face. A small laugh of pure disbelief burst out of his mouth. "How? He's dead. The boy got every one of the horcruxes, correct?"

"Yes, well." Kingsley looked like it was taking effort to speak, like saying the words out loud would make it all too real. "Somehow his soul or spirit (if you could even call it that) has been melded to the inner workings of your home."

"And what, exactly, is the solution to eradicating this parasite?" Lucius flared at Shacklebolt, not out of anger at the Minister, but at the bloody piss-poor hand of cards he was just dealt.

Shacklebolt winced in response. Oh Merlin, was he about to say something worse? Was that possible?

The Minister turned to Granger who had been listening intently to the entire two-sided conversation, but was just a bewildered as she had been from the start.

"Hermione I'm afraid we need your help again." Shacklebolt said gravely.

What the hell? What did Granger have to do with anything? It wasn't often that Lucius was completely taken off-guard.

The witch started. Her eyes widened in surprise and she took a step back, her arms crossing over her chest. A defensive move. She shook that mane of riotous curls.

"No, Kingsley." Oh shit, Gryffindor princess and all over War heroine was denying a request? A one from the minister nonetheless? Wonders never cease. "We talked about this. I can't do it. Not again."

Again? What the bloody hell was going on here?

Kingsley sighed again. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the manner, Hermione." He seemed to be pleading with her. "It's Voldemort."

The witch sucked in a breath. She spun around so her back was facing both wizards and her hands went into her hair once more.

Kingsley continued, his voice remaining in that calming tone. "He's essence or spirit or whatever you want to call it is still hanging around. Somehow he was able to connect to the Malfoy Manor—"

Hermione spun around, eyes snapping, arms crossed over her chest. "Absolutely not. I won't go back there."

Lucius watched the girl calmly. Her temper was flaring, but her body language meant fear. Those arms wrapping around her body, with her hands white knuckling her biceps were her tells. He couldn't blame her. With what she experienced, it was perfectly reasonable for her to have no desire to ever set foot in that place. And being her, she would never admit to being afraid. No, that would mean a show of weakness and she did her best to put on the guise of a witch that was completely together and in control. Anger helped by making people leave her alone, but Shacklebolt wasn't a man easily intimidated.

Kingsley's voice hardened. "Hermione, I'm not asking."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Funny, I distinctly remember you being elected as minister, not climbing to power as a dictator. Or perhaps you've decided to take a page out of Voldemort's diary," she responded through gritted teeth. "There is always a choice."

Damn, Granger.

Kingsley passed his hand over his face as he groaned, completely exasperated. "This time I'm afraid there's not. When it comes to Voldemort, no one has a choice. It's our duty. It's your duty, Hermione. If you can help make sure he never hurts another soul again, you must."

Granger's eyes went flat and her shoulders sagged, arms falling to her sides, all anger-fueled energy gone. Her eyes fell to the floor, too exhausted to meet the minister's gaze. Lucius felt pity perk up in his chest for the girl. She had spent the better part of a year on the run to find Horcruxes and support those two idiot boys, all in the name of duty. It was general knowledge that Potter's success was mainly due to her and her unwavering loyalty. That sense of duty, though, could very easily trap a person and Lucius could almost see the chains weighing Granger down.

She spoke quietly, her voice almost quivering. "I can't do it Kingsley. You said only once and that was it. To do it again could be disastrous." Her eyes were on trained to a spot on the floor, ashamed to admit weakness.

Shacklebolt moved forward and placed his hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "I'm afraid I'm having to ask you to do it once more," he said, not unkindly. Her eyes still not meeting his, she gave a very slow and very small nod of acquiescence.

"Two Aurors will go with you. Would you like me to request Harry and Ron?" Lucius's lip curled at the thought of those two imbeciles in his Manor. Weasley was a belligerent baboon and Potter was just a reminder that he only stayed out of Azkaban because of his testimony holding so much weight. He despised owing anyone anything and after meeting the boy face-to-face to stiffly express his thanks, he did his best to avoid the "Chosen One" at all cost.

"NO!" He was surprised again, especially at the frantic look that graced Granger's features as her face snapped up to meet Shacklebolt.

She cleared her throat and said more evenly. "No, that's unnecessary. You know others won't be able to help. I'll be fine on my own."

Kingsley looked hard at her. "Are you absolutely sure, Hermione? It will just be you and Lucius there. Would you be comfortable?"

The implication was obvious. Lucius almost growled in annoyance. But who was he to complain? A known pureblooded bigot, who hated "MudBloods," an ex-Death Eater. Of course everyone would be worried to let the Gryffindor princess go into the devil's bedroom all alone. A particularly sinful thought piped up of all the devilish things he would do to that witch should she find herself in his bedroom.

Granger glanced at Lucius and then back to Shacklebolt.

"I'll be fine," she said firmly. Her pitch a little too high and her smile a little too forced to be anywhere near the truth. "Besides, it can be done in less than an hour like last time. I'll be in and out and I won't have to bother Mister Malfoy for very long."

Shacklebolt shot her a sympathetic look. "Hermione, this could take days. His spirit is wrapped around the very bones of that Manor. And with all the magic that the Manor contains just as a magical structure alone, his grip is strong." Hermione looked horrified and she opened her mouth to probably nullify her acceptance. The Minister quickly spoke before she could get a word in.

"Seamus and Dean will accompany you, plus one Unspeakable to direct how this will go," Shacklebolt's voice was all business. "That Unspeakable will let you know when it is over." He turned to Lucius. "I'm afraid you'll have to be there the entire time as well, Lucius. You know the ins and outs of your home and we'll need that knowledge to thoroughly eradicate his pestilence." Lucius gave him a curt nod.

The Minister turned to walk toward the door. "This will begin tomorrow morning at the Malfoy Manor and go until it is finished. Lucius I'm sure you'll have rooms prepared." Hermione spluttered in indignation. "Yes, all of you must stay in the house. Hermione, your power cannot leave that establishment until he's gone. You know what could go wrong if you do decide to leave." She went silent.

Shacklebolt's hand rested on the office doorknob as he looked back apologetically to the two individuals, "The Wizarding World thanks you in advance. Good luck." And with a resounding click, the door was shut and the man was gone. Lucius turned his attention back to the defeated witch.

She sighed. "Fuck."

/

Hermione angrily slammed clothes into a suitcase. She was probably overpacking, but when you're told that this activity would continue "until it is finished," that didn't give you much to go off of. So she was packing enough to last a week. She could always wash and rewear if, gods forbid, this whole trial was going to go longer. She shivered at the thought of going back —there. But she bitterly stuffed that fear down deep inside, into that lock box.

There's no time to be afraid. You'll get in and you'll get out and you'll never have to go back. Maybe this can be closure? Hermione let out an empty laugh at that pathetic try at optimism.

The second Kingsley had left, Hermione had rushed her way out of the office, not wanting to be alone with Malfoy any more that day, exhausted from her anger at him, that really unfortunately timed panic attack, and her autonomy being ripped away by Kingsley. The rest of the working day had been incredibly unproductive as all she could think about was either the dread of going to Malfoy Manor the next day or the events that had transpired between her and Lucius Malfoy.

Twice, he had come much closer than necessary. Twice, she had done absolutely nothing to stop him. Yeah, maybe she could justify it by how bloody fast and sodding strong the man was, catching her off guard and moving away before she had time to respond. But maybe, there was something that made her not want to move away?

When a frustrated cry, Hermione threw a shirt she had been folding down on the ground, sat heavily on her bed, and buried her face in her hands.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. She despised the man. Well, maybe not completely despise (to hate someone gave them too much power of you), but she sure as hell didn't like him! Him with his perfect hair, and broad shoulders, and intimidating height, and perfect poise, and astounding intellect, and aristocratic bone structure, and devilish grey eyes.

Hermione fell back onto the bed, spread eagle, looking up at the ceiling, and willing her brain to stop thinking for once in her fucking life. She sighed heavily.

Alright.

She could admit that Malfoy was definitely an attractive male. You would have to be blind or completely out of your mind to deny that fact. If you were to think of what Apollo or Adonis would have looked like, their visage probably would have paled to that of Lucius Malfoy. He was elegant and masculine, dangerous but intriguing, and intelligent above it all.

Yes, She could admit that. Attractiveness could be completely objective.

She'd seen the many young female (and sometimes male) ministry workers throw themselves a him, thinking sex would tie him down. Many times she'd see that wicked smirk come out when a particularly pretty witch would approach him. They would chat and eventually walk out of the Ministry together, arms intertwined. Hermione never saw him speak again to the witches he would walk out with, but she would see those girls every now and then, looking rather crestfallen from being discarded almost immediately. Those witches almost always had a backup wizard somewhere, so it was difficult to feel sorry for them for long.

She wondered what it was like: to have a one-night stand with a man who cared nothing for you and made that very apparent from the start. But she was not deaf to the giggling groups of witches that would quietly rave about how good of a shag he was. Maybe that was worth it to them? She sniffed. She didn't judge. People were free to do whatever they wanted with whomever, as long as it was between two (or more) consenting adults.

Hermione felt her cheeks heat at the thought of what happened in his office. Once more, she couldn't get it out of her head, it felt like a movie on repeat. He was so close to her. So powerful. And Merlin, it should be a sin to have voice like that. It was like a silk covered blade, dangerously sleek, daring you to touch. She shook her head and groaned again, pulling at the roots of her hair, hoping pain would clear her mind.

You are not bloody lusting after Lucius Malfoy, you idiot. He was just trying to upset you, that's it! Don't fall for it. You're better than his cheap seduction tricks. You are no scarlet woman.

Hermione sighed and massaged her forehead.

This next week (or however the fuck long) was going to be one straight from hell.

/

This chapter was bit more plot based, so I tried to give you some yummy things in the midst of all the detail. I promise it will heat up soon! Let me know what you think!