Thanks for the lovely reviews and interest in this story. I will be posting every other day, have no fear.

So ... Hermione and Lucius spend more time in his cell ... but why is she really there and how will he react?

Week Two

Hermione arrived at Azkaban earlier than she was expected the following week. The same guard greeted her – greeted was hardly the word; a gruff humph was all she received – but made her wait until the appointed time before escorting her once again along the corridors and up the stairs to Malfoy's cell. She had spoken to Draco briefly during the week and had told him that his father was well – as well as could be expected. Draco was clearly relieved and asked her to tell Lucius the house was in good order, that he was enjoying his work and – Hermione was surprised at his openness before her – to pass on his love. There was little else she would be able to transfer from son to father.

Her time was limited this week; she was only granted fifteen minutes due to Azkaban duty shifts. As much as she should hate the place, the thought of being rushed for time dismayed her.

The door shut behind her as she was shown into the cell. She searched Malfoy's face for an indication of how he felt about her arrival. She could read nothing. Almost immediately she sat on the edge of his bunk again and began talking about random nothingness: the weather, tedious details of Ministry bureaucracy. At times neither said a word, and the only sound was the insistent dripping of dirty water down the damp wall. It formed a small puddle which would petulantly drain away into a small grating in the floor.

"I saw Draco. He asked me to say that all is well at the house. He stays there frequently and is managing it well. He's happy at the Ministry and is kept very busy."

Malfoy nodded and his eyes darted around, as if his brain was feeding off the little snippets of information she was providing for him.

"And he sends his love." She spoke genuinely and softly, almost as if trespassing on a private moment.

Malfoy swallowed. After a moment he turned his back on her and silence fell over them again. Hermione shuffled her feet on the hard rock beneath her, startling an alarmingly large beetle which scuttled away under the bunk.

"And my ex-wife?"

Hermione looked up, shocked at his inquiry after Narcissa. Malfoy's wife had left him soon after the war. It was rumoured that if she had been more forthcoming in his trial he would have been spared prison, but when it came to it she did nothing to provide testimony in his favour. Their divorce had been finalised while he was behind bars.

"She must not interfere in the estate," he continued, his voice cold. "I want her nowhere near the place."

"I ... I'll speak to Draco."

Malfoy looked at her briefly before his face twisted into a sneer and he turned away. But for once Hermione knew the sneer was not directed at her but at the memory of his wife's behaviour.

Just then the groan of the opening door reverberated around them again. Her time was up. The guard hurried her out, shutting Malfoy back into his hard, black emptiness.

Week Three

It continued like this the following week. Little was discussed of any importance, but they seemed comfortable in each other's presence. This man had minimal human contact. It gave Hermione an odd sense of satisfaction that she was the one providing it for him now. He had no choice in the matter, either in who she was or in his emotional gain. But she could tell he anticipated her visits, that he looked forward to the time she spent in his cell. He wanted her there despite the fact that she was Muggle-born, despite the fact that she was everything he despised; she knew it.

Week Four

The following week, after an initial, brief and entirely meaningless conversation about the food in Azkaban, Hermione at last revealed the ulterior reason she had been sent to him.

"Mr Malfoy ... I'm not only here to further your rehabilitation. The Ministry believes you have information which may be of benefit. They are hoping you will be willing to impart this to them, in exchange for a more favourable appraisal of your future release." She came straight out with it but could feel her throat drying on her. She swallowed hard, searching his face to determine his reaction.

The grey eyes flashed with revelation, interest even. "Well well ... not so innocent after all, Miss Granger."

"I'm merely following instructions, Mr Malfoy."

"Bribery and corruption ... who would have thought it?" The Malfoy smirk danced over his mouth, a relic from his past. Despite herself, she found it appealing.

"I see it rather as an advantageous arrangement for everyone involved."

"Offering freedom for information?"

"It's an age-old ploy."

Malfoy remained silent and looked steadily across at her. She held his stare, aware once again of the brightness of his eyes in this otherwise sterile and bland environment. She could sense his annoyance, but not once did she believe he would dismiss her. He needed human discourse, the presence of another, too much to do that.

"What is it you wish to know?" he asked tersely. Her body rippled with satisfaction at his capitulation.

Hermione drew in a deep breath and continued. "The Ministry has reason to believe that there is an official working within it who was instrumental in providing inside information to Voldemort leading up to the war. He has so far managed to evade detection. Apparently, he is a half-blood whose family were largely vehemently anti-Voldemort. He purported to be the same. There are several people this could be. We want to avoid upsetting the families by unnecessary investigations and were hoping you could help us."

Malfoy was utterly quiet and still for a while longer before his smooth tones slid across to her. Still, she could hear the underlying hiss of desperation. "And how do I benefit from this ... arrangement?

"You gain your freedom."

He scoffed. "You know as well as I that it will be months before that is even considered. What do I gain from this here, now?"

Hermione looked at him. His eyes were burning. He saw the opportunity. He wanted something, anything that would break the monotony, break him from his harsh desolation.

"I can't give you anything; it's forbidden. Your sentence would be extended and I wouldn't be allowed here anymore."

His face flinched. She knew how much it pained him to hear that; her visits were his one glimpse of colour in an otherwise grey and confined world.

She swallowed. Hermione's innate decency wanted to ease his suffering, wanted to reward him for anything he could give her. Part of her shared his agony at the absence of interaction, of no hope of seeing life, of seeing beauty from one week to the next. But at the same time, her power over him at this moment was intoxicating. Standing alone together in his dark, dank cell, her skin prickled as she held his hopes in her hands.

She asked directly, her voice breaking sharply through the heavy silence. "Do you know the name?"

"Yes. I liaised with him myself for the Dark Lord."

The reminder of his past sat strangely easily within her.

He stared at her, waiting. Hermione understood why he was holding back. The groaning cogs of the Ministry judiciary would take months to release him even if he confessed to all he knew. She admired his stubborn resolve.

Malfoy's eyes cast rapidly over her face. The grey of his irises alone burned a path between them in the otherwise fetid air. Hermione allowed a shiver to ripple up her spine before her soul settled.

She had decided what she would do.

"If you give me the name, I will show you my breasts, naked, for thirty seconds."

Silence.

She had said it. She could not retract it. But, strangely perhaps, she was entirely content with her statement. If he agreed, she would do it. Her body shivered again, not entirely through apprehension or cold.

For a moment nothing happened, and they both stood staring as they had done so often. Then those tormenting red lips of his curled into a sneer and he let out a taunting laugh. "I'm not some acne-ridden Hufflepuff third year, Miss Granger. Never have I heard anything so desperate."

"I can't give you anything tangible, therefore I give you my humanity. That is my offer."

He stood, still sneering. "You surprise me – offering your body for information."

"I see it as offering something which you would not otherwise receive. I'm not allowed to bring you anything. I can't change the conditions of your incarceration. There is little else I can do."

"And what makes you think I want to see what it is you are offering me. That I want to look on you." His features twisted more viciously than ever. For the first time it turned her stomach, but in the next instant strengthened her determination yet further. His need to remind himself of their social inequality reflected his own insecurity and confusion; she expected it.

"Mr Malfoy, you are a man. And I, no matter what my heritage, am a woman. My body is just the same as any other body, my flesh the same flesh."

He did not move and gave no indication of agreement. She stood for a few moments longer in which the air grew so thick between them she seemed to struggle to draw in breath. Then, with a sniff, not admitting any emotion to herself, she picked up her things quickly and turned her back on him, drawing her wand to release the door.

"Very well." His words were shot out suddenly.

Hermione looked over her shoulder. Malfoy had raised himself tall, his nostrils flared, his mouth thin and tense.

"Do it."

His sudden compliance almost undermined her. She clenched her fists to regain some control over herself. But then, her resolve fortified once again, she turned back and took slow footsteps into the middle of the cell, carefully placing her things back down on the chair.

"You tell me the name first."

He sneered yet again; she could have drawn the expression from memory by now. "How do I know you will keep your part of the bargain?"

"I give you my word. Even you know me well enough than to doubt me on that."

There was another moment's silence.

And then he spoke, clearly and plainly. "Ivan Marshmore. He works in the Department of Magical Personnel."

A frisson of excitement coursed through her. Malfoy's eyes widened. She saw his Adam's apple lurch up his neck.

But Hermione was a woman of her word. With only a moment's pause, she set about keeping to it.

Slowly pulling up her top, she carefully exposed her breasts within the bra cups. Then, reaching up under the top to tug at her bra straps, she pulled them down as much as she could from her shoulders so that it would be easier to draw the cups down. She felt as if she was exposing her breasts for a surgical procedure, keeping them neatly framed between two sheaths of material. Was that cheating him? It would be enough.

She moved her hands to pull down the bra cups and paused, for the first time feeling a poke of shame. Hermione looked over at him. His eyes were already trained on her breasts. She had never seen such a gaze: gone was the arrogance, gone was the pride. His eyes were bright with longing, and his chest rose and fell rapidly before her. Any shame was wafted away swiftly.

Hermione brought up one hand, reached into her right bra cup and withdrew the breast, pulling the material down to rest beneath it. Malfoy's eyes flared and his mouth fell open the merest amount.

She repeated the actions on the other breast. Both her breasts were now exposed to him, cool and pale. She started to count the thirty seconds away in her head.

-xxoOoxx-

Lucius Malfoy stared. He had never realised that his eyes would feast on a sight as if they had been starved of beauty. He dared not blink for fear of missing any of it. He had lived for months with only grey stone, grey food, and the stark geometry of cell walls and square wooden chairs. There had been no organic curves and swells. Even his own body had become hard and ungiving, the bones defiantly straight if he dared run a hand over them.

Not only was the sight before him one which he would have welcomed no matter who it was, but this girl had to him the most beautiful breasts he had ever seen. If he had been asked to describe a perfect female, this would be it. Did she know it? Did she know the swell of her breasts, not overly large, but rounded enough to rise from her body so delicious and ripe, was a sight of sheer perfection? Did she know her nipples, dark pink and hard in the cold air, sat delicate yet proud in the ideal place?

He was too moved to even be aroused. Her total equanimity, her complete decorum in doing this overwhelmed him. He stared and stared, aware he must appear ridiculous, his mouth hanging slack, his eyes unblinking. Sheer beauty.

Hermione had been counting carefully. Twenty-eight ... twenty-nine ... thirty. Immediately she turned, slipped her breasts back in her bra, and pulled down her top.

Lucius Malfoy almost staggered as the vision was pulled away from him.

Hermione swallowed hard. She had achieved what was necessary. "Right. That will be all for today. I think that was a sensible arrangement, don't you?"

He looked at her again. She reddened, he was sure of it, even in the dim light of the cell. Did she feel no more than satisfaction at a well-executed deal? He could not bring himself to speak. He did not wish her to see the delight she had wrought in him. He nodded, briefly and tersely.

She picked up her wand and intoned, 'Incarcero Overto.'

"Will you return next week?" He had spoken impulsively and immediately cursed the betrayal of his curiosity, of his need.

"Yes. I'm instructed to work with you for a while longer. Good bye until next time."

The door was pushed open and she left, letting it thud shut behind her.

Lucius Malfoy stood for a quarter of an hour after she had left, not moving from the spot, his eyes closed, remembering, picturing.

-xxoOoxx-

Malfoy had been honest. The lead was a good one. Ivan Marshmore was questioned and, with a little instigation, confessed to extreme experiments in the Dark Arts which had benefitted Voldemort in the run up to the war, and gave an address where he carried out his operations.

Had Hermione doubted Malfoy? She realised she had not. Their arrangement had had a strange transparency and integrity from the start.

Did she regret what she had done? No. And her mind would not dismiss the sight of his eyes wide with wonder as he looked on her naked breasts. She knew she had given him something which would sustain him over the coming days; she knew she had given him a sight more tender than anything he had received in the last few years. Despite who he was, it felt good.

You bet it did!

I'm sure there is more information she needs to get out of him, but what will the bargaining be next time?

Love hearing from you. LL x