I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. Huge thank you to my betas—Glorioux and AmyLouise.

Chapter 10

Friday, July 29

Cemetery, 7:30 pm, five minutes after Hermione's disappearance.

For the last few minutes, Harry Potter had been staring at the unresponsive and distraught blond wizard. Lucius Malfoy was slumped on the ground on his knees; his platinum locks were in disarray and a thin bright-red trail of blood trickled down his jaw. Four bandits, clothed in black, lay fully-bound on the ground nearby. Hermione was not in sight.

There was something disconcertingly odd in this scene, something absurd. It made no sense to Harry, none at all.

It had all started when Hermione's Patronus interrupted the Aurors' meeting. Her little otter appeared in Harry's office and announced, in a euphoric, Hermione-like voice, that Harry and the Aurors were needed at the cemetery near Ron's grave. The tone of the message didn't suggest any reason for concern. Thus, Harry and his immediate attendants Apparated to the cemetery, where they now stood, surprised and somewhat bewildered.

"All right, here we go," muttered Harry to himself and lightly touched Malfoy's shoulder.

"Mr. Malfoy," he muttered. There was no response, and Harry patted Lucius' shoulder once more. "Mr. Malfoy," he called again. Still there was only silence in response.

Eventually, one of the Aurors behind Harry, evidently tired of waiting, let out an impatient and slightly annoyed huff. With this prompt, Harry forcefully shook Malfoy's shoulder and shouted, "Malfoy!" At last, Malfoy snapped out of his lethargy and focused his pavement-grey eyes on Harry.

Thirty minutes later, same place.

"Harry, Harry! Calm down! Please." Three Aurors seized Harry in mid-flight, when, in a rage, he tried to strangle Lucius Malfoy.

"You! How could you? I should kill you, arrogant bastard! You used her and betrayed her. She was just cannon fodder for you, wasn't she? Do you have any humanity left in you?" yelled Harry, his hair as wild as ever and his green eyes burning with fury.

"I hate self-centred people like you. You don't have compassion, sensibility, feelings—nothing! You're just a white, marbled, empty shell!"

Lucius was still deathly pale, but had mostly regained his composure and coldness. He muttered through his clenched teeth, "Calm yourself, Potter. Stop these hysterics and behave like a man. We need to act—there is not much time. We ought to drag the information out of these scoundrels. Let's move this to the Ministry's interrogation chambers."

Then he looked straight into Harry's eyes and continued, "As for your accusations—I had reached a mutually beneficial agreement with your friend. Mrs. Weasley willingly and quite eagerly had agreed to help me."

After that Lucius paused, and repeatedly clenched and unclenched his jaw, before uttering, "I can assure you that Hermione's kidnapping was an unfortunate accident. I did not wish Hermione any harm!"

Harry was caught off guard by Lucius' words, and the gentleness with which he pronounced 'Hermione'. He looked at Malfoy suspiciously, trying to understand what exactly had transpired between his friend and Lucius. Not finding any explanation, Harry shook his head in disbelief, and busied himself with transporting the bandits to the Ministry.

While Harry Potter and the Aurors were fussing around the four wizards in black, Lucius found Hermione and Dolohov's wands on the ground, picked them up and discreetly put them in his pocket.

Saturday, July 30. The Ministry of Magic. Interrogation Chamber.

12:30 am, five hours after Hermione's disappearance.

The dimly lit room with gloomy coloured walls had seen many horrible scenes and heard many hopeless pleas for mercy.

In the centre of the room, Lucius Malfoy was methodically punching an unresponsive body. Blood and swelling made the face of the man unrecognizable. A sharp shout forced Lucius to halt his assault.

"Malfoy! Malfoy! Stop this immediately, or I'll call a guard and he'll escort you out!" shouted Harry.

Giving Harry a quick glare, and after delivering the last sharp strike to the person's skull, Lucius reluctantly released his deadly grip and the unconscious body sank to the floor. The blond wizard slowly and fastidiously wiped the blood from his hands.

"You know he told us everything he knows. With Veritaserum, we can be sure that there is nothing more to delve into here. The only thing we have—their meeting place in Ireland. I'll send people there right away," said Harry. Then, his eyes sparkled with challenge, and he added, "You should have known that Dolohov doesn't trust anybody. He was your former colleague, after all."

"Careful, Potter, do not tempt me," growled Lucius dangerously.

Two hours later. Malfoy Manor.

Lucius was sitting at his desk with a half-filled glass of the Firewhisky in front of him and Hermione's wand in his fingers. He was absentmindedly caressing the warm wood of the wand and his eyes were locked on the glass filled with dark, honey-coloured liquid. In the subtle light of the library, the liquid was shimmering softly. Hermione's eyes had been shimmering in exactly the same way when she smiled at him at the cemetery not so long ago.

Lucius drew a ragged breath and closed his eyes. His knuckles still stung after the interrogation at the Ministry. He purposely did not heal them; he wanted them to sting.

With a loud pop, a small elf appeared at the door.

"Master, Master, an owl, a strange owl, is bringing a letter for you."

And a little creature bashfully drew closer to Lucius' desk.

Angered by the intrusion, Lucius barked rudely, "What is it? Give it to me, and leave." Shivering, the creature cautiously put the letter on the desk's edge and, with a very quiet snap this time, hurriedly disappeared in one skittish movement.

Lucius opened the letter and read,

Lucius, old friend,

Do you miss your little Mudblood yet? I thought so.

Do you want a trade? I won't ask much: only my wand and 50000 Galleons, nothing more. Oh, and call off Potter's dogs, will you? They cannot find me, but they are still getting on my nerves.

You will come to the meeting place—I am sure you know where it is by now— at 5.00 A.M. sharp. You have to come alone, Lucius; do not play with me, or your Mudblood will get it. Do you understand? Good.

See you in a bit, Lucius.

P.S. Exploring new lows Lucius, using the pregnant Mudblood as bait? Bravo, old friend. Is the little bastard yours?

Lucius' vision momentarily failed him.

Then he reread the postscript one more time. At last, everything connected in his mind—his dream about the child, Hermione's sudden sicknesses, her irrational behaviour, her odd declining of wine at dinner. Lucius sprang up in a fit of anger. With one wave of his hand, everything was scattered from his desk with loud bangs, cracks and peals.

Shit! The witch was pregnant and had never told him. And he, the old fool, didn't even notice.

More loud and angry sounds filled the library. During the next few seconds, Lucius simply couldn't breathe. The image of Hermione in a bloodstained dress and the image of her struggling in Dolohov's arms merged into one gruesome picture in his mind.

With strenuous effort, Lucius willed himself to calm down and think. The relentless ticking of the old clock drove him to act fast. After a short contemplation, he destroyed the postscript. He took a letter along with a few other things and Apparated from the Manor. Lucius had only two hours and a hell of a lot of work.

Somewhere in Ireland.

Five o'clock in the morning, almost ten hours after Hermione's disappearance.

Lucius was waiting for Dolohov to reveal himself. He could feel his presence and was slowly scanning the area. He stood in a small opening, surrounded by lush greenery. A forest was slowly awakening after the night's sleep. His stormy grey eyes, accentuated by dark shadows that formed under them, were cold and guarded.

"Lucius, glad to see you again." Dolohov finally showed up. "Let's do it quickly—give me my wand and the money."

The moment Lucius saw Dolohov; a raw fire began to burn his insides. He was ready to kill— only thoughts of Hermione were stopping him. Before he spoke, Lucius clenched his fists. "Not so fast, Antonin. Take me to the witch first." His raspy voice disturbed the morning peacefulness of the forest. His breathing was laboured, and it was enormously difficult to keep up his facade. Emotions and adrenaline were running high.

"Ah, so it's your little bastard in there," hissed Dolohov in his vile voice. "All right, Lucius. Let's do it half way—give me my wand now, and I'll take you to the witch."

Immediately after he had received his wand, Dolohov took Lucius' hand and a minute later, they were at the threshold of a filthy-looking, dimly lit, miserable shack. Lucius could see a closed door in the depths. Without preamble, he moved inside, towards the door, but was stopped by Dolohov,

"Ah, ah, give me my money, Lucius."

Both wizards kept their wands trained on each other at all times. Lucius called loudly, "Hermione!"

Then he heard the slightly muffled but recognizable voice from behind the closed door, "In here." Lucius drew a sigh of relief and threw the sack with galleons to Dolohov. Unable to keep his disgust from seeping through, Lucius shouted, "Get out! Get out!" He roared. "Before I kill you, get out!"

Dolohov grabbed the money and was ready to leave. However, at the last moment, he paused and said, "Just so you know, Lucius, it was my Avada Kedavra that killed your wife. Too bad, I couldn't play with your Mudblood. The little bastard inside blasted me out every time I tried to do so."

The last shreds of Lucius' resolve wore off and he launched himself towards Dolohov with a deadly roar.

Maniacal laughter filled the air, but before Lucius had an opportunity to snap the nasty wizard in half, Dolohov disappeared.

In the next second, Lucius was inside the shack, ramming into the closed door. Under the sheer force of his shoulder, the door was reduced to a pile of rotten wooden planks in a matter of seconds. He didn't use his wand—Lucius felt a desperate, animalistic need to physically destroy something. Hurriedly, the wizard stepped into the dark, murky lair and rasped, "Hermione!" A second later, she was in his arms.

Hermione's soft voice whispered, "Lucius" with relief. In vain, Lucius tried to take in her condition, but it was too dark for that. So he asked,

"Are you all right, Hermione?"

"Yes, yes, I am fine." And she drew closer to him, her fingers tangled themselves in his hair and her warm breath fluttered against his neck.

Finally having the slight witch in his arms was Lucius' tipping point. Everything that had happened during the last twenty-four hours suddenly dawned on him, and an avalanche of emotions overwhelmed the wizard.

He lifted and pressed the little witch to his chest, walked outside and Apparated them to the Manor. Once there, still pressing his precious cargo to his chest, he walked briskly through the Manor, carrying her to the destination with urgent determination. Hermione tried to say something, but Lucius stopped her.

"Don't talk. We'll talk, and I will explain everything later."

She was still in his arms when they ended up in his private chamber. There, he hoarsely whispered in her ear, "Don't stop me, don't stop me, witch. I need it. I need you. The things I've been through… Don't stop me now, witch. There is no stopping now, Hermione. I need it. I need it."

He was chanting like a mad man. His fingers were fluttering over her hair, her skin, her lips.

She cupped his face with her small, warm palms and simply whispered, "Yes."

Lucius echoed her "Yes" in a low growl, and their lips met in a scorching kiss. Her fingers grasped his tangled locks gingerly, and his hands began to tear her dress.

"I hate this dress," he hissed. And it was destroyed—irrevocably destroyed in one swift motion.

She was exposed to him then. Hermione stood there almost entirely nude, exposed to Lucius' burning gaze. He tore his clothes off too, and their bodies finally met.

Skin on skin, lips on lips, hands hungry, desperately seeking bare flesh to feel, to caress, to possess. Lucius' lips were bruising Hermione's. Kisses were hard and merciless, with a salty taste of blood. It was necessary; they both needed to feel it, to live it through fully. There simply wasn't any other way for them.

They didn't make it to the bed, not this time; they just sank onto the plush rug. The last feeble barriers between them were violently destroyed by Lucius. There was no foreplay, no coaxing, no gentle exploration. Lucius' mouth devoured her with his scorching hot kisses and bites. His fingers learned and mapped her body, demanding, forcing her to response. Overcome by her own desire, Hermione fully succumbed to his demands, to his will.

They merged with the blunt force of passion, lust and desperation. She met his first powerful thrust with a rapturous moan, her nails digging deep into his back. Again and again she met his every thrust eagerly, needing to feel him inside her as much as he did. Their bodies, glistening with sweat, glided against each other in life's centuries-old dance. It was pure harmony in everything—tempo, intensity, vigour.

Only at the last moment, sensing the closeness of their mutual climax, did Lucius freeze for a millisecond. There he was, in all his glory—his wet, platinum locks dangled down, pearls of sweat glistened on his chest, shimmering grey eyes locked on the woman beneath him, and all his fine muscles ready to carry them into an abyss. He was balancing on the edge of sanity, trying to perceive the greatness of the moment.

And, it came to this final, upward spiral. He forced them both up, higher and higher, faster and faster, until Hermione's toes curled in pleasurable agony. Until the inner muscles of her molten core clenched at him, until her wild pulsating around him forced Lucius to lose his tempo and surrender. The world around them burst into a million broken mirrors, filling their ears with hysterically loud peals. Lucius' triumphant shout cut the air in unison with Hermione's melodic cry.

The gleams of the first morning sunrays found two exhausted lovers on the rug asleep, but still joined in the most carnal way possible.