''I was on the way to, at least, social salvation till I saw you again!' he said, freakishly shaking her as if she were a child. 'And why then have you tempted me? I was firm as a man could be till I saw those eyes and that mouth again - surely there never was such a maddening mouth since Eve's!' His voice sank, and a hot archness shot from his own black eyes. 'You temptress, Tess; you dear damned witch of Babylon-I could not resist you as soon as I met you again.'' – Thomas Hardy, Tess of the D'Urbervilles

Alert – Take cover. This is not a drill. Repeat – this is not a drill.

Oh God.

Oh God!

I start to scream, bringing my hands up to my mouth and screaming through my fingers as I look down at the dead person – body - object lying on the floor.

Oh god, oh god, ohmygodohmygodohmygod-

Hands. They land on my shoulders and spin me round, and I catch a glimpse of Lucius's furious face before his open palm flies across my face in a hard, powerful slap, once, twice, again and again.

'Shut up!' he hisses. 'Just shut up and calm down!'

'We killed him!' I scream. 'We killed him! We're murderers!'

He grabs me by the shoulders, wrenching me up so I'm face to face with him as he shakes me. His face is white and harsh.

'You didn't kill him – I did!' he whispers. 'And it was his own fault. He should not have come here-'

'But I helped you! I made him unable to defend himself-'

'Would you rather that he had had his way?' he asks harshly. 'Would you rather that I had died in his stead, leaving you at his mercy?'

I gulp, and I shake my head. 'No.'

He nods, before letting go of me and striding over to the body and looking down at it, his face bloodless with definite fear.

'We must act quickly.' He turns to leave, walking towards the door. 'Wait here. I shall be back shortly.'

'What?' I yelp. 'Where are you going?'

'I need to go and see if there's any chance that my son or my sister-in-law heard what just happened.'

'No, wait!' I say desperately. 'Don't leave me here alone with him!'

He turns to me. 'Don't be such a child. There is nothing to fear from him now. Just wait here for me to return, and be sure not to make a sound until I do.'

He strides out of the door and shuts it quietly, locking it behind him.

I stare at the body on the floor, not taking my eyes off it for a second, terrified that… that… oh, I don't know.

His eyes are still open.

They stare at me. Open, glassy, wide. Accusing.

I can't stand it.

I force myself to reach out and close his eyes. I slide his eyelids down, shielding myself from his accusing gaze.

This is another thing I'll never forgive Lucius for. He's turned me into a murderer.

But then… he didn't make me pull Dolohov back. I did that all by myself.

But I didn't have any choice!

You had all the choice in the world.

It's a long, agonising wait until the door swings open silently and Lucius steps back into the room, locking us in together with Dolohov's body. He turns and looks down at it, his face paler than ever.

What can I say to somebody like him at a moment like this?

'What are we going to do?' is what I eventually do say.

He looks up at me, his eyes like stone. 'Do, Mudblood?'

His voice is flinty. I take a deep, juddering breath.

'What are we going to do about this?' I ask quietly. 'Are you going to tell Voldemort what we did?'

He's looking at me as if he's never seen me properly before.

'No,' he says quietly. 'No. To tell the Dark Lord that I killed Antonin over nothing more than a piece of muggle filth would be an act of extreme foolishness.'

Muggle filth.

I grit my teeth.

'But then, if I were to lie to the Dark Lord and he were to discover that I'd lied to him, my life would be over in a heartbeat,' he says to himself, still looking down at Dolohov's body.

Oh god. Lucius… Voldemort is going to kill him when he finds out what's happened.

So what? Let him. Tell Voldemort yourself when you see him and let it be done.

I walk over to Lucius slowly. In this moment he looks more afraid than I've ever seen him look before.

Seeing fear on his face isn't something I'm used to, especially to this degree. It almost makes him seem like a human being.

'So, do you have any suggestions?' he asks. 'Has Hogwarts' brightest student got a clever little plan to get us out of this scenario?'

I take a step back from him. One of the biggest things that's always scared me about him is how… sane he is, considering what he's done to me. But now his eyes gleam with something close to madness due to his fear.

He reaches out and grips at my wrist, drawing me closer to him in one sharp movement. He stares down at me as I start to shake in his grasp.

I hold my breath as he runs his wand gently down my cheek. The brief moment of hysteria in his eyes has subsided but he's still pale with fear.

'What would stop me from blaming you for his death?' he murmurs. 'What would stop me from telling the Dark Lord that you somehow managed to grab hold of Antonin's wand and turned it on him?'

'If you dare do that,' I say quietly, my voice shaking, 'then don't think I won't bring you down with me. I'll tell him it was you who did it, and I will tell him why you did it-'

He tangles his fingers into my hair, wrenching my head back.

'Some might say,' he hisses, 'that you owe this to me. I saved you tonight. What would have stopped me from just walking away, and allowing Antonin to do what he wanted with you?'

I don't dare to say what I'm thinking out loud.

'Besides,' he whispers as his wand trails slowly down my cheek, 'I need only to perform a memory charm, that's all. One simple memory charm, and you'll believe that you killed him yourself. You'll back up my story without a thought. Your conscience would allow nothing else.'

'You can't,' I whisper.

'I can,' he says smoothly.

'Well go on then, you coward,' I say, shaking. 'Perform the memory charm; make me believe that I killed him myself. But first you will tell me why the thought of Dolohov getting his hands on me was so abhorrent to you that you chose to murder him before he could go any further.'

His mouth thins out. 'You know why. A pureblood-'

'Cannot touch a Mudblood? You still believe that, don't you? Well, Dolohov might have been the lowest sort of scum, but at least he was honest. You, Lucius… you can't even be honest with yourself, can you?'

His hand closes around my throat. 'Don't you dare presume to know anything about me.'

He releases my throat after I start to choke. I stumble forwards, massaging my aching neck.

'So,' he says quietly, 'you are averse to the idea of me allowing the blame to lie with you. But what else would you suggest we do?'

I shake my head. 'I don't know.'

I look down at Dolohov's body. His eyes might be closed, but he still looks alive. There's colour in his face, and his expression is gloating, mocking, judging us from beyond the grave…

Christ, Jesus, God help me.

I slip my hand into Lucius's. His long fingers entwine around my own.

Both of us stare long and hard at the body, and I can feel a huge black fog settling over us – the enormity of what we've done.

I'm a killer.

If hell is real, then that's where I'm headed.

But I've already been to Hell.

I'm there already.

'Hide the body,' I say quietly.

He turns to me. 'What?'

I look into his eyes, and I whisper. 'Hide the body,' I say again. 'Get rid of it somehow. Tell Voldemort that Dolohov has deserted the Death-Eaters, and that on the evening he did it he was talking to you and Bellatrix about how sick he was of the life he was leading. You could perform a memory charm on Bellatrix so that she'll back your story up.'

After a while, he nods stiffly.

'Yes,' he says quietly. 'Yes.'

He lets go of my hand and takes one more step towards the body, pausing for a moment before he flicks his wand at it. Thick ropes coil out of the end of his wand and wrap themselves around Dolohov's corpse, binding his limbs together.

'I'll throw him in the lake,' he says quietly. 'The creatures that reside there will provide sufficient magical protection for the body.' He turns to me, looking at me steadily. 'I shall need some of your blood.'

I swallow, stepping back from him automatically. 'Why?'

'Do you not recall how those creatures reacted to you? If I splash him with some muggle's blood they will recognise the unclean substance, and they will drag him down to the very bottom of the lake. No one will ever find him.' He holds out his hand to me. 'Give me your arm.'

I hesitate only for a moment before I place my hand in his. He draws me over to the body on the floor before he uses his wand to carve a deep cut in my arm. I don't even gasp at the pain. I watch the blood run out of the valley he has created in my flesh, turn from blue to red in the open air, and trickle down off my skin, dripping onto the dead body on the floor. All to keep Lucius alive.

Bleed for him, lie for him, kill for him.

Only tonight.

When enough blood has dripped down onto Dolohov's body Lucius magically seals up the wound on my arm before he lets go of me and flicks his wand at the body.

'Locomotor Mortis!'

The corpse rises up into the air, dangling there like a puppet.

It's grinning.

Lucius turns to me. 'I shall return as soon as I have disposed of the body. We have some things we need to sort out.'

Many things.

He looks at me for a second before he walks towards the door, Dolohov's floating body following him like some sort of grotesque shadow.

'What are you going to do if Bellatrix or Draco see you?' I ask shakily.

He turns to me. 'You above all people should know just how useful a memory-wiping charm can be.'

I frown at him. 'You'd wipe your own son's memory?'

'There are worse things I could do, Mudblood, as well you know,' he murmurs, before flicking his wand at the door. It opens, allowing him and Dolohov's floating corpse to leave the room before it closes quietly behind them.

When he eventually returns I find myself feeling something I never thought I'd feel – pleased that he's come back. The silence, the emptiness of the room were all becoming too much for me.

'Has he gone?' I ask.

He raises one eyebrow, as if he finds what I've said amusing in some way. 'Such a child,' he murmurs.

I gulp, not knowing how to reply to that.

'Yes Mudblood, he's gone. The creatures dragged him down, just as I knew that they would.'

I sigh in sheer relief.

Dolohov's gone. I'll never have to put up with his snide remarks, or his nasty insinuations. I'll never have to worry about him sneaking into my room again…

But that doesn't change the fact that I'm a murderer.

I push that thought away, squash it down forever.

'So what now?' I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

'Now I shall perform the memory charm on Bellatrix as you suggested. I shall tell the Dark Lord that Antonin decided to desert our ranks, and my dear sister-in-law shall support my story.'

'What if he performs legimilency on you?' I ask. 'He'll know that you're lying to him, and then what will you do?'

'I have considered that possibility,' he says condescendingly. 'I'm not as slow on the uptake as you appear to be. That's why I have this.'

He brings a small glass vial out of his robes - a tiny little glass bottle with a cork stopper. He pulls the stopper out of it and brings his wand up to his temple.

A shining, silvery, almost liquid-like strand of memory attaches itself to his wand, which he drags away from his head, bringing the substance along with it. I watch, mesmerised, as he deposits the stuff in the bottle,.

'Your turn.'

'What?'

He rolls his eyes with impatience. 'I need to take your memory of this night out of your mind in case the Dark Lord should question you, for, as we have already discovered, you are a particularly weak Occumelens.'

'But…' I don't really know what to say. There's no real argument I can make against this. It really would make sense just to let him do it. 'Will I still be able to remember everything, or will it be like you've wiped my memory?'

'No. If that were the case I would wipe your memory anyway, and seeing as you seem to be so averse to that idea, I think this option would be preferable.'

He reaches out and grips at my wrist, pulling me closer to him, his fingers digging into my skin.

'I want you to think very hard about what happened this evening,' he murmurs, his face close to mine as he brings his wand up to my temple. 'I want you to allow the memory of it to fill your mind.'

I look at him for a second before I close my eyes, thinking hard, remembering with all my might how Dolohov came into my room, how I thought there was no hope for me, and then Lucius, Lucius my tormentor, my protector, my saviour, killing Dolohov as I held him back, oh god, I'm going to be sick…

And then the tip of his wand leaves my head, and I open my eyes to see him pull a gleaming silver strand away from me and deposit it in the small vial he's holding.

But… but it doesn't make any sense!

'Well?' he asks curtly.

'I don't feel any different. I can still remember everything that happened.'

'That is exactly as it should be. This technique does not remove the memory from your consciousness, but it makes it very difficult for even the most accomplished Legimilens to view it. As long as the Dark Lord does not discover this bottle of memories then our secret should be safe.'

Our secret?

Oh god.

He puts the small vial back in his robes.

So that's that, then.

What he's saying makes sense, I suppose. Or else why would he have put all his memories of me in that penseive of his…

God, I almost forgot.

'It was him, you know,' I say quietly. 'It was him who put your penseive in my room.'

He frowns at me. 'How can you possibly know that?'

'Because he told me. Tonight, he told me that he put the penseive in here. So you see, I didn't steal it from you.'

His mouth twists, but he turns away before I have a chance to read his expression.

'What a fool Antonin was,' he says quietly. 'What was he hoping to achieve, I wonder? Why was he willing to go so far, so low, for something so very unremarkable?'

Unremarkable?

Oh, thanks a bunch.

Without really thinking about what I'm doing I step forward, my bare feet barely making a noise on the cold floor. I don't know why, but I've got to see his face. I've got to know what he's thinking.

I step up beside him, looking up into his face. His eyes are like chips of stone as they look out beyond everything, seeing only his own thoughts. His skin, so pale, so cold, is pulled tight with thought.

Lucius Malfoy.

How is his true self so carefully contained under this cold, unyielding mask he wears? It's as if he wears not only his Death-Eater's mask, but also this pale mask of skin, concealing the real person beneath.

What is he made of, this man I'm locked up with?

Glass and ice. Poison and silver.

Flesh.

I lift up my hand, hesitating for a second before I force myself to reach up, slowly, and place my fingers on his cheek, feeling his skin underneath my finger-tips. Warm, with the tiniest scratch of stubble.

His own hand snaps up and grips hard around my wrist as he turns to face me, holding my hand up and away from him.

'What do you think you're doing?' he hisses.

'I…'

I don't know what to say.

There's nothing I can say.

His fingernails bite into my wrist. I shiver at the intensity of his gaze.

I've seen looks on his face similar to this before. That look… it's dangerous.

I wrench my hand out of his grip.

He raises his eyebrows. 'It seems strange to me that Antonin should have been willing to risk so much just to touch you.'

I shake my head, slowly.

He leans forward, coming closer, closer. I tip my head back-

He sighs and turns away from me, taking steps forward to put distance between us once more.

I breathe again, trying to keep it slow and regulated.

'You're just a Mudblood, after all,' he murmurs, without turning back to face me. 'Just a plain, insignificant little Mudblood.'

I steel myself, refusing to show him when he turns just how much his words have hurt me.

But… I don't think his words are just intended for me.

He steps towards me, coming close but not touching me. I don't move from where I'm standing.

'What's so special about you?' He steps around me, so that I can't see him, but I know that he's close. I can feel him. His breathing, heavier than usual, brings up the hairs on the back of my neck.

I know I should move away from him; just step forwards and be out of his reach. But something keeps my feet rooted to the spot.

I pull in my breath in a gasp as he curves his hand around my head and runs the back of his fingers oh-so-slowly down my cheek.

'Would it be so wrong just to touch you?' he whispers into my ear. He trails his fingers down onto my neck. Down, and then up again. Up and down my neck, his touch so light I can barely feel it.

I want him to stop. I don't want him to play this game with me, it's not fair.

But who says it's a game anymore?

Who says it's ever been a game?

No. It was a game once, I know it. But it's a game he's perhaps beginning to lose.

His hand moves down, down, his fingers trailing lightly over my breast. I suck in my breath. So does he.

'You are forbidden to me,' he murmurs in my ear, his fingers cupping my breast. I sink my teeth into my lip. 'Why is it that something I can hold in my arms, something so willing and obedient, can be so unattainable?'

How can I answer that question?

His hand slides down, further and further, slipping over my stomach and down, down.

I draw in a shaky gasp.

'You will never be anyone's but mine.' His whisper is heavy and hot in my ear. 'You are mine and no-one else's, Hermione.'

Hermione.

His hand slithers down, and down, and… and suddenly he's touching me… touching me there.

Just that. The slightest pressure through my robe.

But a sweet tension tightens my body, and I'm… I…

He lets his breath out in a rush. I close my eyes, glad that I can't see his face.

But then his fingers release, and they move… back up.

Breath brushes over my lips again.

His fingers move back up, up over my stomach and they rest firmly on my waist, holding me closer to him, if that's even possible.

I open my eyes again.

His other hand curves around my waist too and he turns me round to face him. And now I have to look at him, even though I don't want to. I don't want to know…

But I have to know.

'What do you want from me?' I whisper.

He takes a sharp intake of breath. 'It's not a matter of wanting...'

He circles his hand around my throat, his thumb resting on my jaw.

'You can't,' I murmur desperately.

'Can't I?' he whispers back.

We look at each other for a second.

And suddenly he pulls me towards him and presses his lips to mine, digging his fingers into my neck, and it hurts, but something inside of me shoots down to the pit of my stomach, and my lips fall open and his do too-

But he pulls away.

I open my eyes to look up into his. Once again, he's pale with fear.

'No,' he murmurs, before he pushes me away from him quickly. I trip over my own feet and I fall to the floor, my hip and my arms banging painfully on the ground as they take the brunt of my fall. I look up to see him looking down at me, his face suddenly full of rage and distaste.

'No,' he repeats, his voice full of resolve.

He turns, his cape flicking over me, and he walks towards the door, turning back to look at me for one final moment, his expression unreadable, before he opens the door, sweeping out of the room and locking it behind him.