Tiresias emerged from the dimly lit hospital room and blinked against the fluorescent lights in the hallway. It was late and the corridor was deserted save for the nursing station a few yards down. A yawn overtook him and he indulged in a good stretch; perhaps a cup of coffee was on the agenda before flooing back to Vancouver.

He walked to the end of the hallway, nodding at the bored nurses. It took only a few seconds for the lift to arrive. Since it was late, he didn't think anyone would be on the lift, but he was wrong; when the door opened, he nearly walked into a pretty brunette.

"I'm sorry, excuse me," he apologized, backtracking and stepping aside to let her out. She nodded, but didn't move.

He stood there for half a minute, waiting. She remained on the threshold of the elevator. Tiresias took a minute to appraise her more carefully since there was little else to do in the moment of awkwardness.

She was tall, lean but feminine, with pale skin and sharp, striking features. Aristocratic, almost. Her hair was dark and curly, gathered into a ponytail that fell far past her shoulders. Most interestingly, she was clutching a small stack of parchment to her chest.

"Are you going to get off?" he asked softly.

She swallowed. "No." Then she took a step back into the elevator. Cautiously, Tiresias followed, trying to figure her out.

"Down?" he questioned, his hand hovering over the button.

She only nodded. He pressed the button for the ground floor. They rode in silence, Tiresias sneaking curious glances at her the entire time.

It took all of thirty seconds. Then the lift slowed and the doors slid open, revealing the lobby. Again, she made no move to get off the elevator. Tiresias stepped out, mind racing, wondering what it was that she feared that simultaneously kept her from seeing whoever she was here for and leaving.

He pivoted abruptly. "Would you like to--"

But he was cut off by the doors of the lift snapping shut. Just before they shut her away from him, she lifted her head and made eye contact. He saw a lot in that moment; she was angry, she was afraid, and she was grateful. He stood there, staring at the door and listening to the melodic pinging of the elevator as it ascended back to the fifth floor.

Then he registered the sound of someone chuckling. Tiresias turned and saw one of the security guards smiling.

"Hey, mate," the heavyset man spoke up, "she was pretty. I don't blame you for trying."

With a slight flush, he nodded. Then, shoving his hands in his pockets, he headed for the floo stations, his cup of coffee entirely forgotten.


She rode the elevator sixteen times. No matter how she tried, she could not get off. She hated this hospital, any hospital. She hated what happened to people to get them here.

She didn't really know why she'd come, anyway. It was three in the morning. Lucius would not be awake. Ah, but perhaps that was why she had only been able to work up the courage to come now.

Who did he think he was? What made him think that one letter was enough to make her forgive? Her hands squeezed and crumpled the parchment for what must have been the tenth time. Were there no bounds to his arrogance?

People had minds of their own. He could not excuse Narcissa. He was not some martyr, taking the responsibility for her actions. She knew well enough that the Black women could think for themselves – after all, she was one of them.

Seventeen was a charm. It had to be. Steeling herself, Andromeda stepped off the elevator.


Perhaps she hoped to kiss him without waking him, but that was all but impossible. Lucius opened his eyes. A concerned pair of doe eyes hovered above him, fringed by long lashes.

"You shouldn't be here," he whispered.

"I know," Hermione said. "I just wanted to see you." Her hand stroked his slightly tangled hair. "I didn't want you to think you were alone."

"I know I'm not."

There was a quiet lull, one in which he enjoyed her attention, eyes closed.

"You scared the hell out of me," she said at last.

"I scared the hell out of you? Last I checked, I didn't attack myself."

She gave him a gentle nudge. "You know what I mean."

He nodded. "Were you in the villa?"

"No."

The slight crease of his brows was the only thing that gave away his apprehension. "Then…where?"

"I was dealing with the person who revealed us to Harry. It was someone who works in forensics at the Ministry. Someone I went to school with. We didn't get along."

"Blackmail?"

"Yes." Hermione sighed. Lucius moved over in the less-than-roomy hospital bed and patted the mattress. Hermione climbed in without hesitation, molding herself against his side.

"Well, just tell me what you need. If it's money, you know where the checkbook is."

"I gave her what she wanted," she sighed. "But I don't know if it will be enough. And really, Lucius, I'm not sure I care anymore. I'm past the hardest part."

He knew she meant the confrontation with Potter. "If it's your desire to go public, then I won't object. I just worry about the toll it will take on you."

"It's not like we have a choice. Either she's going to contact the Prophet or she's not. I have no control over it."

He hugged her to him, pondering the situation. "What happened between you and this girl?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fair enough." He kissed her forehead. "You know, Hermione, you aren't unarmed in this fight. You said she works in forensics. The Minister ordered that evidence destroyed. She disobeyed a direct order. You could easily cause her to lose her job and her credibility if she chooses to continue down this path."

"So I should blackmail her back?" she responded, a trace of amusement in her voice.

"It was a just a suggestion."

She moved closer to him, draping a leg over his midsection. "I love you."

"I am frequently mystified as to why."

"Shut up."

"I love you, too."


Andromeda stepped away from the door, mind reeling. She was not suffering from a hallucination; she had just seen Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Granger lying together, kissing, touching, and…discussing their secret relationship.

A jolt of déjà vu hit her like a truck. Her hands began to shake. That was exactly what it had been like in the earliest days with Ted. Always hidden, always fearing that they would be revealed, yet every moment spiraling deeper and deeper into a love that couldn't be denied…

She had to sit down. She walked to the far end of the corridor, where Hermione wouldn't see her when she emerged. Andromeda sat there so long, head in hands, that a nurse came up to her and asked if she was all right.

"Yes, thank you. I'm just…stressed, you know."

The nurse nodded sympathetically. She disappeared and returned a few moments later with a cup of water and a small package of crackers. Andromeda accepted them with a smile. She had no interest in the snack, but the water was welcome; she suddenly felt very thirsty.

After downing it, she smoothed out the parchment in her hands. Until now, she had believed it to be pure bullshit, an attempt on Lucius's part to assist his ex-wife with getting back into her sister's good graces. Her eyes scanned the elegantly scrawled words.

In spite of whatever has happened in the past, Narcissa loves you. Please forgive her. Someone has recently given me the precious gift of forgiveness and it is more valuable than anything else I could ever hope to possess. If we cannot forgive one another, then this war was truly without victory.

It was Hermione. Hermione was the one who had forgiven him.

As purebloods we were taught from a young age that family is the most important thing, second only to purity. Some of us were able to see the paradox in that sooner than others. Now we have the chance to right the priorities that were so perverted by these wars and the lingering touch of supremacism. That will never happen if those of us in the wrong aren't given the chance to atone for our mistakes.

Rhetoric. But coming from him, in light of what she knew…Lucius really believed this. It was sincere.

She bit her tongue. It was momentous. He had been one of the most vehemently racist, classist, elitist bastards she had ever had the misfortune of being acquainted with. The man in the hospital bed who agreed to be outed to the public in the midst of a love affair with a Muggleborn was not the same. Lucius had changed.

Everything had changed. For the first time in a long time, the fierce woman inside her was stirred. She would not allow the pressures of the world to come between the mismatched couple down the hall. She would not allow anyone to tell them they were wrong, because she had never allowed anyone to tell her that she and Ted were wrong. Love was love.

She stood up and walked back to his room. Hermione was still there. They were kissing slowly, sensually, utterly absorbed in one another. Any doubts she might have had about Lucius's true feelings or intentions were dashed. A man didn't kiss a woman like that unless he loved her.

That settled it. She was going to figure out whom that little blackmailing tart was and teach her a lesson about interfering with love. And after that, she would owl Narcissa.


Lucius woke in the morning to a far less exciting visitor. Dawlish was reading a magazine in the chair across from him. Lucius supposed he must really be bored if he was reading a two-month-old copy of Witch Weekly. He cleared his throat to alert the Auror that he was awake.

Dawlish promptly dropped the magazine. "Ah, you're awake. Good morning."

"Good morning."

The Auror appraised him. "The arm looks good."

"Yes, the healers did a remarkable job." Lucius wiggled his fingers to prove it; they were already more coordinated than they had been last night. Still not perfect, but the improvement was encouraging.

"It must have been quite a fight."

Lucius shrugged. It was all sort of a blur. He remembered everything, but it had already begun to take on that feeling of surrealism. In a few weeks he would be asking himself if it had really happened at all.

"Well, I'm going to need your statement, if you feel up to giving it," the Auror said, shifting in his seat and pulling out a quill and a small notepad. "If not, I can come back later."

"Now is fine. But if I may ask...my healer mentioned that you were able to identify the killer?"

"In a manner of speaking." Dawlish tapped the quill absently on his thigh. "Upon first analysis, the blood sample we obtained appeared to be from Aloysius Pound, the editor of the Critiquill. We took DNA samples during his arrest last week. I'm sure you know that we had to let him go, since we had no evidence to keep him there."

"So it was him?"

Dawlish shook his head. "We re-tested the blood a few hours later, which is a standard precaution to rule out Polyjuice usage. It wasn't Pound's."

"Someone is framing him."

"Exactly. The trouble is, we didn't find a match in the system for the donor blood."

"I assume you looked into the Chameleon robe permits?"

"Indeed," Dawlish said, with a nod to Lucius's cleverness. "There is only one person who has a robe permit of that type and close enough access to Pound to obtain the materials necessary for Polyjuice."

"And that is?"

"His ex-wife, who happens to be one of the star reviewers for his magazine."

Lucius frowned. He wouldn't have guessed that his assaulter was a woman, but that was the wonder of Polyjuice.

"Then we have to take into account that the unidentified blood sample we have belongs to a male, not a female. We're left with some questions."

"I would say so."

"We have a very good idea of who it is," Dawlish said. "We just have to lure him out."

Lucius eyed the Auror for a moment. He didn't even want to know what plans Dawlish was cooking up, for they certainly involved using him as bait. Hermione would not be pleased with that. He would let it slide for now.

"All right. My statement?"

"I'm ready when you are." Dawlish lifted the quill, and Lucius began to talk.


Hermione could barely stay awake. This was like a History of Magic lecture, only worse. She'd usually gotten more than 3 hours of sleep before History of Magic. It was her own fault for staying so long with Lucius the night before.

It was so frightening seeing him in that hospital bed. She could only imagine the state she'd be in if she had seen him when he came in. Of course, she couldn't have. His family came first; that was their right. Draco and Narcissa had not wasted any time getting to the hospital and that heartened her because it meant they truly cared. It was just frustrating to have to wait to see him when she knew she loved him just as much as they did.

The middle of the night was her time. As usual, once she started kissing him she couldn't stop. It didn't progress beyond that, but it was all too easy to whittle away two hours languidly snogging him; she should have known that by now. She had finally torn herself away when the horizon began to lighten and Lucius warned her that the nurses would be in for his potions soon.

The ensuing sleep had been light and distracted. Now she could barely pay attention; her eyes keep drooping and her head felt like it was full of molasses. Love had certainly taken a toll on her studies.

What she didn't get in class, however, she could easily make up on her own later. Hermione wasn't worried since she'd been doing that her entire life. She just had scholastic guilt over all the days she'd missed and the few that had passed in an exhausted blur, like today.

At last it was over and she gathered up her books. She needed a nap. Then she supposed she would see if Lucius was still in St. Mungo's. Hermione said goodbye to her classmates and emerged into the cool autumn air.

She began to walk to the apparition point and stopped in her tracks. Was she hallucinating? A woman stood on the edge of the piazza. She had dark, corkscrewed hair and a baby blue scarf tucked attractively around her neck.

People continued to walk around her, Muggle and wizard alike; the Muggles didn't realize they had a magical university right in their midst. To them, they were just students like any others. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. She was still there.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to walk again. She hated when she had moments like that. Rationally, she knew that Bellatrix Lestrage was dead and that there was no way she could be standing in Florence waiting for her. Of course her mind didn't always dwell within the bounds of rationality – she knew better.

The truth was just as inexplicable. It had to be Andromeda standing there, apparently waiting for her. Why? And how had she figured out where to find her? It wasn't common knowledge that Hermione was in school here. Only Harry and Ron knew…though, in all fairness, if Ron knew, it meant every Weasley knew, and that broadened things considerably.

Andromeda smiled as she approached. Hermione allowed her surprised yet happy look to overtake her face and pushed the worries from her mind. No matter what she was here for, it would never be as bad as seeing Harry standing there, eyes red from hastily disguised tears, waiting for her to explain her lies.


"Absolutely not."

Lucius glanced over at his ex-wife, a hint of incredulity on his face. "Narcissa, he's barely begun to explain the plan."

"Well, my masterful powers of deduction tell me that this plan is going to involve using you as bait. I won't stand for it." She drew herself up, nose in the air. "It's bad enough that their negligence put you in danger the first time around. I won't let them do it purposefully this time."

Dawlish raised an eyebrow. He was clearly biting the inside of his lips to keep from smiling. For his sake, Lucius hoped he managed to contain that smile. Narcissa would eat him alive if he didn't.

"Ms. Black, Lucius was offered a security detail after he was released from house arrest. He declined."

"Did he?" Her icy eyes now turned on him. "He omitted that little detail."

"I didn't want anyone else to lose their lives in this debacle. Not to mention that I value my privacy. How could I be sure that it was not just a ploy to continue investigating me?" Lucius replied.

Gradually, Narcissa's stormy look faded. That was logic she could appreciate.

"I assure you, Ms. Black, our objective is not to put anyone in danger. What I propose is that we catch this criminal in the same way he has tried to fool us," Dawlish continued once he sensed it was safe to go on.

"Polyjuice?" Lucius questioned.

"Yes. There is a fundraising banquet tomorrow evening for Mr. Netherwood's family. He had two children and his wife didn't work. They've got some savings in a Gringotts account, but not much. You already RSVP'd in the positive for the event."

"I would like to attend, yes."

"And you will…in body." Dawlish stood from his seat and paced a few times. "Mr. Pound, editor of the Critiquill, has already agreed to set the trap. The killer will be fed the information that we have someone in custody and believe the danger to be over. In addition, it will be revealed that the author's agent, your fictional creation, will be at the banquet. The killer will no doubt be watching you to see if your behavior in any way reveals the next linkage to the author." The Auror leaned against the back of his chair. "He will reveal himself by attempting to accost you."

Lucius frowned. It was a good plan, but if the killer had a modicum of sense, he would not be drawn out so easily. "What if it's too soon? What if he's too spooked to try again?"

"Then we will have a lovely evening celebrating Mr. Netherwood's life," Dawlish responded succinctly, "and try a different approach."


Hermione fidgeted with her wine glass. She was at a restaurant with Andromeda now. Idle chitchat over Teddy and how beautiful Florence was had occupied the time thus far. Now, as they waited for the first course, the conversation dwindled.

Strangely enough, it seemed to Hermione that Andromeda was building herself up to something. It was curious; if anything, Hermione was the one who ought to be nervous. Scratch that, she was nervous. Andromeda was a smart, reasonable woman. What if Harry had told her with the intention of her coming to Italy to try to logically talk Hermione out of being with Lucius?

It wouldn't work. It wasn't as if she hadn't gone over those logical pros and cons herself. The simple fact was her heart had won this battle. That was a logic that the brain just couldn't deny.

Andromeda took a sip of wine. Then she looked up at Hermione, eyes cautious but warm. "I know about you and Lucius."

Ah, there it was. Hermione tensed but kept her voice level. "Harry told you, I assume?"

"No," she replied. She drew a line in the condensation on her glass. "I saw you two together at St. Mungo's."

Hermione closed her eyes. It had been against her better judgment to go. She shouldn't have, yet things had been left up in the air before the attack, and if she knew Lucius, he had been wondering if she was rethinking the whole arrangement after Harry's tantrum. She didn't want him to think that she wasn't there because she didn't want to be.

"I'm not here to yell at you or try to talk you out of it," Andromeda said softly.

"What?" Hermione asked, not sure that she'd heard correctly.

"I said I'm not here to try to reason with you. Reason never stands a chance against love." The dark–haired woman smiled wistfully.

Hermione could only stare at her for a few moments. Of all the things she had expected, this was not it. Was she actually…supportive of her relationship with Lucius? It seemed not only improbable, but downright impossible.

"Then," she began shakily, "what are you here for?"

Andromeda reached out and placed her hand over the younger witch's. "I'm here to tell you that if you ever need anything, anything at all, you can come to me. I understand the position you're in. I spent five years of my life hiding my relationship with Ted, always fearing that the wrong person would discover us…always fearing what it would do to us and to our families. I think you know well enough how my family reacted."

Hermione thought of the tapestry at Grimmauld Place and the scorched threads where Andromeda had been. "They were rotten."

"Yes, they were, but they were still my family. I loved them." She looked down at the pristine white tablecloth. "That's why I can understand how you love Lucius. It's the same reason I could love Bellatrix. There are little things that those of us who are closest know about certain people…things that are redeeming and beautiful. Things which outsiders never get to see."

That was certainly true, though she bristled at the talk of anything being redeeming about Bellatrix. Then again, she had not grown up with her. Perhaps she had been sane once upon a time…

"I can see that he's changed. He couldn't love you, otherwise," Andromeda concluded quietly.

"I…I don't know what to say," Hermione whispered.

"You don't have to say anything."

At that moment, their food came, providing a most opportune distraction. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then Hermione put down her fork.

"I appreciate this very much, Andromeda, but the secret may already be out."

"Ah yes, the silly bint in the forensics department."

"How do you know about that?"

"I heard you two talking. Who is she?"

Hermione sighed. "A girl from Hogwarts. Our fifth year, Harry and I formed a group to practice defensive spellwork since we weren't being taught anything. We had to operate it covertly because student organizations were banned. Other students signed up at meetings in Hogsmeade. This girl was one of the members of the group." She picked up her fork again and speared at a tomato. "She sold us out when the Ministry began to put some pressure on her parents."

"Hm," Andromeda thought out loud. "And what else?"

"The sign-up parchments for the group were magical. Everyone was paranoid that year, so I figured I ought to be paranoid too. If anyone betrayed us, I wanted to know exactly who it was. So…I charmed it so that whoever gave us up would have the word 'sneak' written across their face in pustules."

Andromeda's brows rose slightly and her lips twitched. "Vindictive, but suitable."

"Yes. I built in a countercurse, of course, that being that all the person had to do was apologize for their actions. This girl never apologized, and to this day she has pustules and scars on her face. Somehow this is my fault," Hermione spat, allowing her disdain to seep through for a quick second.

"Her self-absorption is not your fault," Andromeda shrugged, "but I can see why she would hold a grudge."

"Well, if she'd just come to me, I would have told her what she needed to do."

"But here we are."

Hermione nodded. "I met with her and told her the countercurse. That was what she wanted. I just don't know if that will satisfy her. She may go to the media to spite me."

"Tell me her name," Andromeda said. "I'll have a little talk with her." The tone of her voice was menacing.

"Andromeda…"

"Now, Hermione, you may not have the stomach to blackmail her, and Lucius may not have the flawless reputation he once did to enable him to do it, but I am unrestricted. I can blackmail whoever I want and I guarantee you I will do it better than she does."

"I…was trying not to stoop to her level."

"Very Gryffindor of you," the older woman smiled. "But how can your enemy know what they're up against if you allow yourself to be walked on like that?" She chewed on a piece of chicken, eyes bright with thought. "You need to fire back and make her sorry she ever tried to tangle with you in the first place. It also helps to let her know that you have allies. From what I gather, she doesn't. She's working alone. We can exploit that."

"Andromeda," Hermione repeated, this time struggling to contain the smile that wanted to break out across her face. She often forgot that the eldest Black sister had been in Slytherin House like all the others, save Sirius. Andromeda frequently seemed too nice and too normal to be from the house of Salazar.

"I know," she replied, holding up a hand. "I'm being terribly Slytherin right now. The difference is that I only behave this way when important things are on the line. Things like love and the well-being of the people I care about."

"I do appreciate it."

The dark-haired woman paused, briefly pressing her napkin to her lips. "I mean it, Hermione. Being with Ted was the best thing that ever happened to me. He made me come alive and opened my eyes to so many things. Sometimes I feel like I'm half dead without him. I don't want you to feel like that. If Lucius is the man who brings out the best in you, who makes you feel like you're going to explode with happiness, then you need to do whatever it takes to be with him. Forget the naysayers. They aren't important, beyond what you need to do to keep them contained."

"I…I really can't believe that you can stomach me being with him. I figured you would hate him."

She shrugged again. "He treats Narcissa and Draco well and I know he's an intelligent wizard. It was never him. It was his beliefs and what he was willing to do to enforce them."

Hermione nodded. That was exactly it. That was the line she had drawn in her mind so long ago.

"I will be talking to him, of course," Andromeda added with a grim determination. "To make sure he knows that I will dismember him if he ever harms you, and that he doesn't get a second chance."

Hermione laughed. "Did Ted ever get that warning?"

"Once," she replied smugly. "That was all he needed."


The banquet came and went. As Lucius suspected, the killer was spooked by his almost-capture. He wasn't a pro, but he wasn't stupid, either. Nonetheless, it had been interesting to go to the banquet Polyjuiced as a reporter. It had been even more interesting (and amusing) to watch Dawlish struggle to play Lucius Malfoy for the evening.

Perhaps the most satisfying thing was solidly elbowing Rita Skeeter several times while he jostled for the "scoop". He would have liked to do much more than that, for himself, for Narcissa, for Draco, and for Hermione, but he had to behave. Still, he couldn't resist casting a sticking charm on her heels. She had trailed toilet paper, cocktail napkins, and streamers around for the remainder of the evening – because if she didn't, she would stick to the floor and be unable to move. If only they made such charms for the mouth.

Overall, it was an uneventful evening. Lucius was able to make an obscenely large donation and express his apologies to Patrick's family. Dawlish was convincing, if a bit awkward, posing as him and was able to pass off any oddness to the strain of his recent injuries. It helped that Narcissa was at his side telling him who everyone was and what to say to them. That would fuel some rumors of them reuniting, but those would be easy enough to refute.

"So what's your different approach?" he'd asked the next morning via floo.

"Mandatory DNA samples from every single employee of the Critiquill. If we don't find him that way, then there will be DNA scans in place at the next event. If not there, we'll put DNA scans on all public floos and Apparition points. We'll get him, Lucius. We will."

He hadn't argued. He'd also accepted an emergency portkey for him to use in the event of another attack. Dawlish tried to convince him to allow 24-hour monitoring by the Aurors, but he just couldn't do it. He couldn't live his life with them watching. He thanked the Auror, took the mick a bit more about his turn as Lucius Malfoy ("How do you stand half those people?" Dawlish demanded once the evening was over), and then closed the floo.


Draco sighed as he emerged from the lift. Truly, the hours were the only bad part of this job. Every two weeks, he had to work a graveyard shift or a weekend shift. Neither were particularly populous times at the Ministry.

It was two in the morning on Tuesday. There were probably about eight people in the entirety of the Ministry and six of them were janitors. The other two were he and his partner – or so he thought.

He went into the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. After midnight everything was free to employees, as if compensating for the fact that they were still there after midnight. He took a sip and grimaced. Draco liked strong coffee but this was on par with mud. It would have to do.

As he turned, he noticed that he wasn't alone. There was a redhead at a table in the corner. She was sitting with a stack of folders and not paying attention to a single one. In fact, his keen eyes and ears informed him that she was crying.

Just as he noticed it, she looked up and saw him. Thus began the wiping of her eyes and nose and her attempt to get herself together. Draco cursed inwardly. If he didn't go over there and ask her if she was all right, he would just be an arsehole. He had his moments, but he had been raised, however paradoxically, to be a gentleman when it counted.

He shuffled over to her and set the coffee down on the table. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," she replied in a nasal voice.

"What are you doing here so late?"

"Forensics. Double homicide in Kent."

"Lovely."

"Always is," she replied.

Draco sipped his coffee, comfortable in the ensuing silence. She was vaguely familiar to him. He'd probably gone to school with her, but her name escaped him. After long minutes in which she attempted to focus on her folders without success, he spoke up again. "Are you all right?"

She sniffled and looked up at him. "You're Draco Malfoy, aren't you?"

"Regretfully, yes." He said it with a small, self-deprecating smile. Nothing good ever followed that question, so he braced himself.

"Draco, did you ever have to apologize for something you weren't sorry for?"

"Doesn't everyone have to at some point?" he asked.

"I mean…something important."

He considered the question for a long time. Then he met her eyes and decided to be completely honest, since she had not gone running the second she figured out who he was. He had talked about this with Healer Newbery a lot; initially, it had been very difficult for him to deal with the simultaneous strain of his remorse and his anger at the way others perceived him and all that he'd been through.

"Sometimes you can't be sorry for things. Sometimes you had to do them to keep yourself or your family safe. There's nothing wrong with that." Draco licked his lips. "An action is just an action. It's the consequences that matter. So even if you can't regret the action, you can regret the consequence. It's…a bit of semantics, I guess, but it keeps me sane."

She sat there and blinked a few times. "You're exactly right. Exactly." Then she sprung into motion, gathering all her folders and stuffing them into a bag. "I've got to go. Thank you. You're brilliant."

It was Draco's turn to sit there and blink as she threw herself together and practically ran from the room.


Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes. It was late; the harsh light of her lamp was more irritating than helpful. She supposed she had become too accustomed to candlelight.

Lucius had asked her to please stay away from the villa while the killer remained at large; Merlin only knew when he would try to strike again, and Lucius did not want her to become a target. He, too, had finally been persuaded to stay at the Manor. Initially, he had assured her that the culprit would be caught quickly. Her stay in her claustrophobic flat had since stretched to a little over two weeks.

She saw him on Sundays; he refused to miss their weekly dinner with Paolo and Elisabetta and Hermione was glad of it. Still, spending only two of sixteen days in his presence, and then only briefly, was challenging. It was only now that she realized how truly entangled they had become.

Last Sunday their deprivation had come to a head and they had to fight valiantly to keep from attacking one another in sheer lust when they got a moment alone. They lost the fight. Hermione had made an excuse that she left something at the villa and had to run back. She left and as soon as she was outside and sure of the fact that no one was watching, she apparated straight into the guestroom's loo. Simultaneously, Lucius sauntered off to use the facilities. Paolo and Elisabetta were gracious enough not to comment on the fact that he was in there for twenty minutes. Thank the lord for silencing charms.

She missed him. On the bright side, though, she had managed to catch up on her studies. A few more days of this and she would be ahead. She blew out a breath and frowned in malcontent.

It was amazing that she'd been able to concentrate at all. She was missing Lucius, worrying about what Marietta Edgecombe was doing, and still dejected about Harry. He'd helped her and she knew what he had witnessed had done something – she could see that much from the paleness in his face when he came to inform her of the attack and Lucius's hospitalization – but since then, there was only silence from his end.

She had considered flooing him a dozen times. She'd written a letter only to crumple it up and toss it away. Harry wasn't a person she could adequately communicate with in writing. She needed to see his face, hear his voice…she knew him so well that those things were like beacons, signs to be heeded and catalogued, each revealing how he really felt, how he wanted to feel, and the success or failure of his attempt to reconcile the two.

All she knew was that this silence couldn't continue without a resolution. If that resolution was that they were finished and he never wanted to speak to her again, that was fine. She just needed to know.

Hermione set her schoolbooks aside and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment. If she knew Harry, she would bet that the ambiguity was eating at him, too. He wouldn't turn down her invitation.


True to form, he didn't. He arrived two minutes before nine o'clock, freshly showered and shaved and looking quite fine in his Auror trainee robes. They ate first, making small talk about mutual friends and acquaintances. Then, as the plates were emptied, they fell into silence.

"Thank you for what you did, Harry," she whispered at last.

"It was my job," he responded.

"It wasn't your job to lie or get yourself in trouble. It meant a lot to me, and to Lucius."

Harry's lip twitched at the mention of the pureblood. "Hermione, I know you. I know you wouldn't just jump into this. There has to be an explanation. Tell me what happened between you two."

She breathed. If ever there was a time to be truthful, this was it. She would have to bend things a little to shelter secrets that were not ready for others to know…but she could at least give him some idea.

"I bumped into him in the Muggle world. He was working on a project and I assumed the worst. I cornered him and accused him of behaving like a Death Eater and forced him to show me the project." She looked down at the table. "I can't tell you what it was, but it was nothing bad. It was actually kind of wonderful."

"Why can't you tell me?"

"It's of a delicate nature. I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone." Harry chewed his lip, but said nothing. Hermione went on. "I accidentally took his wand with me after that encounter."

Harry's eyes widened. "Jesus, Hermione."

"I know. He came after me. He found me at my parents' house. I was terrified. But in the end, all that happened was that I returned his wand and we traded some insults." Bending the truth, indeed.

"What then?"

As with the ear incident, it was best to leave out the part about the Unbreakable Vow and ensuing mental connection. That would be all Harry needed to hear to condemn him.

"He came to see me at the Ministry, twice. He said that he needed assistance with his project, and I was the only one who could provide it."

"Why?"

"Because he was at an impasse and our interactions provided him with...inspiration."

Harry made a face, the same one she would have made if she was hearing this story from his point of view. It was a 'you've got to be kidding' face, half sarcastic eyeroll, half nauseated.

"And you told him to stuff it, I assume," Harry said.

"At first, yes. I told him that he would just have to deal with it and do it on his own like everyone else. That was when he told me about his curse."

"It's real, then?"

She resisted the urge to smack him on the arm. "Of course it's real!"

"Well, I wouldn't put it past him to make it up in order to get special treatment. That's what I thought when it came out in the papers."

Hermione bit down on her anger. Harry didn't know the circumstances and that was why he could speak so flippantly about it. "No, Harry, it's real. I've seen him take all the potions and spoken to his healer."

He licked his lips. "He was shouting something about his blood when we found him after the attack. He said it was contagious. I couldn't believe how upset he seemed - thought he was out of his gourd from blood loss, or something."

"He's deathly afraid of passing it on. He was trying to warn you."

"Hm." Harry fiddled with his fork. "So he dropped a sympathy card and you rushed to his aid?"

She gave him a dark look. "Harry, if you repeat what I'm about to say, I will hurt you in your sleep. Is that clear?"

He raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

"When he came to me, he was depressed and suicidal. He wanted to finish his project and die."

"So, like I said, you rushed to his aid."

Hermione made a sound of frustration and slapped her palm on the table. "Oh, Harry, don't act like you wouldn't do the same! You're only slightly less of a bleeding heart than me!"

He sat back in his chair, chastened by the blunt truth. He wasn't going to mention the times he had shouted at people to bugger off when they decided it would be brilliant to taunt Draco Malfoy while he completed his community service work after the war. When he raised his voice, people listened. It was one of the nice things about being who he was.

"All right. So you helped him."

"Yes." Hermione bit her lips. "I accompanied him to Italy."

Harry's brow drew in. "Wait a minute. You were with him that first trip in July?"

"Yes, and before you get angry, it was entirely professional." Right. Merlin, she was becoming too proficient at lying.

"I hope it was," he replied, an edge to his voice.

"I learned a lot about him. He had muggle friends as a boy, did you know that?"

"No."

"We…sort of existed, working on the project and annoying one another, until I got sick."

"Sick? What kind of sick?"

"Heat stroke. He took care of me. Stayed up all night and worked himself ragged to make sure I was okay. After that things changed."

Harry regarded her with a wary incredulity. "What do you mean?"

"We…became friends." She licked her lips. "Everything happened so fast. Before I knew it, we kissed. It scared the hell out of me, Harry."

"As well it should have," he muttered.

"I rejected him. I was so scared. I didn't think about the impact it would have on him." Hermione sighed, regret filling her at the memory of it. "Around the same time, he received word that his mother had passed away."

Harry's face flickered with a trace of sympathy. The loss of parents would always be a sensitive subject for him. It didn't matter how long a person had been able to spend with them; he still felt their pain, perhaps even more so when they'd had time to really know their progenitors.

"So he had a rough go of it, huh," he said softly.

"Yes. It was the last straw for him. And it's no wonder…everything he knew was turned upside down, he was lethally cursed, his son hated him, his wife was divorcing him, I rejected him, and then that…" That, which had hurt him so badly for reasons that she couldn't explain to Harry…

"Did he try to…?"

"Kill himself? Yes." She closed her eyes, remembering the way he had looked. The terrible emptiness in his voice, the way the tears evaporated right out of his eyes, and the scald of his hands as he tried to push her away…with the sunflowers wilting all around them…Hermione shivered.

Harry's eyes were wide and interested now in spite of the fact that he was obviously trying not to care. "What happened?"

"Did you know that if a wizard becomes extremely emotionally unstable, his own magic can kill him?"

To her surprise, Harry nodded. "Elemental magic. I heard Dumbledore and Pomfrey talking about it after Sirius died. I felt awful, but never that awful."

Hermione looked at him, wondering what form his elemental magic took. Air and wind and sky, perhaps, since he was so good on a broom. Or maybe he was fire, just like Lucius. A sudden vision of Harry falling apart as Lucius had rocked her, and she cringed, squeezing her eyes shut. She had thought about Harry's mental health many times during those trying years, but realizing what could have happened to him was frightening, indeed.

"I was never even close, Hermione," he said softly, somehow knowing what she was thinking about. "I had two best friends and a lot of great people to keep me sane."

He didn't appear surprised when she launched herself at him. Nor was he stingy with the ensuing embrace. Harry hugged her tightly, even placing a light kiss in her hair.

"Hermione," he whispered after a long moment, "I know you. I know that you're smarter than 99% of the people in this world and that I wouldn't be here if not for you. I've been wrong about people many times, but you have better instincts. Your judgment is usually right even if I don't want to accept it. If you see something in him, if you've found a part of him that's worthy of loving, then I just have to accept it." His body tensed. "I just want to know that you're safe. That he won't hurt you. I have no problem trusting you, but it's much harder to trust him."

"He swore not to hurt me," she said through the lump that had formed in her throat. "And he never has. If anything, I've hurt him."

It was news to Harry that a man like Malfoy could be hurt. He had always loomed so large and threatening in his mind. Perhaps half of the trouble was that he just couldn't picture Lucius having any emotions at all, least of all love…love for someone he'd once despised. But hatred based on ideology was easier to cure than hatred based on some grievous slight. Harry knew that.

"Maybe you should talk to him," Hermione said tentatively.

He pulled back from their hug at last, giving her a look that said she was crazy. "I don't think that's the best idea."

"I think it's a great idea, actually."

"Hermione, I sent the man to prison and all but ruined him. Please explain to me what logic you're using."

Truth be told, she wasn't using any logic, but she knew that if she asked Lucius to please talk to him, he would. He might not be entirely civil and would hate the entire experience. Yet she knew that he wouldn't deny her anything.

"I just…I just think you need to see how he's changed. I think that's why this is so hard for you. You still think he's that man from the Department of Mysteries." She stepped away from him, resisting the urge to pace. "Believe me, Harry, I looked for ulterior motives in him for weeks and weeks and sometimes I still catch myself doing it. It's hard to let go. But the man I've come to know…he's nothing like he was. Hardly even the same person."

Harry was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "I'm sorry I said those things to you, Hermione. I was just…angry and confused."

"I'm sorry I lied to you."

A slight smile curled his lips. "Not sorry you slapped me?"

She snorted. "You deserved that."

"I guess I did." He stood up and straightened his robes.

"Are you leaving? Don't you want to hear the rest of the story?"

He shook his head. "I don't need to." He reached out to twist a stray curl around his finger, an affectionate gesture. "I know what it's like to spend a lot of time with a person when emotions are running high and just…tip over into wondering. I was too much of a coward to act on it."

She was bewildered for a short moment. "What do you--" And then it dawned on her. He was talking about that last year, the horcrux hunt, when they'd been stuck in that tent together for weeks on end. When it was just the two of them, after Ron had left, it had truly seemed like they were the only two people in the world – or in each other's world, at least. It had occurred to her as they both lay awake but pretended to sleep that they could find comfort together and no one would ever know. Not Ron, not Ginny, not anyone. She had dismissed the thought quickly, admonishing herself for letting her mind wander from their current predicament. Harry had evidently not dismissed it with the same speed.

She was a little surprised at the confession. While she was flattered, Hermione couldn't help but make a face. It would have been so awkward! But, she thought as she watched a sheepish smile tug at his lips, maybe not, because she did love him. His hand cupped her cheek and she stared up at him, unsure of what to do.

"Good on Lucius," Harry murmured. "He must be a lot braver than me."

"I'm not sure brave is the word," she replied with a small smile.

Harry leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Thank you for explaining." And then he was out the door and gone, leaving Hermione to feel slightly bewildered, but deliriously happy that they had reached some kind of truce.


The next day there was an arrest. Dawlish's surprise DNA tests at the Critiquill paid off. Charles Peppard Bartholomew, one of the men who had reviewed Lucius's book, was a match to the sample they'd attained from the attack. They had dragged him out of the office immediately. Oddly, the man complied in absolute bewilderment; he swore up and down that he had no idea what they were talking about and he'd never attacked anyone.

Now Lucius was at the Ministry to pick him out of a lineup. He thought it rather pointless since he'd been Polyjuiced during the attack. How was he supposed to recognize him when he'd never actually seen him? Protocol was protocol, though.

He looked at the five men arranged in the room before him. Lucius frowned. The man who attacked him had been entirely covered and he had only been able to observe small details. None of the men looked familiar to him, except perhaps eternal law-breaker Mundungus Fletcher standing at spot number three.

"Dawlish," he said, "when a person is Polyjuiced, do they take on all the characteristics of that other person?"

"What characteristics do you mean?" the Auror asked. His face was tense with concentration; he, too, was studying the men in the lineup.

"Well, things like gait and hand dominance." Lucius swept his eyes over the five men again. "He was covered up. The only identifiers I have are things like that, and if they are attributable to Polyjuice, I don't see how I can identify him."

"Truthfully, I don't know. That's a better question for a Potions Master."

Lucius sighed. "Can you have them walk? Except number three, I know it's not him."

Dawlish gave the order. One by one, the four remaining men walked across the small space. Lucius watched closely. None of them were pigeon-toed. He asked for their hand dominance, which Dawlish had them demonstrate by writing a sentence on parchment. All of them were right-handed. His attacker had been left-handed.

As a last-ditch effort, Lucius asked that they be made to speak. He'd supplied a sentence, one that the man had spoken to him while they were in the factory. None of the four men seemed bothered by the sentence and he knew why; none of them had spoken it.

"It isn't any of these men," he said at last.

Dawlish rubbed a hand over his face in exasperation. "Come on, Lucius. Take some more time. Think about it. Don't rush."

"I mean it. The man who attacked me is not standing in there. And if he is, how on Earth am I supposed to identify him when he was someone else during our altercation?"

"His blood matches, Lucius. He's in there."

"You can't lead me like that, Dawlish, if his attorney gets wind of it--" Lucius started to caution.

"I know," he snapped irritably. "Damn it, I just wanted an open-and-shut case."

"Well, you can use the blood match to keep him here, can't you? Until you get a warrant for Veritaserum or investigative Legilimency?"

"Yes." The Auror looked highly put out. "I hate Polyjuice Potion!"

"That makes two of us. May I go?"

Dawlish sighed. "Yes, Lucius, you may go."


"My instincts were right," he said later that week, when he and Hermione had a moment alone in the kitchen of Paolo and Elisabetta's house.

"About Bartholomew?" she asked in a low, conspiratorial tone.

"Yes. They court-ordered him to submit to Veritaserum and he had an alibi for the day of the attack. It checks out. He's not the one."

"Then how did you get his blood all over you?" Hermione protested over her wine glass.

"That is the part that nobody can figure out."

She set the wine glass down and rubbed her temples. "This killer is smarter than we thought."

"It seems that way."

Hermione groaned and leaned into his chest, embracing him. "I just want him to be caught so I can stop worrying and shag you whenever I want."

His hand strayed down her back and over her bum. "I can make arrangements for you to come to the Manor."

"Ask me in another week and I might say yes."

"Ah. Your libido must truly be in an uproar."

"As if yours isn't."

His large hand stroked over her hair and he said, "Soon, Hermione. They'll catch him soon."


Early the next week, Lucius found himself in Diagon Alley, about 30 minutes early for his lunch date with Draco. He meandered into Flourish and Blotts. He had been so focused on writing recently that he had not read a good book in some time. This might also be a good opportunity to buy something Hermione would like. He did miss her terribly and appreciated how patient she'd been through all of this.

His own patience was growing short. He missed the villa. Life at the Manor was vastly better now that he was on good terms with its other occupants, but his life wasn't centered there anymore.

He sorted through the books in the shop with some interest. It was said that imitation was the sincerest form of flattery; he wondered how true that was as he browsed a display of "fictional autobiographies". It seemed that he had started a trend. Lucius rolled his eyes and was about to turn and walk away when someone knocked into the display from behind. Realizing that a stack of books were about to tilt directly onto his head (again), Lucius raised an arm to shield himself.

"Protego!" The books rained down around him, but not a single one made contact. It was a quick and very effective shielding charm.

Lucius turned, ready to thank his savior. He found himself staring down the business end of a wand. A wand that was very familiar, held in the man's left hand. His heart stopped.

Then, a quick moment later, it restarted. So did his brain. He hoped his face had not gone too white. There had been other times when the uncontrollable effects of his nervous system had given him away.

"Thank you," he said, his voice level. "What brings you to Flourish and Blotts, Mr. Pound?"