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Lucius continues to open up to Hermione...

Hermione did not want to belittle Lucius' feelings in any way. She certainly couldn't dispute any of them either, in fact, or from anything she had been taught. How he interpreted things, how he felt about them, they were individual to him alone, as she had told him before, there was no right or wrong. Trauma manifested itself in many different ways and affected people in many different ways, it was like grief and like grief how each person dealt with it was very different. She felt sure that Narcissa Malfoy did have cold contempt for her husband. It was unfair of her to judge, she didn't even know her, but cold was a word she had no trouble attributing to Lucius' wife. Knowing how Draco had incessantly sung his father's praises whilst they were at school, she was equally as certain that he would have been bitterly disappointed in him. And following such unforgivable failures like the debacle at the Department of Mysteries, Lucius' humiliation at the hands, and no doubt wand of a man he had revered, all be it in vain, would have been merciless and absolute.

All of those feelings compounded and made to feel a hundred times worse by the inexorable fact that Lucius had spent the last year languishing alone in a godforsaken prison, suffering Merlin alone knew what at the hands of Dementors. Already feeling he had been abandoned to his fate by his family and of course Lord Voldemort. Even with the torturous, draining presence of the ghostly, cold creatures, knowing somewhere, beyond the soul destroying, damp grey stone, someone loved you, believed in you, would have given you the faintest glimmer of hope, a way forward. The words haunted the young witch, swirling around in her head like the loathsome Dementors themselves. Lucius clearly had none of that to try and hold onto, or to give him a way forward.

She couldn't knowingly or honestly say to him it couldn't have been that bad, not even in simple reassurance. Her own experience, brief as it was, had been awful enough, but it would have paled in comparison to what Lucius had endured. In her heart of hearts, Hermione knew not only was it that bad for Lucius, but it really had been a hundred times worse and all these years later it still visibly tormented him. For him, she could see, there had never been any liberty from the prison, from which he had been supposedly freed. He had returned home, or to a place he once called home, to a world of equal uncertainty and fear. It should have been a place where he felt safe, welcomed, and above all else loved. But he simply seemed to swap one living hell for another, suffering at the hands of others, just as he suffered at the hands of the Dementors of Azkaban. Hermione could not help but feel suffering at the hands of those you loved must have been so much harder to bear than anything the Dementors had inflicted upon him.

Her own hands constricted, one amidst the soft comforting fur, the other against Lucius' powerful thigh, the tension in his body painfully obvious, even to the lightest of touches. Hermione wasn't sure which track to take with him, remain silent and merely allow him to continue, or not as the case maybe, at his own pace, or to lightly cajole and reassure him with words of her own. Lucius answered the unspoken question for her, his clipped cut glass tones once more breaking the hushed tranquillity.

"To see such contempt, such disappointment reflected in the faces of those you love, having already endur…. after everything, it makes you question your own worth."

Hermione fought desperately to maintain her composure as well as her professionalism. Lucius' admission was heart-breaking, especially from a man like him, even the man he had once been, more so even for that man he had once been.

"As if the cold contempt of the woman you have loved your entire life was not bad enough, then add in the bitter disappointment of a child you adore and whom you so wanted to look up to you."

Lucius' blonde head dipped forward ever so slightly, Hermione didn't look directly at him, casting a side long glance only at the man who had once been so feared amongst his peers, and so reviled by others.

"Just when you imagine that things cannot possibly get any worse. You are humiliated in the home you have held sacred, in front of those very people you loved, by a man who you, now foolishly realise…..."

Lucius fell silent, Hermione too remained quiet, just listening, continuing to reassure the dark wizard of her presence with the lightest of touches. He finally continued, his words sounding like he was surmounting some enormous mountain. Hermione felt sure that in his own way, that was precisely what Lucius Malfoy was doing.

"It was like having a king in your house, the Dark Lord had chosen my home, he had chosen me, it was a ringing endorsement of his support, of his respect for me and my family. It was my chance to take my place at his side." There was another aching pause.

"Even a year in Azkaban had not dulled my senses or my mind to that extent. It quickly became clear that the Dark Lord had no respect for me, I knew something was wrong, very wrong but it was actually a lot worse than even I had anticipated. What followed…"

Lucius didn't know if he was capable of putting into words what had followed. He had never spoken of it with either his wife or his son, and although many were dead, long since banished, or themselves residing in Azkaban, it had never been spoken of outside of that room. Could he honestly recount the fear and humiliation he had suffered quite literally at the white, taloned hands of the Dark Lord? His scathing, demeaning words, his complete emasculation before his wife and his son, not to mention his fellow Death eaters had been horrifying. The fear that he had felt that day, still caused nausea to cramp his stomach and burn his throat. The indignity still dampening his brow and his clothing with the clamminess of latent terror. As the Dark Lord had dramatically and mockingly snapped his wand, Lucius had wished his action had been accompanied by two additional words, avada kadavra.

He looked at Hermione, for once, her beautiful face was impassive, all of her emotion seated within those honey brown eyes of hers, they drew him in further, almost willing him to go on, in their depths he saw no judgement, no ridicule, but would he see those things if he continued? Her small hand rested against his thigh, he could feel it's warmth on his skin beneath his clothing, he knew the answer to his unspoken question was no, it gave him the strength to go on.

"He said he wanted a wand, he might as well have asked for an arm, but the Dark Lord wasn't going to take my wand. I came from old old wizarding stock, he was in my house, I was an aristocrat, it was an ancient wand, he would pick on someone else. All the things I told myself, reassured myself with that day as the he walked around the table."

Lucius took a deep breath, swallowing the nausea that continued to overwhelm him. He fixed his eyes on the velvety soft head which rested beneath his hand, as the sickly feeling subsided, he carried on.

"In the dim room he passed me, I tried not to breath, that thing that children do, if you do not acknowledge someone, then you cannot be seen. But then he stopped, he came back and he hissed my name, asking for my wand." Nausea rose again like a tide through Lucius, his mouth dry as he continued to recount the dreadful memories.

"Even my wife, who sat at my side, silently implored me to concur. By then I could hardly breath, let alone speak, in my heart I knew I was about to die, he would surely strike me from behind, killing me, but of course he didn't. It was much worse, so much so that I wished he had killed me. He snapped my wand like a dry twig, I still hear the cracking sound in my nightmares as he taunts my name. Such humiliation before my wife, before my son, but still he didn't strike, I wasn't even worth the effort of killing. I had failed, and it was clear that if the Dark Lord succeeded in his plan, there would be no place for me in his world let alone at his side."

When Hermione had agreed to help Draco and speak with Lucius, she had expected she might hear horror stories as to what had happened to him the notorious prison, but never in the wildest stretch of her imagination had she envisaged some of them would have taken place in his own home, how his torture had continued even after his escape, by Voldemort and perhaps unwittingly by those he had loved, still loved. It was not surprising even after all this time he continued to struggle, and was still suffering.

She feared that Lucius' recollections were drawing him into a very desolate place within his own mind. A place she wasn't sure she would be able retrieve him from. Whilst she wanted him to talk to her, too much all at once might do more harm than good, especially in one who was so unused to speaking in this way. A wet tongue and a deep sigh reminded her of the presence of the hounds. Those deep almost knowing eyes, sensing perhaps the anxiety in both its master and his companion. She didn't want to trivialise anything that Lucius had told her, nor did she want to seem disinterested in any way, but she had her reservations about jumping headlong into such distressing memories all at once. Like jumping into the frozen lake in the dead of night, no good would come of it.

"I cannot begin to imagine after everything." Hermione didn't dwell on specifics, not Azkaban, nor Narcissa or Draco, or the actions of the Dark Lord, she cautiously lumped all of those bad memories together, focusing on the one bright spot that he himself had eluded to, distracting him just enough, whilst at the same time, not appearing to trivialise or show lack of interest.

"The joy, relief, you must have felt seeing these two again." She unconsciously allowed him to process what she had said, seeing the light slowly return to his dull, lifeless eyes. Hermione spoke again, prudently, whilst not totally altering the thread of his admission.

"I still don't know which one is which."

The dark wizard's blue grey gaze slowly drifted to meet her own warm brown, just as it seemed to have done so many times over the last few weeks. The brightness gradually returning their beauty, something lingering in their depths that the young witch could not quite fathom.

Lucius placed his free hand over hers, covering it completely, squeezing her slim fingers tightly with his own.

Despite the darkness of the conversation, or perhaps because of it, Hermione could not contain either the rush of emotion or the wave of heat that coursed her body at his touch. His eyes looked way beyond her face, deeper inside her than anyone had ever done. Whomever had said that they eyes were the windows to the soul, must have had Lucius Malfoy in mind when they said it.

His gaze left hers only briefly as he gestured first one dog; "This is Kauno" and then the other "and your companion is Isa."

Their eyes met once more as his long elegant fingers that had been tightly clasped around her own released them ever so slightly, but not completely. Unhurriedly her hand was raised, Hermione watched as he brought it to his mouth, tenderly and deliberately brushing his lips across her soft skin.

"I think Hermione that quite possibly you are the only person who could ever understand, the only person who would even want to."

Lucius was going to add, even if it is part of your job. But something stopped him, despite what she had said he instinctively knew this was more to her than just insight. Her reactions, her words, her compassion and her touches, insight was not a word he would have used to describe them.

Hermione once more struggled with her emotions, not for one moment expecting to be as affected as she was, both physically or mentally by Lucius' recollections. Her brain frantically trying to process not only what he had told her, but that he had told her at all, and with such graphic eloquence. All of that, and of course the fact that the man behind these horrific memories was Lucius Malfoy, that alone took some comprehending. Perhaps just desserts some might be inclined say, she very much doubted the Weasley's, would have any sympathy for Lucius Malfoy. Many might even consider it divine retribution for what he had wreaked upon others, Harry may have rescued Draco at the Battle of Hogwarts, but she suspected her old school friend would have little or no understanding for the plight of his father, not after what he had allowed to happen to Cedric Diggory or even herself come to that.

She finally found her voice and the courage to respond to him, hoping her words didn't sound hollow after such a heartfelt admission.

"I would be disingenuous, if I said I do understand, totally that is, because no matter what I have done or seen, I have never suffered at the hands of the people I loved." Lucius's face was steeped in unimaginable sadness and Hermione tried her best to remain, professional and empathetic, all the while fighting the very feminine need in her.

This wasn't the time for humour as such, but she needed to keep Lucius in the present, not allow him to fall so far back into the past he would be unreachable.

"And the only two people who have ever humiliated me to any extent in front of others, ironically were your son and Ronald Weasley, that was bad enough. So I can only but try and imagine how you must have felt, and even then, I doubt I would come close." She paused, studying his handsome but pained face. "But you are right Lucius, I do want to understand, if I can and if you will let me."

The merest flicker of curiosity she saw in Lucius' pale face was enough, she knew he hadn't regressed too far, that she hadn't lost him.