"Just go," he commanded. "I thought it was what you wanted."

Hermione stood in the hallway, nervously fiddling with a curly strand of her hair. She had pulled it up into a pony tail, but even then it was long enough to reach down to her chest. Lucius scowled at the nervous expression on her face She hadn't been outside her door for a week. She knew she should. She knew exercising was beneficial against anxiety. She knew she'd be all right.

"Come with me?" she asked in a pathetic tone.

He sighed. She had been delaying for an hour now, and he was getting enough of it. Besides, her tight fitting running clothes were distracting him.

"Absolutely not. I do not run," he stated firmly. "Unless I am hunting."

"How do you keep so fit, then?" she asked, surprised.

He could tell the exact moment the socially competent part of her brain caught up with what she'd said, catching her eye with a raised eyebrow. "Have you ever heard of duelling?" he asked sarcatically. "Or simple push ups? Now go. I'll find you if you need me."

She nodded. He had told her about the enchanted napkin one night and even showed it to her. She had been surprised and a little troubled by the idea that she had performed magic without knowing it, but she hadn't been too angry with him for using it to stalk her. He had, after all been able to help her because if it.

"What are you going to do while I'm out?"

"Go! Now."

Finally, she sighed in defeat and made her way out the door. He closed it firmly after her, listening to her steps disappearing down the stairs. After a few moments, he stepped outside, remembering to bring the spare key, and apparated home. He needed some more clothes and didn't trust Tilly to pick out things that matched properly. True, he mostly dressed in black, white and gray, but there was such a thing as shades of gray.

He kept the charmed napkin in his pocket, trusting it would alert him if anything was amiss with Hermione. It was time for her to prove to herself that she would be okay on her own. The anxiety attacks had lessened a little after she had allowed herself to talk to him and her friends. And he had encouraged her to talk about it repeatedly, not flinching at even the most gruesome detail, in spite of the bile rising in his throat. The only way he coped with knowing what she had endured was by vowing to himself that he would somehow make up for every insult she had suffered. What that man had defiled, he would worship.

Hermione also didn't know it, but he had also been in touch with Potter. Potter seemed willing to put their differences aside for the moment as they focused on how to deal with the potential threat from that man. Lucius had told him everything he had been able to learn from Hermione about him, and Potter had said there seemed to be a file on Hermione's case but that it would take time for him to get access. They never spoke of what they would do to him, but Potter hinted that he was trying to figure out a way to alert the muggle law enforcement to his crimes. Lucius said nothing, but thought it was too lenient a punishment.

For the record, Lucius was trying to think of retributions that were harsher but still within the framework of magical law. It was a frustrating task, however. What Lucius wanted was to kill the man - but of course, that wasn't allowed. He wanted to torture him - but that too was off limits. So too was mutilation, poison and a number of other painful afflictions that he could be sentenced to.

Back at the Tower, Lucius continued to ponder his options. He would have to find a course of action that would either be acceptable to the Ministry officials or go undetected. What he wanted to do was to make sure the man could never again do what he had done to Hermione without suffering gravely for it. Perhaps that was the key, here. A plan began to take form i his mind.

Lucius walked into his bedroom and stepped into the adjoining walk-in-closet and began picking out what clothes to bring back. Noticing a stain on the shirt he was wearing, he decided to change and put it into the laundry bin for Tilly to take care of. Standing shirtless in front of the mirror, his eyes fell on his left arm, where the shadow of the Dark Mark was beginning to break through his old glamouring spell. Lucius frowned and used his wand to reverse the spell altogether.

There it was, in all its ugliness. The skull and the serpent, entwined in an indecent embrace. He hated it. It was a constant reminder of everything he wished to forget. Hate and fear had driven him, and as the years passed other emotions had been added to the cocktail: humiliation, disappointment, grief, apathy, anger. Since Voldemort's death, the mark had faded and blurred. But it would never go away. Neither the mark nor the insurmountable wall of loathing would ever go away. He would always be a Death Eater.

He raised his eyes to meet his own gaze in the mirror.

I almost forgot, he thought.

Another few weeks passed before Hermione felt ready to try to go back to work. She had practised being on her own. Going for a run. Letting Lucius leave for a couple of hours. She was beginning to feel bad for taking up all of his time – surely, he had a life of his own? But when she'd voiced her fears he had only snorted. So maybe he didn't.

But she needed to get back to a normal life. She missed work. She would even have gone back sooner if she hadn't been afraid of having one of those out of control panic attacks. She still risked it now, but they had gotten fewer, and she was back to the situation when she could often avoid the full scale assault with simply imagining Lucius's voice. Her antidote. She smiled to herself. Why didn't it even feel weird anymore? He was practically living with her, had a stash of clothes in his own drawer and his own towel in the bathroom.

Anyway, she knew he'd know if she was in serious trouble, which helped. When he'd told her about the enchanted napkin she'd had a hard time believing it at first. First, she had been fascinated, immediately trying to think of different possible explanations. But then... she had been troubled. Because if she could perform magic without a wand and without even being aware of it – what else had she done? Was that what had happened with uncle Ed? And if so, what exactly had the magic done to him?

Hermione found herself outside her office, and stepped inside. It was a reassuring procedure to hang up her coat, conjure some coffee and start to read the reports and essays that had been written during her absence. She had almost forgotten how much she loved the concept of essays!

It was altogether a blessedly uneventful day. Once or twice, she had locked herself in her room to cry for no apparent reason, but then it passed and she was able to go about her business almost as usual. She spoke with some of her colleagues, who congratulated her on her recovery from what they assumed was a prolonged but normal sickness and seemed happy to have her back. It was just so normal and uncomplicated.

But as she got ready to go home, Hermione finally allowed herself to pick up the file that she had glanced at over and over again the whole day, but been determined not to touch. She hadn't picked it up since last autumn when she had so spectacularly failed to treating Lucius with the respect he deserved. She didn't like to think about that day, but she was also still curious to see if her idea had any worth.

Standing in front of her desk, with her handback slung over her shoulder, she opened the folder and leafed through its contents. She still thought there might be some merit to her plan of action. It could work. But this time she was going to talk to Lucius properly about it.

Sighing, she put it back down. Not today, though. One challenge at a time.

Another couple of weeks later, Hermione had the pleasure of introducing Lucius to a concept that amazingly enough was entirely foreign to him.

"It sounds ridiculous", he dismissed.

"That's what you said about the chocolate smoothie, and you can't deny you liked it."

"That doesn't mean I'll like this." He crossed his arms when he caught her rolling her eyes at him.

"You're not afraid are you, Mr Malfoy?"

He didn't deign to reply, but regarded the two flat cardboard boxes that she had put on the kitchen counter warily.

Hermione in her turn watched him. He had been in the shower when she got home, and she rather suspected he had been in a hurry to come and greet her because his hair was still damp and he hadn't buttoned his shirt all the way up or even bothered tucking it inside his trousers as he usually did. If ever a man was particular about his apprearance, it would be Lucius.

These past weeks, Lucius had been careful to draw a line. He often touched her, but never in that way. When she came home tonight, however, he had put his arms around her and her knees had gone week from breathing in his scent and the simple feeling that this was not an embrace to keep her calm, but to tell her he was happy she was back. She might have made a pass at him then if it wasn't for the boxes that quickly drew his attention.

"Why do muggles use such childish names for their food anyway?" he asked derisively, for once seeming oblivious to her musings. "What's wrong with pheasant? Or Beef Wellington?"

She rolled her eyes and opened one of the boxes, enjoying the mouth-watering smell. She'd had no idea this was going to be so entertaining. Who needed the telly when you had a spoilt wizard who didn't have a clue about the most normal things in her world?

"Just taste it", she said.

When he still didn't look convinced, she made a show of picking up a slice of pizza and taking a bite. She closed her eyes momentarily in enjoyment. So what if he didn't want it? She could eat two pizzas, if she had to. When she looked up at him again, still chewing on the delicious food, he was watching her with a mix of longing and apprehension.

"Here", she held up the pizza slice to his mouth, more or less force feeding it to him. He took a small bite, and chewed it as if he was ready to spit it out. But he didn't. Hermione smiled triumphantly. "See!"

She put the boxes straight on the dining table, ripped off the lids, and then sat down on one of the chairs expectantly.

"Are we going to eat it just like that?" He sounded almost offended.

"Yes", she said pointedly. "That's the point with take away. You can sit at home and eat the food just the way you like, without being bothered by what others think."

He shook his head, but came to sit opposite her. "And you don't even use cutlery?" When she shook her head, he muttered: "Barbaric. What's the point of paying for food if you don't get to enjoy having it served on fine porcelain and in a pleasant environment?"

"Simple pleasures, Lucius", Hermione sighed. "Most people don't have house elves, you know. We poor working men and women are actually ready to pay someone for cooking for us once in a while, even to just eat at home."

He grunted dismissively, but picked up a pizza slice. They ate for a while in companionable silence. Even eating pizza straight from the box, he looked dignified in a way she was sure she would never be able to pull off. Hermione watched him for a while, fretting about whether or not to ruin the pleasant evening by bringing up the question she needed to ask him.

"Um, Lucius?" she finally said. "Did you mean what you said when Harry and Draco were here?"

Lucius finished chewing and wiped his mouth before answering. "That depends on what I said."

"About helping me with my research." Quickly she added: "I mean, I understand if you just made that up and I don't expect you to, and I've been wanting to tell you how sorry I am for the way I handled it back then – I should have known it would be sensitive and I really don't expect –"

"Yes," he interrupted her tirade. "I meant it. I'll do it, if you think it will help."

But the troubled look upon his face didn't escape her. "You don't have to", she said, trying unsuccessfully to catch his eyes.

"I know."

Hermione waited, too worried about his thoughts to manage to eat any more. For a while, he seemed deep in thought, frowning as he stared at the half-empty pizza box. Then, with a sigh, he looked up at her.

"I've given it a lot of thought", he finally said. He spoke as if he weighed his words carefully: "I spoke harshly the last time you asked. You caught me by surprise, and I lied to deter you. I really do hope you succeed in finding some sort of protection against the Cruciatus curse, and I'm honoured you think I can help. So I want to help."

"Are you sure?"

"I am. But you must –" He paused, and swallowed. "You must tread carefully."

She looked back at him solemnly. "I'll try," she promised.

Lucius was not at all as certain as he let on. What would she say when she saw how easily it came to him, how willingly he had tortured another man? What if she saw that he even took pleasure in it? He had not been much older than Hermione was now, and she probably couldn't even do something like that to her despicable uncle.

Still, Lucius had agreed, and that made her look at him with a mixture of worry and something else that was not quite happiness, not quite gratitude and not quite surprise. The closest word he could find was awe.

Perhaps that was why he felt compelled to reach out and caress her cheek across the table. She leaned into his touch, placing her palm against the back of his hand. And perhaps that was why he had suddenly found himself standing in beside her, leaning down to kiss her.

She responded eagerly, making his heart beat harder and his hands gently pull her up. Losing himelf in the tase of her mouth, the softness of her lips, teasing her tongue with his, he allowed his hands to wander freely. His fingers combed through her hair, toying for a moment with the silky curls. They trailed along her arms and tightened around the marvellous softness of her waist, making her gasp. Her hands, in their turn, found their way up to his upper arms, holding on to him as if to steady herself. Deepening the kiss, he used one hand to pull her closer to him while the other eagerly trailed along her collarbone, finding its way down the centre of her chest, pulling the fabric of her blouse down ever so slightly before skimming over the mounds of her breasts.

He released her lips and began to press kisses on her forehead and her cheeks. That was when he tasted a salty moisture on the corner of her lips. He looked down at her.

Tears. Lucius froze, and was about to step back – harshly berating himself for his thoughtlessness - but she didn't let him go. She put her arms around his back and hid her face on his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Did I hurt you?" he whispered. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands, so he placed them on her shoulders - that seemed harmless enough.

She shook her head, making the mass of curls that hid her face from his view bounce around.

"Then why are you crying?" he asked. He knew the answer of course: she would never want him to touch her like that again. Not after what she had been through.

"Because your touch is nothing like his", she whispered. He trailed his hands up her neck and tilted her face up so he could see her expression. "Yours is – " She broke off.

"What?" he pressed, searching her eyes.

"Wanted", she whispered.

Wanted. That one word shook him in a way it shouldn't have. What did it mean? When their eyes met, Hermione broke into sobs. Lucius put his arms around her again and kissed the top of her head. He was almost trembling from some emotion he could not recognize. He let her cry for a while, lost in his own thoughts. Then they returned to their pizzas. She forced him to admit that he had liked the taste, but the triumphant smile that tugged on her lips made it absolutely necessary to remind her that pizza was still a ridiculous name.

The evening ended the same way most of their evenings had. But her words, and the promise he had given her, kept him awake until the small hours of he night. He held her close as she slept, wondering how many more nights he would be allowed to do so.