A/N: Dear Readers,
I hope this finds you as well as possible during these crazy times. Thank you for your patience on this update - thank you for reading. If it's been a long time since you read Chapter 9 and you feel like a re-read, I highly recommend it.
Love and thanks to my brilliant beta, ketos, for her help on this - and to Constance for his support. Happy New Year.
- sulis
. . . .
She'd been wearing his scent all morning.
That deep, all-consuming inhalation of spice and wool and electrifying hunger.
An attempt had been made — the casting of several cleansing charms — but that branding, masculine fragrance still entered her lungs with every breath. Along with a second scent Hermione now unmistakably knew to be that of sex.
No matter how many spells she cast, her pheromones seeped the proclamation from her pores: I have known him. I have moaned in ecstasy into his mouth. I have begged for it.
She prayed that Harry and Ron could not smell it. Hermione distanced herself from them regardless, unable to look either in the eye.
Her two oldest friends went about their morning with complete normalcy; clearly neither had heard any of what had taken place mere feet from them the previous night. For all his sadistic threats of having them hear, in the end Lucius had prevented it from happening: swallowing her cry in that kiss the moment she lost control.
Hot, clenching lust shot suddenly through her abdomen.
You slept with Lucius Malfoy. No, you — fucked — Lucius Malfoy. And loved every second of it. Worst of all, you felt things while fucking him.
A betrayal of flesh was one thing. Anything further created questions Hermione could not bring herself to think on.
Instead, she busied herself with the task at hand: packing in preparation to relocate. Hermione thanked the Gods that Harry and Ron had chosen the job of casting the anti-tracking spells around their perimeter. Her mind was racing, thoughts banging wildly against her skull; she was sure if her two oldest friends were nearer, they'd notice how frazzled she was. How could she ever look them in the eye again?
Lucius, on the other hand, she could not seem to stop looking at.
As the four of them moved about the camp, her gaze kept drifting. To his mouth, and the memory of his tongue inside of her. Unrelenting, insatiable. Down to his strong hands, the memory of how it felt to have them restraining her wrists, gripping hard at her hips as his —
She shut her eyes in a forbidding scrunch. Hermione Jean Granger don't you dare.
She felt as if the arrow from her dream had been shot through her chest and now hung there, slicing a constant, aching beat of its presence. It made her feel so wholly and awfully awake.
His given name sounded in her mind with the same throbbing rhythm. As did the memory of the thrill in his eyes when she'd said it.
Lucius. The word was a rebellion, an ecstasy in her mind. Every syllable like some forbidden spell, charged and waiting on her tongue; an enchantment that conjured white blooms from winter soil.
Hermione had killed all of the flowers in one swift spell, unwilling to watch them slowly frost to death in the night, unwilling to take the chance of their inexplicable corpses leading to questions from Harry and Ron come morning. She had stood alone and quiet under the witness of the moon, watching each bud wither back into the earth. She'd blushed, too, thinking what that moon had seen.
Hermione imagined Artemis herself, peering down at their animalistic union, so taken with their forms that even she, armored in chastity, found herself unable to look away; what they had given into, so true and terrible a thing as to turn even a Goddess' eye.
The memory sent another bolt of desire through her again. Something in her exalted at that image — their half-clothed, flushed bodies writhing in hunger on the forest floor. Watched by the old Gods, as though their passion were a ritual offering to something unspeakable and forgotten.
It tasted of ancient magic — the raw, unyielding magic Hermione had always craved. Hermione was forced to admit it to herself: the part of her that made last night's choice was not new within her. There was nothing within her changed, only something given permission.
You are more than you knew yourself to be. Not less.
The longer his words paced through her mind, the more certainty Hermione had in the truth of them. But what did it matter if this was her? None of her truth mattered if she couldn't bear to hold the entirety of herself, or if doing so meant losing the people she loved.
Harry and Ron had finished the wards and were now clearing the evidence of their campfire beside her. She would lose them if they knew what she'd done. How could they ever forgive her?
Hermione swallowed hard against the sudden tightening in her throat. There was a task at hand that was so much bigger than herself. There were thousands of witches, wizards and muggles that were relying upon them to complete it.
And rather than keep watch like a good little soldier, you were busy coming for the enemy.
As if summoned by the thought, Lucius began to walk towards them. She could only avoid him for so long.
"You look as if you didn't sleep." He dared to state this with an air of surprise.
Oh you are the absolute worst.
If she didn't know the strength of his resolve, she'd expect a gleam of mischief to be playing in his eyes. But no. Upon looking up she was met with a perfect visage of innocence. Hermione knew his delight at teasing her was just beneath.
Before she could answer, Harry came forward, hand swiping the morning-mussed black hair from his eyes. "Sorry. I can't believe I didn't get up to relieve you halfway through. You should have woken me up. You must be knackered."
Hermione grimaced a hopefully easy-looking smile. "It's alright, Harry. You need your rest after the nightmares. I'll nap once we get to the new site."
"Yeah. Good. Thanks, Mione," Harry said, though he still looked a bit shame-faced.
Ron threw his rucksack over his shoulder with an exaggerated heave. Impatient for the comforts of tea and whatever they could scrounge up for breakfast, no doubt. "Ready, then?"
Hermione nodded. Ron immediately grabbed Harry's arm, and Harry, in turn, placed his hand around hers. Then a long, awkward pause followed as both Harry and Ron looked from Lucius to Hermione.
She could have groaned like a petulant first year, but she didn't. Hermione glanced up at Lucius, who waited, no longer hiding his evident amusement.
Without looking down, she took firm hold of his wool-sleeved forearm and let the tug of apparition pull them away.
She released his arm the minute they landed in the damp grass, nearly losing her footing with the swift movement of separation.
The four of them trudged through the dense new wood. Twisted bows shot through every path, obscuring the view, creating an eerie sense of waiting dangers behind every tree.
"That way," Hermione said, leading them forward. "I think there's a clearing up ahead." Ron quickened his pace to fall in step with her and Hermione cursed the nausea of discomfort that crept up on her.
Surely he can smell it on me? She could almost still taste him at the back of her mouth, could still feel the ache between her thighs.
Ron's step fell in closer beside her. "What's left of our rations, then? Any cans of beans left in your—"
Lucius grabbed the back of Ron's jumper and jerked him violently back.
"Oi!" Ron yelled, drawing his wand. Lucius released him with a shove, pointedly glaring at the ground directly where Ron had been about to step. "Watch your step, Weasley."
Hermione saw it then, as Harry came to their side.
At first it appeared to be a muggle bear trap. A metal jaw laid waiting in the shadowed grass, about two feet wide, lined on every edge with shining, razor teeth. But it was clearly far from muggle. Magic hummed off the thing like the cutting whips of a gale.
Harry came to a stop at her side. "What is..."
An intricate pattern of spellwork had been carved into its surface. And at the hinged edge, an insignia - two letters overlaid, a swirling emblem: M and I.
Hermione looked to Lucius. "Malfoy Industries?"
He did not return her look, but instead bent to draw back the tall grass covering it, as though the way it had been placed might tell him something further. "An invention of Greyback's," he said. "My ancestral home isn't the only asset under the Dark Lord's use. Should you have stepped inside, it would have locked and held you there for several minutes, in preparation."
Ron had enough good sense to look appropriately shaken. "What happens at the end of several minutes?" he swallowed.
Lucius met his eye. "You are apparated for processing."
"What the hell is processing?" Harry asked.
A rage had begun in Ron's eyes. "It's what happens to the ones missing. What Fred talks about on the radio. Depending on your status, you're sent off somewhere, we don't know where - or what happens to them after."
Harry turned to Lucius with a demanding glare.
The affront in Lucius' responding glower was palpable. "I did not invent the system, Potter, merely financed it."
"Merely…" Ron muttered with contempt.
"Without my sanction," Lucius gritted.
"Yeah. Right," Ron replied, scoffing.
Harry ignored him, instead taking a step closer to Lucius. "Do you know where they're sent?"
"Only the ones I've seen. It is enchanted to process first based on your status at the outset. It draws from the Ministry's catalog of medical records and pulls the captive's file by blood."
At the word 'blood,' Hermione felt as if her stomach were suddenly crawling up her throat.
"Where have you seen them?" Harry demanded.
"The manor. Undesirables of the top three ranks are sent directly there, for further," Hermione caught the slight pause in his speech before he finished, "processing."
"Why wait any amount of time after locking?" she asked. "Why not apparate the victim straight away?"
He looked at her as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, as though she were such a peculiar creature to have missed it. "Fear. A healthy dose of impending doom, to shock the senses."
With that, he started off towards the clearing ahead once more, eyes on the ground beneath every step.
"Merlin Malfoy — wait," Harry said, rushing after him. "Who have you seen? Who has been to the manor?"
Lucius turned to regard Harry over his shoulder, outraged impatience lifting his brow. "I'll gladly inform you once we get the wards up, mm?"
And as he continued on to the clearing, Hermione imagined she could hear Lucius' disdaining afterthought at their noble ineptitude: Gryffindors.
. . . .
Lucius surprised them all by knowing a spell used in pureblooded hunting parties for catching rabbits. He also knew a hex that would skin and flay them. This seemed strange to Hermione, as she expected this task to be something relegated to one of his many house elves. She did not care to think about why else he might know such a dark piece of magic.
Harry and Ron took to raising the tent while Hermione and Lucius prepared their catch over the fire.
She watched him as much as he watched her. It felt like a challenge, the lingering looks and thick silence; who would speak first, who would manage to find something innocuous enough to speak about.
And over it all, a kind of comforting yet terrible thrill at their secret.
We're bound by that now.
It was risky to converse too informally with him, but Hermione told herself that Harry and Ron were just enough out of earshot. The temptation was too hard to resist. She wanted to talk as they had in private and found herself craving their strange, easy connection — or at least the chance to tease and barb him the way he had her a few hours earlier.
"Saving Weasleys now?" she asked.
Lucius let out a gruff laugh. "Hardly."
"The way you two have been at it I would have expected you to let him step in it."
Lucius met her eye across the flames. "I might have, if I'd any confidence he could hold his tongue under torture."
The blunt, unfeeling candor of his expression quickly purged Hermione of any hope that he was being sarcastic. She gave him a scowl.
"Irrelevant really," Lucius continued. "One glance into that weak mind and they'd know everything."
Hermione suppressed her displeasure for the far more important aim of learning something. "Veritaserum not the way of things, then?
"There's none left," he answered. "The stores were exhausted quickly. When the Dark Lord is present, there's no need for it. When he's not, well," Lucius fixed his gaze on the fire, "the rest of us manage with the tools available. Something my sister-in-law excels at."
. . . .
Over their rather extravagant feeling breakfast of rabbit, Lucius told them more of the recent "processing" he'd been privy to at the manor.
First, they learned that Luna was currently being held prisoner in the Manor's dungeon. This news not only had the three of them highly concerned for Luna's wellbeing, but it also shot through their only idea for the continuing horcrux hunt: trying to approach Xenophilius about the symbol they'd found in The Tales of Beedle the Bard and Ron's copy of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.
Hermione hated the easy way Lucius told them about Luna, as though her imprisonment were an afterthought, unimportant.
"And you declined to volunteer this information yesterday?" she asked, wishing she could cover the transparently brittle edge in her voice.
Lucius all but shrugged. "I fail to see how it's relevant to our purpose."
Once again, the reminder of just who this man was sent nausea coiling through her gut.
"What could you want with the Lovegoods?" she asked.
"Surely your collective dalliances with Skeeter have acquainted you with the power of the media."
Harry was growing impatient, his posture stiff, urgently leaning forward from the edge of his seat. "Who else is there? What other prisoners have they taken?"
Lucius replied calmly. "Recently, a boy from your house. The one who started the underground radio. A goblin. And Olivander."
Ron piped in then. "Olivander? What does you-know-who want with him?"
Lucius didn't even bother looking at him. "What do you think, boy?"
Hermione knew it then, had read the story a thousand times. "Wands. The Dark Lord seeks a wand—" Her hands went scrambling for her bag, yanking it open as the other three watched, digging all the way to her shoulder in search of the worn edges of that most important book.
She pulled it free. Then Hermione opened the volume of children's stories and read aloud the tale of The Deathly Hallows.
. . . .
Their discoveries sent the foursome into a flurry of discussion and planning. Armed now with the information Lucius had provided them, they were finally able to strategize new steps in recovering the remaining horcruxes. It was also becoming more and more clear that they had no choice but to go to Malfoy Manor. For The Malfoys, and for the success of their mission.
Harry couldn't ask Lucius questions fast enough. Hermione's hearing was going in and out, the usual clarity of her thoughts muffled by exhaustion. She could barely string thoughts together, let alone strategize.
She leaned her chin into her palm, elbow resting heavily on her knee. Every second seemed to struggle as she tried to focus on the dancing flames before her, to keep her eyelids from drooping shut, but the fire only seemed to tranquilize her further.
Harry nudged her with his elbow. "Hey. Rest."
Hermione took a brisque breath of the cool air to revive herself. "We need to finalize our plan. I don't want to miss anything."
"You won't. We'll wake you before we settle on anything. Besides, I don't imagine we'll come up with anything of much use without you," he smiled. "Just get some sleep. It'll take a while for us to trade information anyway."
She wanted to argue with him and couldn't stand the thought of missing anything, but Hermione had to reason with herself that she was useless until she got some sleep. She silently begrudged the fact that unlike herself, Lucius remained seemingly well-rested and alert.
Drawing her coat tight around her, she stood. "Please don't kill each other while I'm asleep."
Ron rolled his eyes. Harry smiled, nodding.
Lucius simply looked up at her and said, "Since you asked so nicely."
Hermione's spine straightened, his words from the previous night echoing through her mind: "Yes what?"
Suddenly unable to breathe, she turned to go.
The last sight Hermione saw before entering the tent was Ron's face, and the inner turmoil playing across it as he attempted to discern whether or not Lucius Malfoy had, indeed, made a joke.
. . . .
In her dream, Hermione was dancing with the earth.
She could feel the push-pull of their exchange, the way she would call upon the grass and it would rise for her as if they two were part of some graceful waltz. It surprised her with its willingness, brushed against her ankles with velvet softness as it grew.
She could feel the hum of its life in the palms of her hands as she asked it to grow. It began to caress her, looping around her legs, almost up to her knees. She smiled to herself, thought of Lucius, his hands tracing slowly up the inside of her thighs.
Then it grew tighter.
Hermione held out her hand wider, asking it to heel, to loosen – but only tighter did it lurch around her bare legs. She began to panic, kicking at it.
"Stop. Stop!"
It jerked back, forcing her back onto the ground with a hard thud.
And then it was a vice, cutting off her blood flow, pulling her helplessly bound legs.
She sped through the haze of grass, crying out, all the while knowing with a sinking terror in her gut that she was completely alone and no one could hear. Was he not there to hear?
The dark soil parted before her, and Hermione clawed for purchase as it dragged her down into the chasm.
"Please! Lucius, please!"
Another lurch and the sky was disappearing, she fisted her hands through exposed roots, clinging and sobbing and screaming – "Please! Please! Plea–"
Waking alone in the quiet of the tent was a mercy.
Hermione lay still for a moment catching her breath, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands, feeling them come away wet with tears.
Circe, can I not even find some little scrap of peace in my sleep?
She sat up, taking in the fading light. The sun must be setting.
Upon swinging her leg over the edge of the bed, she could just make out their voices outside.
All three of them. Words drifting to her out of the fuzzy sound like Careful – Reckless.
Their voices were growing louder, she heard them talk over each other as she neared the canvas door.
Lucius' deep baritone cut over Ron's exclamation, firm and insistent, "We're running out of time. Planning for every minute contingency is useless if we lose our only opportunity in the process. The Manor answers to me."
Ron answered, "Then why don't you go back! Go find some information we can actually use, you git."
Hermione could practically see Lucius' glare by the new edge in his answering words, "As I've said: I cannot return without something or someone to give Him. Would you like to volunteer?"
This shut Ron up. Hermione saw him looking to Harry in exasperation as she stepped out of the tent quietly. None of them took notice as Harry continued.
"If we do this,"
"When," Lucius corrected.
"When," Harry acknowledged, "We need to eliminate every threat we can. Who is there now?"
"Bellatrix. Rodolphus. Macnair. The others come and go. He comes and goes."
"And your wife." Hermione supplied.
All three of them turned to see her standing at the tent's entrance.
Hermione couldn't discern the expression on Lucius' face as he held her eye and replied, "Obviously."
Ron broke in, "Oh, don't count her as a Death Eater, then?"
Lucius turned back to face him. "She's never taken the mark."
"How did she manage that?" Hermione asked, taking a seat beside Harry around the fire.
A smile crept at the corner of Lucius' lips. "Narcissa has an intrinsic aptitude for getting her way."
Hermione felt a pang of sallow jealousy bloom in her chest.
Oh Merlin, don't start with that.
Wife, she repeated back to herself in her head. Wife.
Wife 'who gets her way,' the other voice taunted.
She'd slept with another person's husband. And here she was, feeling like she was the one slighted, feeling a ridiculous anger at Narcissa for being the reason behind his smile.
Harry changed the subject. "But Riddle — only rarely there?"
Hermione summoned all her willpower to redirect her thoughts.
Lucius nodded. "He's been traveling." A thoughtful pause. "Bellatrix will have a connection of some kind to the horcruxes. They are lovers."
"Oh, Merlin." Ron scoffed out, disgusted. "There's an image I didn't need."
"Something we can agree on," Lucius said.
Harry looked equally sickened but pressed on. "You said he comes and goes. Where?"
"I'm not privy to that information."
Ron drew in a deep breath, "As I've been saying – Great use you are."
Lucius ignored this increasingly tiresome refrain. "Narcissa may have gleaned something from her sister. It's possible she might have a sense of what Bellatrix is hiding of the Dark Lord's secrets."
"Do you think he would have given Bellatrix one? To protect?" Hermione asked.
"It's more than possible. Particularly if he gave one to me. She also may not know the true nature of what she possesses. The Dark Lord lays his full trust in no one, but Bellatrix is privy to more of him than any of us. She has never once wavered in her loyalty and he has rewarded her accordingly."
"What were you saying earlier," Hermione asked, " 'The Manor answers to me.' ?"
Lucius explained what they had discussed of a plan thus far. He would apparate them onto the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Harry and she would be hidden under the invisibility cloak, and Lucius would enter with Ron as though he were his prisoner, his prize and offering for the Dark Lord. Once inside Ron would be taken to the dungeon. She and Harry would accompany him, while Lucius found a way to secretly inform Draco and Narcissa of their plan. Before Ron could be tortured, the Malfoys would return to the dungeon and all five of them would apparate out; Lucius' magic as the Lord of the Manor being the only thing that would allow them magical exit from the grounds.
"Not five — nine," Harry corrected. "Luna, Lee, Olivander and the Goblin come as well."
"Fine, as you say," Lucius said with a hint of impatience.
"Why Ron?" Hermione asked. "I'll do it."
"No." Lucius and Ron said in unison.
Hermione paused, somewhat astounded by their chorus of dissent. "Why not?"
She wanted to tell herself that she was questioning placing Ron in this crucial role because of her feelings for him, but that wasn't the truth.
You don't trust him not to fuck it up.
"It's just better, ok Hermione? I'll do it." Ron said. As though that were that.
Hermione glared at him.
Harry sensed her growing fury. "You're better with a wand if we need to fight. Ron's will be confiscated by Malfoy."
"Hey," Ron said, "I'm plenty good with –"
"That's a ridiculous reason and you know it Harry." Hermione said. "Why?"
Harry and Ron grew silent. Lucius was the one to answer, fixing her with a sober look. "He is a pureblood."
Hermione looked at Lucius with outrage. "And?"
"And as such, no permanent harm will come to him. He will not be killed. I cannot guarantee the same for you."
Hermione stared back at him in silence. Right. Of course.
There was no apology in Lucius' responding expression, only stark and unflinching truth.
After a moment, Hermione nodded. "Alright." she said, "And what about Bellatrix? The horcruxes?"
"I will ask Narcissa to obtain some hair from Bellatrix's hairbrush. Once my family is secure in our Order safe house, we will give it to you. Polyjuice your way into her vault."
It was incredibly risky. Foolishly risky. But then Draco was surely running out of time, and they had no other lead for furthering their search.
Hearing it all back, Ron had begun to look nervous. "And what if they know it's a trick?"
Lucius' patience with him was wearing thin. "Who would ever think that you and I are working together, Weasel?"
Miraculously, Ron let this barb of a nickname go and tersely nodded at that reasoning.
Hermione glanced over at Harry, and knew immediately that something was wrong.
A storm was brewing over him as it sometimes did, and she could see that same shadow crossing his eyes, that anger of his turning inward.
"What is it, Harry?" she asked gently, already fearing some outburst. That storm of energy always overtook him right before he pushed them away, before he took it all on himself.
Rather than answer her, Harry stood and paced away from the fire, hands buried in his pockets, looking out at the woods.
Hermione and Ron traded glances, Ron clearly growing just as uncomfortable and anxious the fallout as she was. They stayed silent, watching Harry, waiting, unwilling to speak lest they somehow set him off. Moment after uneasy moment passed without a word.
Lucius watched the strange unfolding ricochet of behaviors between them, the way Hermione and Ron immediately deferred to Harry's silence. He looked from Harry to Hermione and Ron, then back again.
Out of the thick tension Hermione heard his mocking tone. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown."
She felt she could laugh - shouldn't, but could. Gods, I think I'm actually fond of him.
Harry turned around to look at him, almost irate. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Lucius looked utterly bored by Harry's dramatics. "How long must we pray at the silent vigil of your suffering, mm?" he asked in a sarcastic drawl.
Harry burst. "Listen to all of you! Ron – you could be tortured. Luna and Lee probably already have been. And Hermione! You're walking into a situation that could risk your life. I won't have you do this for me. Any of you, any more. You and I go alone, Malfoy."
Hermione finally burst. "We're not doing it for you, Harry!"
"Yeah, mate," Ron said a bit sheepishly. "It's bigger than you. No offense."
Hermione looked Harry in the eye and stood. "Every one of us, Harry — we do this for ourselves, for our loved ones — for the world we want to live in! Ideals, freedoms that are so very much bigger than you, you idiot! And the sooner you can grow up and get over the fact that other people's lives are at stake and will be lost in service of those freedoms, the sooner we can get to saving them!"
Harry's eyes had gone wide as she dressed him down. He stared at her in silence for a long moment, ears turning slightly red.
Hermione could feel Lucius and Ron both looking at her; Ron in some sort of shock, Lucius with respect.
After a moment, Harry took his hands out of his pockets and shifted his gaze to the ground. "Fine," he said, reaching to push a patch of hair out of his eyes. "Fine. We'll do it."
As though you're the only one deciding.
Rolling up the cuff of his sleeve, Harry turned to Lucius. "The vow, then."
"Not you." Lucius stood. "Her."
Ron was up in an instant. "No way!"
"That wasn't part of the deal, Malfoy," Harry said, looking furious.
Lucius began calmly rolling up his own sleeve. "I don't believe we specified terms of the deal, Potter."
"She's not doing it," Harry said firmly.
Hermione stormed forward. "Goddamn it, Harry, I can speak for myself!"
Harry ignored her, continuing to glare at Malfoy. "This is between you and me."
Lucius finished rolling up his cuff and looked pointedly to Hermione over Harry's shoulder, emphasizing her point. Then, sneering down, he stepped towards Harry to reply. "Not only are you still obscenely certain that this all revolves around you, you are being predictably and dangerously foolish. How pleased the Dark Lord will be to learn that the Chosen One has tied his life to an Unbreakable Vow. How very simple your death will become - all one has to do is prevent you from fulfilling it."
Harry could not come up with a response. He looked like a rebuked child standing awkwardly still.
Ron began to counter, "Then m–"
Lucius quickly spoke over him, "– And bind my life and the safety of my family to the abilities of a Weasley? No, thank you."
Lucius returned his gaze to Hermione. "It is her, or no vow at all."
Ron stepped closer to her, reaching to place a hand on her arm. "You don't have to do this, Mione."
Hermione shook it off. "I'm well aware of that, Ronald."
He shrunk back, embarrassed.
An Unbreakable Vow. Hermione had read everything there was to know about them, of course, but she had never imagined reaching a situation desperate enough that she would ever risk one herself. Magic was a fickle thing and vows of this sort were its playground for mischief.
But if this plan of infiltrating Malfoy manor was to go forward, it needed to be executed with Lucius' contract-enforced word that he would fulfill his part of the bargain.
And he needs that word from us as well.
Harry and Ron were staring at her, waiting. She crossed her arms and raised herself to her full height, turning to Lucius. "Terms?"
Lucius inclined his chin, ever the decorous pureblood. "You vow to do everything in your power to get my family to an Order safe house, and vow to absolve all three of us of all charges once the war is won."
Hermione shook her head. "I can't control whether the three of you will be absolved of all charges. It's not in my power. The best I can do is speak for you. The Order may not grant full pardons."
"They will if your life is bound to the promise of it," Lucius said.
He had a point. Kingsley would do whatever necessary to protect her from breaking a vow.
"Alright," Hermione said. "And you?"
"I vow to do everything in my power to aid in your search for and in the destruction of the Dark Lord's horcruxes. I also vow that while attempting the rescue at the Manor, I shall protect all three of your lives to the best of my ability."
"You will protect all three of our lives, period, Manor rescue or no."
Lucius gave her a narrow-eyed look of rebuke. "Mr. Weasley has already once proven today that flawlessly protecting all of your lives twenty-four-seven would be nigh a Herculean effort. Too broad. Declined."
Damn it, Ronald.
"Fine." Hermione said. "You've left something out. And?" Hermione prodded; after everything, still needing the reassurance of his loyalty.
"And," Lucius finished, as though she had rudely cut him off, "I vow not to betray any of you or any of the Order to the Dark Lord."
There.
Hermione began to roll up her sleeve.
"Are you rested enough for this?" Harry asked, concern knitting his brow.
"Yes," Hermione said, "And perfectly capable of making my own decisions. Relax, Harry. Once it's finished we can all get on with what needs to be done. It will be alright."
It will, won't it?
Lucius held out his hand to her.
We keep finding ourselves here, she thought, reaching out to clasp his wrist in hers.
Their shared grip felt so natural, the familiar warmth of his large hand, and Hermione's nerves began to ease.
"Cast it, Harry."
Before I lose my nerve.
Harry looked panicked. "I don't know how."
Ron stepped begrudgingly forward, "I do."
He looked sourly resigned to this event, but also somewhat proud of his knowledge in it, of being the needed missing puzzle piece.
Ron drew his wand. "Both of you, kneel."
. . . .
Her hand and wrist were still tingling, and it had been over two hours since the casting. A shadowed indentation of its binding cords was still faintly visible on her skin.
Harry and Ron were across the clearing, practicing defensive spells. Hermione busied herself with gathering and stacking their reserve of firewood. The nights had been growing colder and colder, and they would need more tonight if they didn't want to expend their magic to the point of exhaustion. They would need every scrap of energy and power they had in the coming days.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lucius approaching, carrying a bundle of firewood.
Now all of sudden he's helpful?
Hermione kept her eyes down, her traitorous heart thundering in her chest as she turned to organize the pile she'd gathered thus far.
Every time she looked at him she felt some long-hidden part of herself wake up. She worried he would bring this newly embraced part of herself so far out into the light that it could never be hidden again.
And what if this Hermione wasn't a version of herself she could control? What if these desires, these powers, these greys within her didn't listen to reason, didn't know how to inhabit this world safely, weren't as easy to love.
That distinctly masculine aroma invaded her senses once again, alerting her to his presence behind her. Hermione felt the swell of addiction, the need to take a deep, indulgent breath and savor that scent. She kept her eyes down, focused on her task.
Lucius cleared his throat.
Damn his ridiculously patrician everything.
"I appreciated that," he said.
She kept her back to him. "You're as bad as Harry. I didn't do it for you. Besides – it's not a one-way deal."
"Nonetheless."
"Your 'thank you' sounds remarkably unlike 'thank you.'"
"And your inability to gracefully accept it doesn't make me eager to elaborate."
She turned and glowered at him.
Lucius met it calmly. "I have something for you," he said, offering forward the bundle of wood in his hands.
"I can see that. Add it to the pile yoursel—"
Hermione's words died as her gaze fell to the bundle of wood and caught on something dark and glinting placed atop it.
A potion bottle.
A potion bottle she recognized.
Recognized, because it was unmistakably hers — and should have been packed safely in the meticulous stores of her extendable bag, which at that very moment hung across her torso.
Blinking several times, her mind finally processed the label, hand-drawn in her own slanted script: Dreamless sleep.
Hermione's eyes snapped to his.
The Firewhiskey yesterday morning...
An infinitesimal pull at the corner of his lips confirmed it.
She felt as if her heart would drop straight through her chest and into her stomach. Blood roared in her ears.
He'd planned it. Drugged Harry and Ron. Designed their entire encounter the night before from as early as that morning. Created the situation he knew would torment her most, all the while having already ensured there could be no discovery. Mutual preservation, no matter if she were able to hold her tongue or no.
You psychotic fuck!
It took every ounce of will Hermione had to keep calm indifference plastered over her face. Her awareness of Harry and Ron a mere yard from them was excruciating.
Lucius' mercurial silver returned her stare with amusement.
She could kill him. She should kill him.
He indulged himself a slight smile, watching her try to maintain her composure.
Rage shivered up her spine. All of that, and no real danger.
"They never could have woken, then?" Hermione seethed in whisper.
Mischief gleamed bright in his eyes, as though it were some merrily shared joke between them. He almost grinned as he answered, "Though I found your ability to master yourself quite impressive."
He pressed the pile of wood into her numb hands, gaze flickering pointedly down to the vile once more before returning her stare. When his eyes met hers again they were dark with lust. "There'll be no need this evening."
This evening. He means me to… She stared at the vile of Dreamless Sleep, wishing they were alone and she could Aveda him on the spot.
"I can see that you're angry with me."
Hermione glared up at him. "Oh you can see that, can you?"
He nodded once, eyes still glinting with pleasure. "Yes, well. Should you decide to use this..."
Lucius took a step closer, the heat of his whispered breath across her ear as much a caress as if he'd reached out and touched her.
"...you can take it out on me however you like."
Desire seared through her core; the steady, rewarding thrum of an addiction taking root.
He stepped back to look her in the eye once more, that damnable, knowing smile showing briefly in the corner of his mouth as he took in the flush of her cheeks.
Then he simply walked away, as though it were nothing to plant such an insidious idea in her mind.
The moment he left her side, Hermione forced recomposure; burying her anger, shaking off the shame of the slick anticipation now undeniably drenching her knickers.
An invitation to pleasure with the toll of betrayal.
She turned away briefly, pocketing the potion in her bag in one quick plunge.
When she turned back, she looked up across the clearing.
Harry was watching her.
And the moment she met his eye, he quickly looked away.
. . . .