November 26th

Lucius's head was throbbing, as it often was nowadays. And his head certainly had a number of very good reasons to hurt. The curse he had been hit with at the ball was one such reason. The constant worry for Hermione and the baby was another - made worse by the conviction they now shared that both attacks had been targeting her.

And Potter wasn't getting anywhere. They had put surveillance on Griffith, thank Merlin, giving Lucius at least some modicum of peace when it came to Hermione's insistence on going to work every morning. But he couldn't be sure Griffith wouldn't try anything, and would rather see him locked away in Azkaban than be allowed to continue his silent harrassment of Hermione. He was on the top of Lucius's list of suspects: he had reacted badly to their relationship from the start, and he'd known about the baby prior to the attack in Diagon Alley. But so far there were no useful witnesses, and no evidence.

Lucius sighed as his thoughts continued down the same path as they always did. Reluctantly, he had admitted that Narcissa must qualify as number two on his list. As far as he knew, she had never killed - but he wasn't so naive as to think her incapable of it. Like everyone else, Narcissa must have a tipping point. Some boundary that, one crossed, would make her willing to do the unimaginable to reach her goals. The question wasn't if she could be the attacker, but if she had enough incentive? He still didn't know what she was trying to achieve. But the bottom line was: she, too, knew about the baby.

Mrs Greengrass and Arthur Weasley were next. Both knew about their relationship - and he was quite sure Weasley would be tempted to murder him, but neither of them had any reason to hurt Hermione - and neither of them knew about the baby. But the most annoying part was: his list was short and it might just as well be someone else. Someone they hadn't considered at all. That was another head ache entirely.

And his letter to Ms Gallow, where he pressed her for more information about the blood magic being used against him, had so far remained unanswered. Which meant: no further leads.

All in all, Lucius was not particularly surprised by the migraine. There was, however, some novelty: today, his head pain had more to do with the infuriating obstinacy of his employees than with anything else.

Lucius made his way over to a cabinet on the far side of his office, unlocked it with a secret spell and opened one of the doors to reveal a multitude of meticulously labeled vials. He squinted at the tiny letters, and let his fingertips touch each vial as he searched for the right one. They were different temperatures, different colours, and he knew they would give off different odours. Finally he found the pain relief he had been searching for. It was cool to the touch, and smelled a bit like lavender.

Quickly uncorking the vial, he downed it in one gulp and vanished the tiny flask, before returning to his desk. Sitting down, he smiled faintly as his eyes caught the framed picture of Hermione and himself, taken this summer. They'd been taking a walk in the gardens of Malfoy manor, when a photographer from the reconstruction team had come across them. He'd been assigned the task of documenting the progress and had probably snuck off for an extended break. Lucius had scolded the useless youth, but not before the boy had snapped a photo of them walking peacefully along one of the gravel pathways. Now, he was glad to have that picture. He had forgotten the topic of their conversation, but in the picture, Hermione was smiling up at Lucius and he could tell from her expression that she on the verge of teasing him about something. Lucius himself was holding her hand, waiting eagerly to hear what she had to say.

Lucius soon felt the splitting pain in his head abate, and his thoughts involuntarily returned to what had caused it in the first place.

It had started several weeks ago, really, when the head of the construction crew had suggested that they tear down a large section of the wall surrounding the Manor. Her reasons had been based on a combination of practicality and aesthetics. The wall had been built as a barrier between those who were in and those who were out. To protect the residents against outer enemies, and possibly to keep the members of family from associating too closely with the commoners outside.

But now, the construction witch argued – there was no threat of violent attacks, and the very purpose of the Lyra foundation was to promote openness. The clients would not be prisoners, they would be guests. The wall was simply not serving the avowed purpose, and therefore it should go.

Lucius had vehemently refused.

Then, Mr Longbottom had approached him. He too had wanted to tear the wall down, but his arguments had been different. He saw it from the perspective of a gardener and herbologist, claiming the grounds just outside the wall were especially good for growing some of the healing plants he thought were necessary. Plants that, Lucius knew, Hermione too had an interest in for her research.

Lucius had maintained that it would be a violation of the Manor and its history to do such a thing, and refused.

But today, the two curse breakers who had been assigned the task of clearing the Manor and its grounds from any remnants of dark magic had told him they had found something in the very same wall the others had made a fuss about.

They were seated across from him in his study: a dark skinned witch with thoughtful brown eyes and pearl earrings, and a thin wizard with a sharp nose and graying hair. Lucius leaned back, folding his hands on the desk as he watched them.

"Are you saying the wall is cursed somehow?" Lucius asked suspiciously.

"No, not cursed", the witch answered. "It doesn't seem malicious, but there's definitely something there."

Her colleague, nodded as he stroked his short beard. "We're confident that we've cleared the building and the ret of the grounds, but there is something in that wall that responds to our detection charms. We can't be certain what it is unless you take the wall down."

"What good would the wall coming down do?" Lucius questioned brusquely. "It's not tied to the bricks, is it?"

"More like buried under the wall", the witch said. "My best guess is that it's some sort of object hidden there. Something with magical qualities. And –"

She interrupted herself, glancing at her colleague. Lucius regarded the silent exchange between them impatiently. He couldn't tell if the witch was asking her colleague for permission to speak, or for support in her judgment. And he really didn't care.

"Yes?" Lucius asked sharply.

The witch tilted her chin up slightly. "It's just a feeling, but I think it wants to be found."

Lucius raised his eyebrow skeptically. "You have a feeling?"

"Brenda's instincts are usually correct, Mr Malfoy", the grey haired wizard advised.

"Are you suggesting that this object has a will of its own?" Lucius questioned.

"Not necessarily", the witch answered. "But sometimes, there is a right time for things to happen."

Lucius inwardly scoffed. Magical objects wanting to be found, hidden under centuries old walls? If it hadn't done any damage so far, why destroy the entire wall? It was erected in the time of Septimus Malfoy, for Merlin's sake! Lucius might have remodeled the whole place internally, but to take the outer walls down too? It had served its purpose for more or less 240 years! It was part of the Manor's history, of its identity. Taking it down would leave the place too vulnerable. It would be a violation.

"I'll think on it", Lucius dismissed. "I'll see that you are paid for your work."

He wasn't so sure about a reference, though.

And the wall would stay.

Hermione knew she should be afraid. After all, someone was trying to hurt her. Or the baby. Or both. And that someone was clever. Not above making mistakes, if the first attack had really been aimed at her, but smart enough to turn the situation to their advantage. They might not have meant to hurt Lucius, but they'd taken the opportunity to collect his blood. And using Lucius as a weapon against her was actually brilliant. Evil, but brilliant. For how could he protect her if he was the one hurting her?

But Hermione knew something the attacker did not. They hadn't counted on the baby's astonishing ability for protective magic. It was bewildering to imagine the fetus not only being able to sense the danger she and Lucius were in, but also efficiently protecting them. And if she wasn't mistaken, it's powers had grown in just a few weeks. Hermione knew she shouldn't rely on it too much - any number of things could happen to change the power balance. But she couldn't help feeling... safe. At least physically.

Emotionally, on the other hand... Hermione shuddered. She was growing more and more afraid for her mental health every day. The nightmares continued to plague her, getting worse every night. Lucius wasn't himself. His manners were in every way above reproof, and yet there was something chafing at her sensibilities in a way she couldn't explain. It made her uncertain of her own judgment. And then she couldn't stop thinking about Narcissa's words about the unknown Miss Rosier.

Rationally, she knew she should just talk to Lucius. About both the nightmares and Miss Rosier. But there never seemed to be a good time.

He didn't avoid her, exactly. But ever since Diagon Alley, he rarely allowed her to tag along when he was going to the Manor, or anywhere else, for that matter. She could scold him as much as she wanted, but he wouldn't back down. And every time she asked, he kept falling back on the same motivation: it was too dangerous. She knew he was right, and for his peace of mind, she kept mostly at home and patiently followed the ridiculously safeguarded route to the Ministry he had set up when she refused to stop going to work. What with the time of year, it wasn't like she was missing out on anything. Nothing but his company.

At home, it wasn't much better. Sometimes, she would find him sitting by the fire, and she could just tell from the look in his eyes that he was reliving some horrific memory. When she tried to comfort him, he accepted, even welcomed, her presence. He wasn't pushing her away or anything. But it just never seemed to be the right time to ask him about his past crimes, or to tell him what her mind was doing to her at night.

And though she was frustrated with him, she knew he tried. He really did. And sometimes, he even had her fooled. Like when he had agreed to accompany her to a muggle super-market the other day. He'd taken every safety precaution, of course (though she had drawn a line at using poly juice potion), but finally, they had arrived and put on their muggle pandemic face masks.

It had been predictably amusing from the moment she introduced him to the concept of hand-scanners. Bewildered, he had watched her unlock the device using her customer card, and frowned suspiciously at it for somehow knowing her name. Then he'd hesitantly followed her around the aisles as she hunted for every type of muggle delicacy - or snack - she could find. She knew the bored expression on his face was just a facade. He was out of his depths in a place like this, and he knew it.

Lucius had muttered something about being certain that magic food markets didn't look anything like this, which had only confirmed her suspicions that he had never gone shopping for food, period. He'd always had house elves at hand.

"How do muggles stand it?" he mumbled as he looked around him. "Everything is blinking or beeping - or unnaturally bright."

"Modern technology", Hermione shrugged.

"It hurts my eyes", he said sullenly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed the shopping cart. He had considered asking him to do it, but thought he might find it beneath his dignity, so she trudged on, trying not to be too obviously entertained by his moping.

"Are you really planning to eat all of that?" he asked after another few minutes, just as she was putting a few bags of crisps into the cart. He was still looking a little sullen, but if she was not mistaken, here was also amusement in his eyes.

Hermione feigned a scalding look. "I am, and if you know what's good for you, you'll stay quiet about it".

Lucius smirked, but said nothing, until he observed a few minuts later: "I'm beginning to worry about your reasons for marrying me, my dear."

She was just about to beep something with the hand-scanner, and paused to look at him through narrowed eyes. She knew she shouldn't ask. His expression said it all - she would end up either exasperated or annoyed. But she couldn't help it. "Why?"

"Surely, you're only marrying me for my money", he drawled, "since you're spending half your own fortune on these supposedly edible things."

She scoffed. "I have cravings", she defended.

Lucius arched an eyebrow and stepped closer to her. Leaning down, he mumbled close to her ear: "So do I."

Unfair! Why couldn't she make his knees go weak like that? Why did he always have to look so calm and collected, when she blushed and just wanted to throw herself at him. What was the word he had used back in September? Ravage him. Yes, that was it. She'd do that - if he'd let her. But she wasn't too sure he would. He never came to bed until she'd fallen asleep. Perhaps he didn't find her attractive anymore. But then, why the flirting?

Hermione pressed her lips together and abruptly turned her back to him. He chuckled quietly and Hermione was very close to throwing a bag of crisps in his face, when an elderly lady passed by them with a sobering glare.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione tried to clear her head by looking around her for the next item on her shopping list. She instantly perked up when she saw a particular kind of chocolate she liked high up on one of the shelves. Standing on her tip toes, she tried to reach it, but her fingertips only managed to push the package farther from her reach. Before she could even roll back on her heels, she felt Lucius step close behind her. He put his warm hand dangerously low on her back, somehow scorching her skin even through the layers of clothes, and reached up to take the parcel she was reaching for.

He held it out of her reach for a few moments, and she couldn't even be mad with him for teasing her because this was what she had been missing lately: the ease, the teasing, the normalcy. Just Lucius, being his annoying and impossibly attractive self. She could even believe that he would come to bed with her properly tonight.

After another moment, he offered the chocolate to her with a slight bow.

"My lady", he said politely, adding in a low voice: "I think I'm starting to find this muggle shopping downright enjoyable."

She wished it could always be like this.

Lucius set his empty glass back down on the sink. With the back of his hand, he wiped a stray drop of water from his chin and glancing at the clock, he rubbed tiredly at his forehead. His thoughts kept going in the same circles, leaving him with the feeling that there was something he was missing. Something he ought to see. Hermione had already gone to bed, and at this time of night, he was fairly certain she was asleep. He should go to bed too.

His heart beat picked up. It was irrational, but he almost felt nervous about going to sleep next to her.

A few weeks ago, he would have crawled down next to her with nothing but anticipation. If she was asleep, he would have lied down close to her, breathing in her scent, feeling the warmth of her skin, caressing her softly to see if she would wake up. Usually, she did, and he found it incredibly arousing to gently coax her back to consciousness. It was almost a game.

With satisfaction, he would notice the little signs of his success, one by one. Her breathing would accelerate and his with it. She would stretch languidly, and bit by bit push herself closer to him: her breasts into his hands, her bottom against his groin. She would stretch her neck and lazily push her hair away to allow him to kiss and nibble his way up and down from her ear lobe to her collarbone. She would moan softly as he took increasing liberties with her person, sneaking his hands underneath her night clothes.

And then, when she was fully awake, she would turn her face toward him and offer her lips, and Lucius would hungrily take everything he wanted from her, and give her everything he had. Oh, to be inside her, to let all restraint go...

Lucius splashed ice cold water onto his face. He looked himself sternly in the eye in the bathroom mirror, telling himself to get his thoughts under control. She was seven months pregnant. She was tired. She was hunted by someone who possibly wanted her dead. Someone who had successfully turned Lucius into their weapon. And while she never showed any fear of him in daytime, in fact driving Lucius to madness with her apparent refusal to accept the gravity of the situation, he knew she was afraid. Of him.

He knew, because she hesitated before touching him. He knew because she flinched when he touched her. It was minuscule, but he saw it. And he couldn't blame her. He was dangerous to her - not of his own volition, but still unable to either predict or stop it. She should be afraid.

Lucius pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, taking a deep breath. There was nothing wrong with a little teasing, a little flirtation. But the fact remained that he must remain in control. He must keep her safe. He must leave her alone. He must not touch her.

Though by Salazar, he didn't know how long he could resist.