Hermione turned towards the witch, resolutely ignoring the bewildered gaze Sirius was shooting her. "Esme, would it be possible to wake our friend up, just for a short while? An hour, perhaps."

The witch pursed her lips as she sank down on the edge of the sofa, observing Lucius's unconscious body with curiosity. With a wave of a stocky wand, and a mummer of French Hermione couldn't make out, a sphere of red light manifested over his chest. With each of Lucius's shallow breaths, the sphere stuttered twice as fast.

"His heartbeat is raised, but stable," Esme explained, vanishing the spell with another wave before she pocketed the wand. "Waking up is not ideal, but…possible. Do you have ze Pepper-Up Potion?" At Hermione's nod, Esme continued, "With the addition of a serum we use in ze Academy—for, ah, ze unconscious patients who must share critical information—your friend should be able to wake up for ze time you desire. Shall I retrieve it?"

"Ye—" Hermione began, before fingers closed around her wrist.

"Jean, may I speak with you in the bedroom?" Sirius asked in a low voice.

Esme smiled tightly at them. "By all means, Monsieur, I will wait with ze patient."

He was dragging her up and out of the chair before she could get a word in. As soon as the door shut, and Hermione found herself turning around in the sunny bedroom, Sirius rounded on her. "Tell me you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."

Hermione ran her tongue over her teeth, which still felt coated in a layer of scum despite her fervent brushing just an hour before. She willed herself to keep Sirius's hard gaze, even as every atom in her body squirmed to get away. This is Sirius, she reminded herself. He trusts you. You trust him. "I want to wake Lucius up," she explained softly. At Sirius's arched, expectant eyebrow, she blew out a shaky breath and said, "so that I can give him some of the extra magic you gave me."

There. It was out. And Sirius, her reckless, short-tempered, impulsive wizard she now called husband was no idiot. He knew what she meant. What she had to do.

She'd have to have sex with Lucius Malfoy.

She'd have to save his life.

The sound started out as a little puff of breath as Sirius dropped onto the edge of the mattress. Then it grew louder, boiling into a deep chuckle that Hermione didn't know what to make of. She stared down at him, exasperated, as he threw back his head in raucous laughter.

"Sirius, you're frightening me!"

He choked on his laughter and wiped at his eyes. "Sorry, kitten," he managed to get out, finally focusing on her face again. "It's just…after all my years on this Earth, a witch finally asks—no begs—me to marry her, and now she wants to fuck the one bastard still alive I call my enemy."

Hermione stiffened, fingers curling into her palms, lips pressed into a hard line. "I don't want to fuck him. I just want to help—"

"Help him not die!" Sirius seethed, jumping back to his feet. He winced and withdrew his wand to cast a muffling charm. "The prophecy is right in front of us, Hermione," he said heavily, like he was fighting the urge to yell. "He dies. I live. The prophecy's fulfilled."

"The part about both of you sleeping with me is there too, which I know you've been conveniently ignoring since the start of all this. And I thought you had come to terms with your death. That's what you kept telling me, isn't it? That you would die. That I had to—to accept that."

Sirius turned towards the window, his dark curls silhouetted in the cheery brightness. "That was before."

"Before what?"

He shook his head as that biting laugh came back. "Doesn't matter now, does it?" He twisted back towards her. It was a face so startling familiar, but with a coldness she'd never seen before in his handsome features. Even when he'd been grieving, or brimming with rage, she'd never seen Sirius like this. Like all his hurt and disappointment and regret had been carefully inlaid beneath a cool, unbreachable mask. "Do what you want," Sirius said in a low, dangerous tone. "Fuck him. Save him. Give him the magic we shared together. But don't expect me to sit around while you do it." He strode past her, ignoring her pleas to wait, ignoring her fingers trying to catch hold of his own.

Neither of them paid Esme any mind as Sirius thundered across the sitting room and flew down the steps. By the time he reached the front door, Hermione was out of breath, close to tears. "Sirius, you're acting like a child!" she cried as he flung open the door.

He stilled. The sounds of the Parisian street rushed in—cars and bicycles and voices chatting away in rapid French. Hermione breathed out a sigh of relief that he had finally seen sense. "Come inside, and we'll—"

The door slammed shut with so much force, it rattled against the frame. Hermione startled, stepping back, but he was already looming over her, one hand on the wall above her head. "I'm the child?" he whispered hoarsely. "You've been lying to me—to yourself—this entire time. You've never stopped wanting that vile man. Even when it was my bed you shared." His other hand came up, knuckles brushing over her cheekbone. She trembled under his touch, but if he noticed, he didn't stop. His hand flattened against the side of her face, cradling it gently. "Tell me," Sirius murmured. "Tell me it's true that you stopped wanting him, and we'll go back upstairs. We'll make a decision. Together."

Tears spilled out, pooling around his warm fingers. "Sirius," Hermione whispered. She covered his hand with her own, like if she just pressed hard enough, he'd keep it there. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sirius. I don't want to lie to you."

"Anymore, you mean."

Hermione's gaze dropped down. It was admission enough, and Sirius nodded. He pulled his hand away, sliding free from her grasp. "I thought you were different," he said quietly. "That you knew what you wanted. But I suppose this is what I get for marrying a teenager with a bleeding heart."

He was gone in a rush of winter air. There was no slamming. No startling. No words, not even goodbye.

But it was worse, Hermione realized as she slumped back against the wall, willing herself to keep her breathing even, to keep it together. Sirius had left like he didn't even care.

Like she didn't even matter.

Hermione's eyes were still stinging, her heart pattering too-fast inside her chest, when she finally forced herself back up the stairs. Esme looked up from Lucius, her eyes wide with what seemed to be understanding. Maybe she'd heard their fight in the staircase. Or maybe she guessed at least part of the truth.

Am I really so obvious?

"Shall I get ze serum? It is only a quick apparition to ze medical market."

Hermione swallowed down the thickness creeping up her throat. "Yes please, if you could."

Esme nodded kindly and rose from the couch, catching Hermione's shoulder on her way towards the door. Once it had shut again, and she was alone in all that silence, Hermione gave herself one moment to look upon Lucius's face before deciding to busy herself with the preparations.

After finding the Pepper-Up Potion in her bag, and setting it on the bedroom nightstand, Hermione used her magic to clean the sheets and strip the layer of dust from the pale blue comforter. With the room freshened, she levitated Lucius from the couch. His arms draped limply through the air, his sweat-clumped hair falling like curtains around his cheeks. He floated like a dead man on way to burial. She followed like the widow at the funeral procession.

It truly was mad to think this plan would work—that the potion combined with Esme's serum could wake him—that the magic Sirius had gifted her with his body could heal a wizard from the brink of death. That after all these weeks of excitement and restraint and betrayal and want, their time would finally culminate on this strange afternoon, in this sunny, foreign apartment.

It was mad, yes. But Hermione was finally willing to accept that so was she.

A crack of apparition sounded from the front door, and Hermione quickly lowered Lucius onto the mattress before hurrying back out. "Do you have it?" she asked, a little breathless as Esme climbed the stairs.

The witch held up a crimson vial shaped like an egg, its stopper brushed copper, the dark liquid inside sloshing as it hung between Esme's fingers. "Zis is the one." She looked expectantly at Hermione, whose lips parted in confusion before the realization hit her.

"Oh!" She grabbed her beaded bag off the coffee table and rummaged around until her fingers closed around the few coins she had left. Hermione pulled out her hand and stared at her palm—six galleons. "Erm, I know it's not much. Here, I have some British Muggle money as well—"

"Zat will do," Esme said, and Hermione gave her a tight smile as she handed over the coins. "Use ze entire serum, and by Circe's grace, he will wake for as long as you require." The witch's curious eyes swept behind her to the open doorway, the corners crinkling when they landed on Lucius on the bed. "He will come around, your James."

It took her a moment to realize who Esme was talking about. "I'm not so sure about that," Hermione responded quietly.

"And why not? Ze heart is a muscle, after all. With time, and patience, it can be coaxed to overcome even ze most difficult of strains." Esme reached out, patted Hermione's hand, then disappeared back down the stairs. After a few seconds, the faint pop of her apparition faded into silence. Hermione clutched the little vial in her fist, relishing in its smooth, cool glass.

Even if Sirius came back, would he forgive her for being intimate with the one living man he hated above all others? With the one wizard who ensured Sirius's death by escaping his own?

For now, though, it was pointless to logic through the consequences. Hermione lifted her chin and marched back into the bedroom, shutting and locking the door before setting her sights on the unconscious man spread out before her.

After some deliberation, she decided to remove the signs of the traumatic trip from England—with her hands, instead of the magic. Just to remind herself that he was still here, still breathing. Perched on the edge of the bed, Hermione leaned over and set to work on his shirt. The buttons pulled apart easily, the shirt peeling open to reveal a stripe of shining skin. Slowly, she eased off the sleeves, marveling at his bare arms, the fine-boned clavicle and chest covered in a dusting of pale hair she had never seen before. Never touched. She allowed herself only a few brushes, fingers gliding down his sternum, over the drumming of his heart.

He twitched. His eyelids danced.

Hermione forced herself to move on.

She was more unsure about the rest, not wanting him to wake in total panic that he was naked in a strange bedroom, with her his un-dresser. After a minute of chewing on her lip, Hermione decided to roll up the right cuff of his trousers, just enough to expose his wounded leg to be cleaned. The stench of blood and metal was so thick, Hermione's eyes watered, and she quickly retrieved a fresh towel with warm water to soak up what she could.

The cloth came back crimson by the time she was finally done.

Hermione tossed the towel into the bathroom bin and found another, using it to wash the sweat from his chest, his neck, his face. She wiped carefully down the sharp planes of his cheekbones, along his temple, each touch dragging up a fresh wave of emotion for this man.

Her friend. Her betrayer. Her fate.

That's what he is, isn't he? Hermione mused as she set the towel aside and pressed her palm into his cheek. Lucius Malfoy was just as entangled in her destiny as Sirius was, but in the end, it was Lucius who first took hold of Hermione's numb existence and yanked her from the dark. Lucius who first made her feel alive when she'd only felt emptiness for so long. Lucius who had first helped her with the most impossible research anyone could attempt. Lucius who had first touched her, and kissed her, and wanted her, even if it was all for his own desires.

Maybe that was the problem with desires; they tangled too easily, making one person's irreversibly intertwined with another's. Lucius had saved her. Screw the reasons. And now it was her duty to save him.

Screw the consequences.

Hermione took a plastic water cup from the bathroom, then settled back down by his side. With trembling hands, she poured out a dose of the orange Pepper-Up. Next, she upturned Esme's vial, watching with bated breath as the darker serum swirled into the fizzing liquid.

She held it up to the light, wishing her Potion's Master had been involved in this mess too—maybe he'd be able to tell her if the mixture would work. Then again, she didn't exactly want to find out Professor's Snape's sneering opinions on her current life choices.

"Down the hatch," Hermione murmured, smiling sadly at the saying her mother used to chime when Hermione was ill and required cough syrup. With any luck, this would be a bit stronger.

One hand tipped back Lucius's face, holding his mouth open, his jaw still. With the other, she carefully poured the potion down his throat. Lucius shuddered as it hit, his body jerking against her hold. As soon as the last drop spilled out, she flew to him with both hands clamped to his shoulders. "Lucius!" she yelped as he thrashed beneath her. An arm flew up, nearly smacking her in the face. Hermione scrambled further onto the bed, throwing one leg over his hips to straddle him for better leverage.

"Argh…Argh…" he moaned, head slamming into the pillows, tendons straining against his neck.

"Lucius, it's me!" Hermione cried, giving up on his shoulders to grasp the sides of his face instead. His eyes jittered behind their lids, his lips slack, spewing out a cry of agony. "Please, Lucius, it's me. Hermione."

His limbs flailed once more, one knee jerking up to slam into the back of her thigh, but she hardly felt it, her eyes widening as his muscles eased back into the bed. A second later, he was still. Achingly slow, like the moon peeking out from behind the clouds, his eyes opened.

"Hermione," Lucius breathed out.

She would have wept, if she wasn't so high on adrenaline. Hermione's fingers fluttered over his cheekbones, as if she was checking that he truly was real, was awake and warm beneath her. "It worked," she marveled, sliding her hands up so her fingertips could reach his soft, damp hair.

Lucius wet his lips, his expression screwing up in disgust. "What in Merlin's name did you give me?" he asked, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Pepper-Up, and…well, I'm not too sure. Here!" she exclaimed, leaning over to grab the plastic cup and her wand, hastily filling it with water.

He drank too quickly, the water dripping down his chin, droplets sliding down his neck. Hermione couldn't stop herself from wiping the corner of his mouth, before she froze, and his eyes drifted from her hand down to his body. "It appears I have been devested of my shirt," he drawled, meeting her gaze with one arched eyebrow.

Hermione blushed, pulling her hands back to herself, careful not to touch the bare chest rising and falling beneath her. "I'm sorry, I…you were ill, and I wanted to clean you up. I should get you something to…" She began to shift off him when two hands locked around her hips. Shivers of magic snaked up her body, freezing her in place.

"I did not say you should leave."

Hermione swallowed. The hands remained, burning into her skin like they had all those days ago, in her dim bedroom at Grimmauld Place. "How do you feel?" Hermione whispered. She tried clutching her hands together before feeling silly, letting them rest lighting on his ribs instead.

"Like I've been chewed up by a Thestral and forced out the other end."

"I'm sorry."

Lucius's eyes roamed over her, teasing the shiver of magic and desire coiling inside her even further. "I remember apparating several times, and then nothing."

"We made it to Paris, but you were unconscious by then. Your cuff, it—it couldn't contain the magic and misfired. It's acting as a kind of parasite sucking up your own magic. Draining it until your body cannot take it any longer." She paused, lips curling into a frown. "Did you know that would happen?"

"I was…aware of the possibility."

"Then why?"

Lucius set his jaw and looked into the distance beyond her shoulder. His fingers skated up her hips, ghosting over the sliver of skin above her waistband. "I do not know."

"Bullshit."

His eyebrow rose at her language. "Does it matter?" He dragged his gaze back to her, his silver eyes dark with intention. "You say that my cuff misfired. That I was unconscious. And now there is a witch in my lap, no mangy dog panting over me, and I am, by some miracle, awake by that foul potion. No," he concluded, releasing one hip to brush back a curl from her temple, tucking it behind her ear. "It does not seem to matter why I let you almost kill me."

Hermione wanted to snap back, but between the weight of his hand, and the knowledge that their time was so short, she held her tongue. "Fine, we'll discuss this after I save you."

"And how do we save me?"

"We—Sirius and I—consulted a Mediwitch. Well, she's not exactly a licensed healer, but she advised us that your cuff could be reset by giving you a sudden burst of magic from outside yourself. I, erm…I have that magic," she said, touching her sternum. "From when Sirius and I…from when we consummated the marriage bond."

Lucius was very still for a long moment, but when his hands didn't leave her, she took it as a good sign and let herself breathe, her shoulder relaxing down from her ears. Finally he began to sit up, and Hermione shifted off his lap to allow him to lean back against the headboard. She remained by his side, knees curled up, pressing into the side of his ribs. "You believe that sex will you heal me?"

"Yes," she whispered, cheeks flushing.

"I take it Black did not volunteer for the procedure."

A smile cracked open her lips. "Believe it or not, he left that task to me. He…well, we had a disagreement. He's not here. And even if he was, I…I want to help you. Please, Lucius. Let me save you."

Lucius studied her, his eyes piercing through her expression like he could see all the emotions raging just out of sight. "Would you consent if it were not just to save me?"

Hermione bit her lip. She stared at her fingers clutching the blue duvet, counting the wrinkles rippling out from her grip. "You hurt me."

"I know. And I…I am sorry." He blew out a long breath. "It was not fair of me to use you in that way. But please know, that as I grew to know you, Hermione, the pain of my intentions grew deeper. But I was clinging to this notion that if I could escape Britain to America, escape that manor and my prison of solitude, I could leave my choices behind."

Hermione's eyes shot up, meeting his own. She saw no trace of deception, no beautiful mask. Only the man, only his own beauty. The pain behind admitting the truth. "Do you regret it?" she whispered.

"Like nothing else."

"Okay." Hermione pressed up onto her knees. She planted one hand on his far side, the other smoothing up his hard chest, savoring the heat, the muscles tensing beneath her fingers. "Then I consent," she breathed out, dipping her face closer. Their noses brushed. "If you do."

Her lungs stopped working. His eyes flickered over her face, like she wasn't real. Hermione's hand slid further up, capturing the side of his jaw. One last, final way to say that yes, she was here, and yes, she was ready, and yes, she wanted this. Wanted him.

"Merlin, yes," Lucius breathed back, before swallowing her gasp with a kiss.

His mouth crashed into her hers, bruising with a need that only weeks, months of longing could fuel. Lucius's hands found purchase on her waist, dragging her back into his lap, their lips never breaking. The wet heat of his mouth—the way his tongue darted out, desperate for entrance—the iron hold of his fingers—sliding up her shirt, palming her lower back—coaxed a moan from her throat the moment she broke away for a breath.

"I want you," Hermione panted as he took the chance to kiss down her jaw, every touch of his lips like a flame igniting. "But we must hurry—the potion, it—"

He began to push her onto her back when a groan of pain escaped him, and Hermione froze, unsure if she had hurt him. Eyes squeezed shut, Lucius sank back into the mattress and said through gritted teeth, "It appears I am more limited than I had hoped."

She couldn't help the smirk when his eyes cracked open.

"What?"

Hermione bit her lip and traced a finger down his chest, heat rushing to her cheeks when her touch ghosted over his trousers, and he bit back another groan far more delectable that the whimper of pain she'd just heard. "It's just like the library, isn't it?" she mused, before dipping down to press her lips against his stomach. "Me, doing all the work." Hermione let her tongue glide across his skin and pressed an open-mouth kiss into his ribs, smiling to herself when he jolted, and a hand clutched at the crown of her head, as if begging her for more. "You, just sitting there." She looked up through her lashes, meeting his dark, heady gaze. "Watching me." His fingers tangled deeper into her curls, urging her towards him. But Hermione remained in place over his lap, relishing in the strain, the way he was helpless to anything but abide her whims.

"Do you even know the things that went through my mind, in that library?" He cocked his head to one side, eyes drifting lazily down her. "Wearing those little Ministry outfits. Nothing but this hair," he continued in a low murmur, fingers splaying lower, capturing the nape of her neck, "Nothing but this wild mane to satisfy my imagination."

Hermione blushed. No had ever been so open with expressing their thoughts on her body. It had always been functional. An object to clean and feed. "Would you like to see more?" she whispered, feeling brave. Feeling alive.

The dart of his tongue across his lips was answer enough. Hermione shifted off his lap, planting her feet on the floor. She began at her shoes, tugging at the laces, toeing off her worn boots and socks. As she straightened, she met Lucius's gaze again, willing herself not to break it out of nervousness or embarrassment.

Her jeans came off first, pooling around her bare feet. Lucius's eyes swept up her legs, and the memory of when he'd healed her skinned knee swam into the forefront of her mind. He watched her the same way now, with a careful sort of assessment, taking in the curve of her hips, the way her thighs kissed just below the white cotton of her knickers.

"I thought we were short on time?" Lucius asked, throat bobbing with a swallow.

She raised an eyebrow and grabbed hold of her jumper, yanking it unceremoniously from her body. With it cast aside, she faced him in only her underwear. Shivering, but not just from the winter chill managing to seep through the apartment walls. Before she could think too much on the action, on the last line she was crossing, Hermione unhooked her bra, slid off her knickers, and stood before him, cheeks scarlet, nipples pebbling, eyes finally dragging away, sliding down Lucius's body to see his reaction to her.

"Please," he whispered. "I have watched long enough."

The corner of her mouth quirked into a smile as she padded back to the bed. Kneeling by his side, Hermione kissed his mouth—barely able to tear herself away when his hands found her breasts. She kissed the hollow of his throat as he sank his lips into her shoulder. She kissed the skin barely containing his thundering heart as he bit down into the pulse of her neck, pulling out a moan as heat and magic writhed inside her.

Hands fumbled for the button of his trousers. Fingers cupped her arse, urging her into his lap. And when she finally managed to free his hard length, and her name flew from his lips like a filthy, toe-curling curse, the magic began to sing like her chest was a cathedral, his pleasure her prayer.

Palms flat against his chest, Hermione let the song of her magic set the rhythm of her hips. Beneath her, Lucius was coming alive, pale skin bursting with color, lips open, slinging moans and praise and words she couldn't make out, even if she wanted to. When he suddenly sat up, yanking her flush against his chest, arms wrapped around her waist in a crushing embrace, Hermione let her body—let the magic—flow faster, deeper, urging them both to dive into the wave of pleasure threatening to crash down.

This time, it was her turn to beg. "Please," Hermione whimpered, her lips seeking his as he cradled her tighter and flipped them both backwards onto the mattress. Caging her in from above, Lucius quickened his pace, hips snapping to meet hers, one hand like the sweetest vice around her throat, gentle enough not to bruise, firm enough to remind her who he was, who he had always been. "Lucius," Hermione moaned. "Plea—" With one deep thrust of his hips, the wave broke—her magic and pleasure shattered. With one final stroke, Lucius followed her over that crest in a cry of her name that had never sounded so right spilling from his lips.

They may have laid there for seconds. Minutes. She would guess longer, but judging from the afternoon sun still shafting through the window, Hermione figured it hadn't taken so long to come down from the incredible high of climax and magic and release after so much time waiting.

She sat up, realizing he had pulled them both back into the pillows. When her eyes fell down his hastily pulled up trousers, and landed on his rolled pantleg, she gasped. "Lucius," she cried, sliding off the bed so she could better inspect his ankle. The copper ring was still there, but the flesh behind it was beginning to knit together, crimson fading to pink. "I think the dittany started to work. How do you feel?" Hermione glanced up, only to find a lazy smirk on his lips as he stared unabashedly at her naked body.

"Like never before," he answered easily, wrenching his eyes up to hers. "Though that may have something to do with the glorious little witch who just orgasmed me back to life."

Hermione crossed her arms over her breasts, scowling despite the heat his words brought back. "I mean with your magic. Your leg."

Lucius drew up the leg in question to see for himself, frowning lightly as he pressed his fingers into the magically-healing skin. "Only minimal pain. And the magic…" He breathed in deeply before letting out a long, satisfied sigh. "Back to its usual, vexingly contained normal."

"It worked." She could hardly believe the words. What had just happened—what she had done. What they had done.

"Of course it did," Lucius drawled. "I expected nothing else from my witch."

Hermione nodded, tucking back a stray curl as flutters of worry started up in her stomach. She had saved Lucius. Lost Sirius—perhaps for good, though she hoped desperately he would come back, even after what she'd done. He had left in a fit of anger…perhaps I can go find him, see if he's cooled down…

"Come here." She shivered at his tone and dragged her attention back to the bed, where he was watching her patiently. With a sigh, Hermione shuffled back over. He pushed up from the pillows and swung his legs over the edge. With two large, warm hands, he reached for her face, cupping her cheeks. "I don't know whether to thank you or scold you," Lucius murmured.

She flushed. "Why?"

He pulled her closer, pressing a soft kiss against her lips—one that felt, as he reluctantly pulled away, like it was supposed to be their last. "Because this bloody prophecy appears to be drawing to a close, and I daresay it's not done with all three of us yet."