She spent the whole hour passing the mouse to and from the Veil, timing each encounter with her wand in increasing increments of thirty seconds. On the second trip, she secured a bobby pin to the mouse's ear, hoping it would be a sufficient stand-in for the blade she would later need. Every time the mouse came back, relief flooded through her—not only because she wouldn't have to use another mouse and carve another tiny rune into her thigh, but because with each success, it meant another half a minute she'd have on the other side.

On the four-minute mark, her luck ran out. Hermione pulled and pulled at the tether, but to no avail—the mouse was gone. After ten minutes trying in vain to yank the chain from the Veil, she finally blew out an exasperated sigh and severed the tether. Just like Ritual of Retinacula described, the unbinding was a simple counter-incantation, the golden links dissolving into the air.

Hermione plopped back onto a bench. She pushed up her skirt to examine the rune, her jaw set hard when she found it still angry and red, but not bleeding. Will it even scar? She had seen Harry's forehead to know the effect of that particular dark magic—the lighting bolt had never truly scarred, not like muggle wounds that turned pink and shiny, then faded over time. A dose of shame fluttered in her stomach, and Hermione let her skirt slip down over her thigh. Her younger self would have been aghast, seeing what she had done. What she would continue to do, hopefully, if she performed the ritual with Lucius and Sirius. Only then, the wounds would not be so diminutively mouse-sized.

But then again, her younger self had not yet lost all that she would. Desperation bred easily in sorrow, she had found.

After one last, searching look at the Veil, Hermione left the cold chamber to its haunting peace. To her relief, she was the first one back to the cubicles. At least she could have a few more minutes of quiet before the post-lunch chatter began its usual swarm. She grabbed a report from the top of her towering stack, pinched a quill between her fingers, and tried her best to focus on the reading at hand. She had only made a few redactions when a knock sounded on the frame of her cubicle.

Her eyes flew up to find her supervisor with an expectant gaze in her piercing blue eyes. "Oh, hello Ms. Culpepper." Hermione swallowed nervously and set her quill down. She was almost never spoken to by her boss—never spoken to much at all, really, except from the coworkers who directly handled her work assignments.

"Good, you're back early. There's something for us to discuss." When Hermione's eyes drifted to her looming stack, Culpepper added sharply, "If you haven't succumbed to your pile yet, Granger, then ten minutes won't kill you. Follow me."

Hermione had no choice but to drift behind the older woman as they moved silently down the hallway towards the department heads' offices. Her hands wrung as she considered the possibilities—the most likely (and worst) being that she had been caught in the Death Room today, performing an unsanctioned experiment. Surely she would have heard the door opening? Unless I was too wrapped up in my own bloody business…

"Sit." Culpepper commanded, as they stepped into the woman's office. Books lined the shelves on each wall, their titles fastidiously ordered and dust-free. Unlike some of the other senior Unspeakables, Culpepper wasn't a witch with a penchant for creativity and whimsy. Hermione had met the head of the sub-department on Prophecy; the wizard had clutter stuffed into every crevice of his office, and then some.

Once she was seated on the opposite side of the plain wooden desk, Hermione forced herself to meet the witch's undiscernible gaze. Her mouth went dry, wondering if she should speak first.

"It's been about six months since you started with us," Culpepper began, to Hermione's relief. "And I have to say, Granger, I did expect more from you. Being Hogwarts' Golden Girl, and all that nonsense."

Hermione's heart began to hammer. She smoothed a hand over her curls, willing herself to keep it together. "I apologize for any presumptions the newspapers have given you, Ms. Culpepper. If my work has not been satisfactory—"

Culpepper waved her off, and Hermione clamped her mouth shut. "Not your work, Granger. Though I was told to expect higher than average results from you, I understand that the administrative desk is not where your passions lay." The witch flicked her gaze over Hermione's face, scrutinizing her for a moment before she added in a low voice, "I am speaking of the company you keep while on Ministry premises."

"Company?"

"Did you not think that associations between the Golden Girl and a Death Eater would go unnoticed?"

Hermione wished desperately that the chair she was in would just swallow her whole. Her mind reeled at her stupidity—how many times had she been in Lucius's company, in plain view of late cafeteria-attendees or stragglers in the atrium? "I have never, nor would never, discuss the department's work with Mr. Malfoy," she said carefully. "If I led anyone to incorrectly assume that, I am deeply sorry."

Culpepper raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows. "That is not why the matter has been brought to my attention, Granger. Even the fools we hire for the Hall of Prophecy would not dare to risk releasing the nature of their work. No, it is your reputation that has, unfortunately, been called into question." The witch rose from her seat, hands clasped firmly behind her back as she made her way to the curtained false window behind her desk. With a flick of a finger, the curtains drew back. A scene of a muggle London played behind the glass panes, cars and pedestrians and a bright double decker rushing by. "I do not judge you for whom you keep company with, Granger. Even if it surprises me, do to your…status in our world. But others at the Ministry judge much more freely. And much more viciously." She sighed and turned back to Hermione, a contemplative expression pulling at her severe features. "What do you want with your life?"

Her lips parted as she considered the sudden question. The image of that red and gold bed back home, its original owner back beneath the sun-warmed blankets, filled her head. "A career here," she said firmly, even if it was only half the truth. Even if her personal goals had become more important as of late, she still wished desperately to make something of her career. "I want nothing more than to do research for the department. To conduct my own studies, if I am given the chance."

Culpepper nodded curtly. "Then you must learn that to advance in this department—in any, really—there is more to it than just the work. Do not set yourself up for failure by tarnishing your reputation now, before your future here has hardly begun. The tide of politics at the Ministry has turned since the war, but do not mistake that for leniency. We are all being watched here. Even you, Granger. Don't let yourself be remembered for anything other than your work."

Irritation coursed through her—of course she had known that politics were always at play in the Ministry, but still the hypocrisy of Kingsley's administration had her seething. The new Ministry had sought to bring the old way and the new together. Could an association between herself—a junior worker with no sway on anything—and a disgraced high-society wizard really be that dangerous to the façade of peace and compromise?

Of course it could, Hermione thought bitterly, hardly listening as Culpepper politely bid her farewell. The whole fate of the wizarding world used to stand on the shoulders of a teenager. Of course Lucius and my 'association' would send the Ministry toilers quivering in their shiny boots.

She would have to be more careful, Hermione decided as she marched to her cubicle. Though with any luck, she'd have Sirius back in a matter of weeks. By then, any relationship between herself and Lucius would have dissolved, and she could go back to ignoring him in the lift just like everyone expected her to.

Once the work day had finally dwindled to a close, Hermione made her way to the cafeteria. Instead of making a beeline for Lucius's usual table, she set her eyes on the food lines, ignoring his eyes on the back of her head. After purchasing a bottled pumpkin juice, Hermione strode out with the same disregard to the blonde wizard in the corner.

She made it a dozen steps into the atrium when the cafeteria doors creaked behind her. A smile found her face as she listened to his footsteps behind her, hollow against the marble. Only when she stepped into the emerald fireplace did she turn. Lucius was pretending to inspect a newspaper stand, his eyes slipping over to her. Hermione winked, then whispered, "Malfoy Manor."

He stepped out of the parlor fireplace only a moment later, a curious expression on his face. "I see you've had a change of heart when it comes to being seen with me," he said, coolly but not unkindly.

Hermione blushed at the lamentable sentiment. "A change of mind," she answered, slipping the pumpkin juice into her robe's pocket. "It's not wise, Lucius."

His face softened. "I know. It was wrong to forget that some of us still have reputations to uphold."

She nodded, frowning at the same line of thinking her supervisor had used. He had immediately understood her meaning. Had Lucius known this all along? Surely he would have told me sooner, if he suspected our meetings would affect my job. "What we did today worked well, right?" she asked, as they fell into step down the hallway.

"I'm not sure I can suffer a wink that atrocious thrice a week," he responded mildly, stopping to pull open the library door.

Hermione scowled up at him, then her annoyance dissolved when he gave her a charming wink of his own. She sped into the library, blushing as the door shut behind her. While she had been hoping to speak with Lucius as soon as possible about her recent experiment, she concluded it was probably for the best, so she could get her thoughts and notes in order. And to get the image of his disgustingly perfect wink out of her head.

By the time the coffee tray set for two popped up in the center of the table, Hermione had reviewed the bond-testing potion, recorded her finding with the mouse on the parchment she had finally bound into a journal, and was biting anxiously at her nails. No wonder Harry had picked up smoking.

"Evening," Lucius said, entering in a swoosh of charcoal robes.

"Evening."

He swept into the chair across from her, silently making them each a cup. After a few sips, Hermione finally pried her eyes off her notes. Lucius was already staring back. "I see you have an update," he said, gesturing to her open journal.

Hermione bit her lip before forcing it back out. "It worked," she breathed, before clarifying in a louder voice, "The Retinacula ritual." With a shove, she set the journal in front of him.

Lucius read over her notes—once, then twice, before closing the cover with his palm and meeting her eyes. "You succeeded in sending a small mammal through the Veil. Pray tell, what happens next?" He had that knowing glint in his steel grey eyes—like he knew what she wanted, but wanted her to say it. To ask him. Daring her to ask.

She had no choice. "I need your help, Lucius," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Let me be the mouse, and you the keeper of the tether."

His eyes drifted down her. "Show me."

Her cheeks burned, knowing immediately what he meant. The chair scraped back as she walked slowly around the table, pulling out the chair beside him with another screech. As Lucius shifted to face her, Hermione pushed aside her robe and inched up her skirt. When the wool bared the lowest part of her inner thigh, Lucius bent forward. His hair tickled her skin as he examined the rune. The symbol stared back at him, bright red against her paleness.

"Does it hurt?" he murmured fingers stretching towards her leg before pausing.

"Not anymore," she answered truthfully. As his fingertips made contact, her breathing hitched. Not because it hurt, but because the touch sent waves of warmth flowing through her. He felt like magic and sin. Hermione bit back a gasp and let the skirt fall back down, forcing his hand to draw away. "Will you do it?" she asked quietly, meeting his eyes as she straightened up.

Lucius stoked the line of his jaw. "I will."

Her eyes widened at the immediacy of his admission. "Oh, Lucius, thank you." She bit her lip at his arched eyebrow, willing herself to calm down. "We just need to confirm that our, er, bond is strong enough to support the tether. I have the potion instructions right here," she rushed out, stretching across to snatch the loose parchment from her things. "Then we can make a plan on when to enact the ritual. I've been taking note of the days where we're less likely to be discovered by other Unspeakables—"

Strong fingers closed around her wrist, and Hermione froze, realizing she had been waving the parchment around like a baton. "Hermione," Lucius said, as his fingers slid away. "Even if the bond is sufficient, we're not doing this yet."

"And why not?

"Must I point out the differences between a witch and a mouse?" he sneered. At her eye roll, he explained, "Just because your experimentation was successful today, does not mean your own body will react so well to the ritual."

"Well what do you propose we do?" she ground out.

"Send a creature with a magical, human-like soul through the Veil, for starters," he said, with a pointed look at the coffee tray.

Her eyes widened. "I—I'm not—I can't!" she cried. "I won't subject a house elf to that!"

"But you'd throw yourself into the next round, no further research required?"

"I can consent," she argued. When his lips parted, probably to argue something just as horrid, she snapped, "Fine, we don't have to plan the ritual until I figure something else out. Which I will," she added with a huff.

A smirk crossed his face. "I have no doubts, my dear. Now," he said, extending a hand. "Let's see that ingredients list and what I'll have to send you to the black market to fetch."

Hermione blanched, praying he was only kidding.

On Wednesday evening, Hermione returned to Grimmauld Place with her hair twice the size of its usual state. She'd spent her hours at the manor brewing instead of researching, cooped up in the underground potions lab which likely hadn't seen a soul since…well, since the war had ended. The effects of the Ministry's raid were apparent—missing ingredients, overturned cauldrons and shattered glass still oozing something sticky. Lucius had explained that Narcissa did all of their brewing, whenever healing potions were required. In her absence, the lab had been overtaken with perfumed dust and a musty odor even the strongest banishing spell could not scrub out.

It was a small price to pay for the flask of fuchsia potion she ended up with.

She had a mind to test the potion—and their bond—that evening, but instead found that Lucius had disappeared into his study. Though she knocked, he bid her no answer. And when she cracked open the door, she found him slumped over on the desk, snoring with a tumbler of whiskey in one hand.

Hermione had let him be, smiling at the sight. Harry had his cigarettes. Lucius had his whiskey. And she…well, she had her research.

What will I have when it's over?

The question had nagged her until she stumbled into Grimmauld's kitchen and ended up face-to-face with Harry. She glanced him up and down, noting his Ministry clothes. "Hi," she said politely, side-stepping away from the fireplace. They hadn't spoken since the 'intervention,' and she wasn't about to start now.

"Wait."

Hermione stopped. She kept her eyes glued to an askew Muggle calendar hanging to the left of the doorway. The first month of 1999 was already creeping towards its halfway point. She thought, idly, of the upcoming Valentine's day. "I'm quite tired, Harry," Hermione said weakly, turning to face him. She took in the sag of his shoulders, the way his thin frame swam inside the pinstripe robes. Harry had always been on the scrawny side, but now…now he looked like he was fifteen again, drowning in a grownup's costume. Hermione sighed and offered him a small smile. "I know you are too."

Harry took a hesitant step towards her. When she made no move to spin away, he closed the distance between them, one hand clutching the back of a kitchen chair. "I'm sorry for how things went down the other day. I…I didn't think…"

"That Ron would accuse me of sleeping with Mr. Malfoy?" she asked dryly.

"Well yeah."

Hermione snorted softly. "Like he has any right to judge. Which he doesn't, by the way. No sleeping with any Malfoys on my account."

Harry gave her a sheepish grin. "Don't fancy running off to find a certain prick in America?"

"I do hear New York is rather pretty this time of year," she teased, before growing quiet again. She had talked with Ginny in the past about traveling to New York, before either of them were saddled with a husband or more work duties or kids. Now, though, it seemed that what little time she had left before Ginny became Ginny Potter had been squandered.

"Hey," Harry said softly, his hand closing over her shoulder. "It's not going to last forever."

"She hates me. Ron hates me…don't you?"

Harry gave her a squeeze. "Nah. I mean, I don't understand it. How you could spend so much time with a De—with a man like that. But I could never hate you, Hermione. I was just surprised and hurt, but not anymore." He said it so sincerely, tears sprung in her eyes. Hermione looked away, blinking furiously. "You're my family too. And Ginny's, even if she can't see it right now. We're all we got."

Hermione nodded, numbly letting herself be pulled into Harry's chest. For now, she could not help but think, as tears seeped into his robes. I promise.

Hermione bit her lip, watching nervously as Lucius raised the crystal goblet to his nose. He inhaled, frowning slightly as he inspected the bright pink potion. She toyed with her own goblet until she could take it no more. "Well?" she demanded.

"It appears to be exactly like the book describes."

"Well I did receive an 'O' in my Potions NEWT," she replied hotly.

Lucius set his goblet back on the table. "You accomplished that whilst being on the run?"

"No, I accomplished it after," she said smugly. Her exams were something she was quite proud of, even if they mattered little to her current career. Someday, she hoped, she'd be putting that Potion's 'O' to more use than brewing ancient bond potions. Her eyes fell on Lucius's hand, still closed around the stem of the goblet. "There's something else, too, before we take it," she said, pushing up from her chair and wandering over to his side. "We have to…feed it to each other."

His brows shot up. "I beg your pardon?"

Hermione blushed and gestured for him to stand too. Facing him, her goblet held aloft, she explained, "The potion is meant for couples, you see. Well, a man and his coerced female companion, in most cases. The instructions clearly state that first you feed the potion to me, then I to you."

Something flickered across his gaze. Amusement, maybe. She prayed it wasn't disgust. They wouldn't get very far at all with their bond if he started off being disgusted with her. Even if he once had, due to her blood. Unless he still is…

The man's goblet coming towards her snapped Hermione out of her head. Lucius closed the distance between them, his free hand curling around the side of her jaw. Her breathing hitched as he raised the goblet to her lips, and she felt a gentle pressure tipping her head ever so slightly back. The potion hit her tongue—sickly sweet and nauseating with its essence of rose petals. As the brew slid down her throat, a sense of warmth bloomed inside her chest. She put a hand over her sternum, frowning.

"Are you alright?" Lucius murmured, as he set the empty glass aside.

She nodded quickly and grasped tighter to her own goblet. "We have to hurry," she urged. Feeding him was going to be far harder due to their height difference. Hermione pressed onto her tiptoes when she realized he was already sitting, his knees opening to let her stand between. Cheeks burning, chest burning, Hermione stepped between them and poised the goblet's rim against his parted lips. His head tilted back, then his Adam's apple bobbed with a swallow.

Hermione knocked back into the table as she stepped away from the close proximity. Lucius's eyes were closed, his own hand coming to his chest like hers had done. "Are you alright?"

"Quite, unless you've only now decided to poison me," he jested, a smirk curving at his pink-stained lips. Hermione wiped her own with the back of her hand and shook her head, smiling. "What comes next?"

"Well, there were no further instructions. I believe some representation of the tether is supposed to manif—" At a sudden surge of heat cinching her wrist, Hermione gasped. Her eyes flew down to find some kind of braid wavering in the air between them. Strands of white light shimmered, stretching from her own wrist to Lucius's, where the strands seemed to pulse straight from the underside of his exposed wrist. "Five," Hermione breathed out, once she'd counted the strands of light.

"What does it mean?" he asked. His un-tethered hand stretched towards the braid, but when his fingers met the outermost strand, they only passed through it, like brushing through a mist.

Hermione swallowed the thickness in her throat. "The book describes a scale," she explained softly. "From one to ten. Ten being the strongest bond, though an eight should suffice for our needs, since nine and ten are virtually impossible to achieve. I believe so, anyway," she admitted. There was no footnote on the strands required for passing your witch through the Veil.

Lucius stood, eyes fixed on the braid as it moved with him. Hermione tucked her own arm around her waist, mesmerized as the strands quivered with their movement. "And what of the methods?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

Hermione pressed her lips together. This was the part she was most uncertain about. Clearly, there was already some kind of relationship between the two of them. But what constituted it—and what the tether required more of—was still unknown. The book only mentioned intimacy, but frustratingly left that little word up for interpretation. She had been given yet another puzzle for her to solve. Only this time, she'd have a partner. "Well," Hermione started, breathing the word out. "I believe we're supposed to be more…open with one another. This," she said, gesturing between them, "has gotten us to a level five. But other than a few…mishaps around New Year's, our association hasn't much changed."

"So we ought to spend time outside your researching hours," he mused. Lucius raked back his hair, the braid swinging soundlessly between them.

"I suppose I could do something other than research while here," she offered, though the thought of wasting her research days on something other than her 'anti-house elf experimentation' mission was quite loathsome.

"Or perhaps we mustn't be here at all." At her frown, Lucius straightened up and beckoned her to follow. He strode briskly from the library as Hermione jogged to keep up. They burst into his study, and as Lucius began rifling through a neat stack of papers on his desk, she sank into the plush seat across from him, watching the tether swing wildly between them.

"Ah," he said finally, whipping out a roll of parchment. He quickly scanned the paper, then smirked. "It seems that my tiresome Ministry assignment will in fact be more than simply tiresome."

"How so?"

"Because I am going to take you with me."

"I can't. I can't take a day off from the Ministry." Especially not with Culpepper on my case, she grumbled internally.

"And how about a Saturday?" he asked with a soft smirk. "Fancy a trip to the sea?"

Never in her life did Hermione think she'd be caught dead catching a ferry with Lucius Malfoy, as if they were two muggles on a weekend holiday to Isle of Wight.

Though with him magic-less, and me, well, me, I suppose that's what we are.

After switching around his artifact-collection assignments (apparently the frantic Auror in charge of Lucius's case was more than happy to oblige to get the wizard out of his face), Hermione had found herself on a four-hour train ride, a rather handsome-looking wizard seated across from her. She peeked over her book at his attire once the train cleared the station, noting his black wool peacoat and hair tucked beneath an emerald scarf. She herself had also worn House colors, her chin nestled atop one of Molly's crochet creations from fourth year.

They spoke little on the ride south, only passing pleasantries outside Waterloo Station, and again once the city scene of London faded into the winter countryside. She guessed he was still uncomfortable acting like a muggle, if his sneer at the ticket stand was any indication. At least the potion's bond had vanished by the time she left Malfoy Manor, the other evening. She wasn't sure how well the muggles would react if they had a floating, non-corporeal chain between them.

Upon first hearing his plan to have her accompany him to the antique shop on the island, Hermione had offered to side-along him. That idea had been promptly squashed with a sneered jest; apparently Lucius's copper cuff would detect even side-along apparition, and thus the option was out of question unless she intended to burn a hole through his ankle.

Presently, they were standing by the railing, watching the sea churn beneath the ferry. Wind whipped at Hermione's hair, sending curls flying wildly around her head. Glancing sideways, Hermione was pleased to find Lucius's own locks in a similar state. The pale blonde strands had escaped his scarf, the wind licking them across his scowling face.

"Do you find something amusing, Miss Granger?" Lucius drawled. A hand came up, trying hopelessly to tame his windswept locks back beneath his collar.

Hermione grinned. "I've always wondered how you kept your hair so perfect," she mused, her voice carrying above the rush of wind and seawater. "But I'm beginning to wonder if it really was just magic."

Lucius dropped his hand with a snarl, causing her to giggle at his frustration. "Yes, well, the indoors help with that now," he muttered. Lucius turned away from the railing and took hold of her elbow, steering her back towards the covered part of the boat. They strode past the dozen passengers towards a back row, before plunking down side by side in the vinyl seats. Once he'd rightened his hair (and she hers, to a lesser degree), Lucius fixed her with an amused smirk. "Always?" he inquired. "I wasn't aware you spent any time at all considering the state of my hair."

Hermione swallowed, fidgeting with a frizzy curl that refused to stay behind her ear. "I…I remember noticing your hair when we first met, at the bookshop before second year." When you were busy insulting me for being a muggleborn. Now that she thought about it, her teenage self had always taken note of the wizard's appearance, fascinated by the aristocratic way he carried himself, or the way his words seemed to float our from that rich, upper-class accent.

"Oh? I didn't realize I'd made an impression."

"I remember already having made one on you," she said quietly, tearing her gaze away from the aisles of seats. "You said Draco had told you all about me." She held her breath, waiting to see if he remembered the degrading specifics.

Lucius inclined his head. "I suppose apologizing for the comment would be of little use to you now."

"Only if you don't mean it."

Lucius pressed his lips together and shifted in his seat, one leg crossing over the opposite knee. His arm slung around the back of her seat, noticeable but not touching her. "I cannot say that my prejudice of muggleborns and muggles vanished overnight. Or that it ever will, completely," he said, so softly she had to lean closer to hear over the din of the ferry. "But I can assure you, Hermione, the war—losing the war—has given me time to consider things."

"You shouldn't have to consider if muggles are people," she scoffed, crossing her arms and staring resolutely out one of the grimy windows.

"No, but it was what I was raised to do. What my father was raised to do. Do you think it so easy to simply turn your back on centuries of belief?"

Hermione chewed on her lip. Of course it wasn't—that's what got the wizarding world into the two wars in the first place. People were too scared to turn their backs on pureblood ideology. But that didn't make it sting any less. That the man beside her had once considered her scum, even if she could now call him something close to a friend.

A light touch found her arm, and Hermione drew her focus back to the wizard beside her. "I am sorry for treating you poorly in the past," he murmured. "And for disparaging your parents like I did. I would be honored to meet the people who brought a witch so clever into our world."

She blushed faintly at his words, though the heat quickly faded at the mention of her parents. "You can't," she said weakly. At his look of confusion she added, "That memory charm I told you about...it really is irreversible. Even if I could talk to Professor Snape from beyond the Veil, he would have no way of helping me."

He nodded, concern etched into his face as he gazed back at her. "Would you like to talk about what happened?"

The word 'no' sat poised on her lips, before logic got the better of her. They were here to strengthen their bond—surely discussing such an intimate topic would only strengthen it. But can I trust him? she wondered. She trusted him with her research. With her safety, seeing as she was hours from home on a bloody boat with the man. But can I trust him with my hurt, my heart? "Perhaps later," she murmured, when she could find nothing better to say.

Evening blurred past as the train hurtled back towards London. They train was fuller now, and they had been forced into one side of a double booth, a young couple sitting across from them. Luckily the couple found themselves much more occupied with snogging than eavesdropping. After the day on the island, both Hermione and Lucius found themselves much more talkative than the awkward ride this morning.

"I just don't understand how the teapot ended up all the way here," Hermione whispered. Their heads were bent together, his breath washing over her ear.

"You'd be surprised how obsessed muggles are with their antiques," Lucius replied, patting the bag tucked to his side. "The shopkeeper was loath to give it away—the blasted object had already made its way through three other shops before winding up here." On the island, they had quickly located the Curiosity Shop, where Lucius had tracked down a cursed teapot that blew out poisonous fumes instead of steam.

"I reckon you're only surprised because your house basically is one big antique," she muttered, earning a smirk from Lucius.

"One which you, my dear, take full advantage of thrice a week."

"Oh, speaking of yourself now, are you?" she teased.

Amusement danced in his eyes as he tipped his head closer. "If I remember correctly, it was you who tried to take advantage of me." His eyes slid away, and she knew he was looking at the couple slurping at each other's faces across the booth. "Begging for a New Year's kiss," he whispered.

Hermione shivered at the sparks that seemed to flood through her. Does he really have to sit so close? She tried scooching slightly away, but found her bundled-up coat blocking the rest of the seat. "I didn't beg," she hissed. Did I? The memory was still so hazy. She remembered his arms, and his voice, and his silhouette in the darkened bedroom…

A sudden screech of the wheels broke Hermione from the memory. She looked towards the window to see the station slowing to a stop, and she let out a breath of relief that the conversation could end there, before she got into even hotter water than she already was. Hermione folded her coat over her arm and followed Lucius from the train, watching in amusement as he stiffened every time another passenger brushed past him.

They walked in comfortable silence until departing the station. Once on the sidewalk, Hermione sucked down a gasp of icy air, hurrying to untangle herself from her purse so she could slip her coat back on. To her surprise, the coat vanished from her arms. She glanced back to see Lucius holding it aloft, nodding for her to slip her arms in. "Thank you," she murmured, as the warm wool settled around her. As Lucius watched her, Hermione glanced around; there was an alley not far from here which she had originally apparated into.

"It was a pleasure to have you accompany me, Hermione," Lucius said softly, drawing her attention away from the street.

She smiled. "It was nice," she said truthfully. "To get away from…well, from everything." When he only nodded, Hermione felt her smile strain. She hated goodbyes. Never was good at them. "I'll, er—"

"I have one more idea," he said, before clearing his throat. "For the bond."

Hermione froze. "You don't think it was enough?"

"Do you?"

Probably not. They had spent the day in comfortable companionship, other than the brief tiff on the ferry ride over. But to say they had significantly increased their bond was another story. "No," she sighed.

Lucius stepped closer and held out a hand. "Like I said, I have an idea. Do you trust me?"

Hermione stared at his fingers, pale and long in the golden glow of the station's lights. No, she didn't trust Lucius Malfoy. Not with everything. But if she wanted the tether to be strong enough—if she wanted to safely bring Sirius back—she would have to try.

With a small nod, Hermione accepted his hand.

He led her to a club several blocks from the station, though with her limited knowledge of the area, and the speed in which he pulled her through the bitter cold, Hermione couldn't say exactly where they had ended up. All she knew, judging from the swanky cars, was that they were in an area of London far nicer than the ones she usually traveled to. Jazz music and blue light spilled from the club's front doors, and Hermione hardly had a moment to look around before Lucius was pulling her through the elegantly-dressed crowd.

"Where are we?" she breathed out, as they entered into a narrow hallway. Signs for the toilets stood across from them. Hermione looked from the doors to Lucius, who had his arm stuck down the extendable bag he used for the artifacts. "The toilets? I went in the station…" The words dried up as Lucius pulled out a piece of glittering, black fabric. "What is that!" she hissed, glancing around to see if anyone was watching them.

"A cocktail dress," he answered simply.

"I mean why are you giving it to me!"

"Even in Muggle London, my dear, I would be remiss to be caught without a well-dressed dancing partner."

Dancing. Hermione swallowed as the realization set in. "You took me to go dancing," she squeezed out. "With you. In a muggle club." Never mind the fact that he had obviously planned the activity, and picked out a dress for her.

"You want to increase the strength of our bond, do you not? Physical contact, close conversation, drinks and limited inhibitions—"

"Yes, yes, all right! But I'm not…" Hermione raked a hand through her curls. "I can't dance," she said lamely.

Lucius smirked. "Good thing I can."

"Pureblood balls really help with that sort of thing?"

He held the dress further out in a way that clearly said, Why don't you find out?

After dressing in the marble and bronze bathroom, Hermione shuffled back out into the hallway. In the privacy of a stall, she had transfigured her sneakers into low dancing heels, and her scarf into a wand holster encircled around her left thigh. The other leg, much to her dismay, had been put on display by the high slit. When she first saw the slinky dress in the mirror, she had half a mind to transfigure the thing into something more practical.

Now, though, as she took in Lucius's dark stare, she realized that maybe there were some perks to the pesky slit.

Stop that! Hermione urged herself as she approached him. Lucius himself had changed into a black silk button down. You are not here to have Lucius Malfoy gawk over you. Even if it feels a little bit nice.

"I look ridiculous," Hermione grumbled as she handed over her other clothes and purse. He dropped them into the charmed bag, before stuffing the thing into his pocket.

Lucius smirked, giving her another once-over before offering his arm. "I think it suits you," he murmured, as they moved back towards the swaying dancers and vibrant music. "Though I liked the New Year's choice as well," he added, leaning close to her ear.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Part of her was shivering with pleasure at his blatant flirtations, which he'd never been so liberal with in all their weeks of spending time together. Though when she tipped her head up to meet his knowing eyes, she wondered if it was all on purpose. He must know that she would never make an obvious move on him, even if the bond might necessitate it. At least while sober. He was simply making things easier by taking the lead.

Which you don't seem to mind too much, a voice nagged, as Lucius led her around the dancefloor and over to the bar. The voice sounded annoyingly like Ron, and that was someone she wanted nowhere near her head this strange evening.

"Vodka soda," Lucius told the bartender, as Hermione let her gaze drift around the room. Though she felt quite exposed in the slitted, sleeveless dress, she realized Lucius had been right about the outfit change. Men and women—mostly in their thirties, she presumed—were dressed like they stepped out of a fashion catalog. Silk and sequins glimmered all across the dancefloor, and even the men had donned their finest dress shirts and slacks.

"And for your lady?" the bartender called out.

Hermione turned back to Lucius, unsure as she took in the rows of liquor bottles. "The same," she said hesitantly, flushing at Lucius's pleased smirk.

After an awkward minute of watching the musicians on the stage, Lucius carried their drinks over to one of the tables lining the side of the club. With no chairs, they had to stand. Hermione eyed where Lucius set her drink down right beside his, then stepped over so she could stand beside him. She curled her fingers around the cold glass of clear liquid, watching the soda bubbles fizz to the surface. Hermione took a breath, grabbed hold of the glass, and took a swallow. She grimaced as the bitter-sweet drink slid down her throat.

"Not to your taste?" Lucius asked, after taking a sip of his own.

Hermione shrugged. "Last time I drank, things didn't go so well."

"Ah, yes. I remember quite the drunken witch stumbling into my home," he drawled, chuckling when she scowled at the memory. "You never said why you chose to come over."

Hermione took another drink, ignoring the heat of his eyes watching her. "I dunno. I was drunk, and…lonely, I guess. New Year's isn't so fun when your friends are all snogging other people, and your ex-boyfriend is snogging his sixth year girlfriend."

Lucius snorted. "Trust a Weasley to muck such a thing up." When her eyes flew back to him, he explained lightly, "I mean that only a foolish boy would give up a witch like you."

His praise rushed through her, but she refused to let them get to her head. "It was mostly mutual," she muttered, picking up her glass. Ice clicked against her teeth as she swallowed another gulp. "He didn't like how I was behaving, and that was before, well…you know," she said, eyeing him again.

A smirk twisted as his lips as Lucius turned, leaning back against the table. "Your Weasley was jealous, you know."

Hermione laughed, tipping back her drink. "Jealous! Of who?"

"Well, I presume his conscious jealousy was directed towards me, though the rest lies with your Sirius Black. I imagine he'll throw quite the fit when he finds out both of us have been enjoying your company."

Hermione sputtered and set her glass down with a solid thunk. "Must you be so direct?" she scolded, wiping at her mouth with a napkin.

Lucius grinned around his rim, before tipping the rest back and setting aside the empty glass. "I am not a man to mince words, my dear," he said, one hand stretching towards her. His fingers brushed her cheek as he pushed a curl over her ear. As his fingertips ghosted over the shell of her ear, electricity sparked at his featherlight touch. "I also harbor no ideas that your young heart is entirely set on another man. Seeing as he is not yet with us, would it be so amiss to concede to your current circumstances?"

Hermione closed her eyes as his hand slid down, tracing idle lines up and down her bare arm. "Which are?" she breathed out.

Lucius pressed closer, his fingers stopping to curl around her own. Her eyes opened to see his other hand safely on the table, even as he closed what little space was left between them. "It is not often that I meet a witch so enchanting," he whispered into the ear he only seconds ago had been caressing. "And after New Year's, I am under no doubt that you feel the same way."

"Lucius," Hermione murmured back, her gaze seeping into his own. She had to crane her neck to keep the contact, his fingers an annoying distraction as he brushed a thumb over her wrist. "I can't, I—I don't want to mess up what we have. I can't lose it."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "A night with your hair undone will not ruin anything," he told her, smirking at the curls still left wild from the day's adventure. "There will still be books in the library for you to ransack, coffee and biscuits for you to share. But what we will have changed is that little bond you care so much for."

"I don't ransack," she murmured.

"If you say so." Lucius chuckled as he stepped back, her hand still clasped in his. "Would you care to dance, my dear?"

Nodding shyly, Hermione let him pull her onto the dancefloor. With their hands still joined, he placed the other on the small of her back, then guided her own to his steady arm. After a few cautious steps and spins, Hermione felt herself relax into his hold. The music was upbeat but simple enough, and after a few minutes she felt safe enough to peer around at the other dancers. She noticed a few long stares directed their way and frowned.

"Don't mind them," Lucius suggested, spinning them towards the left as the saxophone sang. He tilted his head closer and whispered into her ear, "They're jealous too, you know."

"Not of me," Hermione insisted.

"No," he agreed, twirling her out of his hold only to reel her sharply back in. Hermione found her back to his chest, the solid warmth of him pressed into her small frame. "Of us."

Us, she thought hotly, as Lucius spun her back out and into their normal position. She didn't doubt that most of the people staring thought of her as some kind of…pursuer of wealthy, older men. Even if it is a little true, she thought, swallowing at the idea of Sirius and his family fortune. Of course she didn't want Sirius for that, but she supposed it was something they'd have to deal with eventually. That was, if everything worked out and Molly didn't kill the man upon finding out.

"Hermione," Lucius whispered.

Her gaze flew back to him. He was smirking as they spun. "Yes?"

Lucius chuckled at her tone. "Stop thinking and just feel, will you my dear? I'm trying to build our bond here."

An hour later—or was it longer—Hermione managed to apparate them safely back to Grimmauld Place. With only one drink in her system, she felt safe enough to travel without splinching, though Lucius still insisted on seeing her home. She in turn insisted on seeing him to her floo instead of going to the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace, knowing that Harry must already be asleep and Ron away at Lavender's.

Definitely nothing to do with recreating New Year's, Hermione told herself, as they approached the front stoop. Lucius's hand was still planted on the small of her back as she unlocked the door. In fact, it had hardly left since they started dancing in that club.

She was surprised to find she didn't mind one bit.

Stumbling a bit over the threshold, Hermione stepped into the dark hallway. Lucius's hand disappeared, and she turned to find him staring cautiously down the hall. "No one's here to hex you," she said, chuckling as she shucked off her shoes.

"Forgive me if I stay vigilant," he sneered.

Hermione smiled to herself as they made their way deeper into the house, feeling like a teenager sneaking a boy into the common room after curfew. Only she hadn't ever done that, and what she was instead doing was sneaking a forty-something year-old man into her shared home. Ginny would love that, Hermione mused sadly, thinking of her much more romantically-adventurous friend.

At the stairs, she heard his footsteps stop. Her hand closed over the railing as she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "You can come up, if you like. I have the rest of the potion to test the bond."

He murmured his agreement before they started up. Though she eyed Sirius's closed door, she pressed onward. In the soberness of this night, it felt wrong to bring another man into his room. They climbed instead to her third floor bedroom, where Hermione flicked on the lights before hurrying over to her nightstand to retrieve the potion.

"Er, here it is," Hermione said, straightening back up. Lucius had closed the door behind himself, though he remained frozen by the threshold. "It's alright," she said awkwardly, gesturing to the bed. "I don't have fancy armchairs, but you're free to sit."

Lucius quirked an eyebrow but followed her advice, perching on the edge of the mattress. The springs groaned under his weight as Hermione surveyed the room for something to pour their drinks into. Finding nothing (neither she nor Kreacher liked dishes to stockpile around the house), Hermione reached under her skirt to retrieve her wand from the makeshift holster. Lucius's eyes didn't leave her as she hiked up the sequined skirt. Heat flooded her, but Hermione made no move to turn away as she pulled the wand free. When the skirt fell back over her knee, Lucius finally met her gaze.

"Do you have a plan?" he asked quietly.

Hermione paused with her wand held up, about to transfigure the empty candlesticks on the dresser into goblets. "For what?" She muttered the spell, and two bronze goblets appeared in their wake.

"If the bond isn't sufficient."

Hermione wordlessly summoned the goblets, before setting her wand on the nightstand and pouring out the fuchsia potion. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she said stiffly, feeling all too aware of the man on her bed, watching her.

Nerves fluttered inside her as she picked up one goblet and carried it back to the bed. Once she was standing between his parted knees, Lucius raised the cup up to her lips. She drank, eyes averted. But when he leaned around her, arm brushing her hip to grab the second goblet, Hermione could avoid his gaze no longer. He watched her lift the goblet to his own mouth, unblinking as he dutifully swallowed.

The goblet returned to the night table with a hollow thud. Her heart raced as she waited for the potion's effects to sink in. Hermione took a shaky breath, her hands coming instinctually up to rest on Lucius's shoulders and her eyelids falling closed. She felt the brush of his knees on the outside of her thighs, the heat of his skin seeping through the silk of his shirt. Fingers found her hip, squeezing in reassurance.

"Open your eyes," Lucius whispered, and she did as he commanded.

Seven strands braided into the translucent tether, which floated from her wrist to his, where his hand still gripped her hip. "Seven," she said to tense silence. Hermione's eyes slid up from the connection to his own. "We need eight."

Lucius's gaze raked her up and down, scorching her. Then he rose slowly to his feet, pressing into her, her breasts squeezing against his hard chest. His hand didn't leave her hip, though the other one slid up her arm, up her shoulder, up into her hair where he cupped the back of her neck. Every atom in her body seemed to quiver—with magic or lust or some sweet combination of the two. As his fingers tightened, Hermione let a small moan escape her lips. It was wrong, and she knew. But she could not bring herself to wish it back. A low chuckle rumbled against her. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Lucius murmured, before crashing his mouth into hers.