A/N: Nothing much to say this time… Read, enjoy, review!

ON TO

Chapter Ten:

The rich aromas of coffee and bacon awoke Hermione from another nightmare, wholly expected by now but no less horrifying for that. As usual, the last remnants of the dream fell away as she struggled awake, but she did so weak and shaking. Her strength slowly seeped back into her muscles as the tantalising smells drifting up to her calmed her taut nerves.

She threw back a tattered but wonderfully soft quilt and the sheet underneath to swing her legs down and push herself to her feet. It was quite a comfortable bed, with a dark wood frame and an intricately carved headboard. The pillows, she noted, were filled with tiny feathers, some of which poked through the pillowcase.

Hermione looked down at herself with a grimace. Her clothes showed the signs of an intense struggle followed by a night of restless sleep. "I don't suppose anyone thought to stock the wardrobe with a nice dressing gown or two," she muttered, eyeing the heavy piece of furniture. Probably not, but she might as well have a look. Like the bed frame, the wardrobe was a weighty Gothic thing, imposing but not so overdone that it passed the border into ridiculous.

She approached it with some trepidation and reminded herself of her host's countless reassurances that they could enjoy complete access to anything they could possibly want in the house, short of pawning it for a sack of Galleons – and he had not expressly forbidden even that.

Pulling open the wardrobe door was much easier than she had imagined from looking at it, but then, she was back in the Wizarding World. To her great surprise and delight, a dozen or so dressing gowns greeted her, a rainbow of different colours, fabrics, and cuts. Wherever they were, the air was humid even at this morning hour, so she selected an icy blue article made of a feather-light material and looked to fall a little past her knees.

It felt divine to strip off the clothes she had worn for a full day now and slide the cool fabric over her body. A little more of her accumulated tension seemed to melt away as the whisper-soft dressing gown flowed down her thighs. It did not cling the way silk would have in this damp air but actually appeared to float a little. She twirled to watch it ripple on the breeze she generated.

The insistent aromas of breakfast finally led her out of her bedroom where she was met by a diminutive house elf. "Good morning, Miss," the elf squeaked as soon as she spied Hermione. "Nifti has prepared breakfast for Sir and Miss. Sir is already at table."

Like her master, Nifti possessed the gift of gab and chattered almost non-stop from Hermione's room to a bright kitchen with a small, round table illuminated by sunshine streaming in a pair of large windows. Lucius, staring out over a green expanse of lawn just outside, sat in a chair much like those she had seen when they had first arrived. He must have heard Nifti but continued to stare out the windows, still except for the hand which lifted a tiny espresso cup to his lips.

He wore a dressing gown of the same material as her own but dyed a rich brown like good coffee with a hint of milk. Sitting like that, he looked so normal. Nifti led her to the only other chair at the table, place already set with more dishes and utensils than she owned… which now sat abandoned at her apartment.

Oh God.

"Coffee," she managed as she fell into the proffered chair. "And… oh no." She buried her head in her hands, either uncaring or unaware that her hair came very near to tumbling into the steaming cup Nifti placed at her elbow.

"Be careful," Malfoy intoned over her heartfelt sighs. "The coffee is quite excellent, and I can't think your hair would do anything to improve the flavour."

In response, she moaned and took a sip, head still resting in her free hand. From the same position, she speared a few strips of bacon, scooped a spoon nearly deep enough to qualify as a ladle into what she took to be yoghurt (and was in fact fromage blanc, a similar French dairy concoction), and slid two pieces of toast all onto her plate. She took a mouthful of the fromage blanc, blinked, and sighed again.

"Please pass the honey," she mumbled, half into her hand and only lifted her head when it became clear that she posed a serious risk of sticking the honey spoon in her hair. The act of dripping the honey on her toast and fromage blanc seemed somewhat to restore her, and she looked almost cheerful as she brushed toast crumbs from her chin.

"Right," she said between mouthfuls, "first order of business – procuring some cancer sticks so neither of us has to suffer through nicotine withdrawal. I figure my mobile's a complete loss, just like my security deposit, but I need my fags." While she was on the subject of items she had left behind at her flat, Lucius had left behind no small thing… but it was his own fault that he had lost his wedding band, probably for good now. She shivered.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and in that simple gesture, all that he was came flooding back to her. That raised eyebrow universally denoted scepticism, but from this man, it also conveyed arrogance, condescension, and amusement at an inferior being. A quirk of the eyebrow, twist to his lips, and everywhere a kind of tension. He did not look ordinary anymore; he looked like Lucius Malfoy – and to her eternal consternation, she thought she preferred him this way. It was honest this way, no possibility of Hermione inventing excuses or constructing (God forbid) fantasies about showing this man the error of his ways and… what?

Delete that line of thought, she silently commanded and drank some more of her coffee. Absorbed as she was, she had missed part of what he had just said, very odd considering she had been staring fixedly at him the entire time.

"…questions you so desired to ask last night but could not over Edouard's endless natter?"

She had to think fast to recall what he had just said. Oh yes, he was asking her if a pack of fags was really her most important priority at the moment, more important than all the questions she had. Obviously, Lucius had never been addicted to mind-altering substances.

"Mr. Malfoy, I have one word for you." She pause both for dramatic effect and to eat a piece of bacon. "Nicotine. They say it's more addictive than heroin."

His smirk deepened into a sneer. "I'll take your word for it." He glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen at the house elf, engaged in one domestic chore or another and talking non-stop to herself under her breath. "Bring me parchment and everything I need to write and send a letter."

Well, he could have used a more polite tone and said please, but she felt almost absurdly relieved that he did not yell or throw anything or kick the creature. Wait until a meal is a minute late or a degree too cold. She remembered Harry's account of his encounters with Dobby and, once Malfoy and Dobby. Add house elf abuser to the litany of his crimes, she thought.

Lucius sipped his coffee and very neatly ate the remaining eggs on his place while Hermione tried not to spill anything down her front. Her hands shook a little, and she was certain that coffee first thing in the morning did not help her jitters. Nifti brought the writing material as Malfoy was touching a pristine white napkin to his lips.

And no 'thank you' for the elf, she noted.

The scratching sound of a nib scraping over the thick parchment was vaguely comforting after weeks of the silent ballpoint pens unknown in the Wizarding World. Why that should be, she had never really known, but the quill topped with an exotic blue and crimson feather signalled her return to the magical world which had been her home for so long now.

He folded the parchment into an envelope and sealed it with a blob of wax. He touched his ring finger, and his lips tightened. He reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and brought out a wand – presumably the property of their attacker – muttered something over the wax, some sort of sealing or safe passage charm, she guessed. Having thus finished the letter, Malfoy called the elf over again and instructed her to send it right away with her master's best owl.

"What's that for?" Hermione inquired with a nod at the departing elf.

"If the service at a certain establishment is as efficient as I remember, you'll have you answer in under an hour."

So he was going to be cryptic today, was he? One of these days… she tried to suppress her irritation and, with that goal in mine, ate her breakfast.

"You've already answered – or partly answered – one of my questions… who is this person who's allowing us to stay in his lovely home? Edward something?"

"Edouard Lefidèle and his partner Marius de la Collinerose. Edouard, you could say, is a devoted family friend, except I don't believe he truly cares anything for any member of my family, save myself. We were friends from a very young age; he comes from an ancient house verging on the brink of bankruptcy. But I have maintained relations with Edouard when a goodly portion of society chose otherwise."

"I suppose you kept up this childhood friendship out of the goodness of your heart?" Hermione asked in a voice heavy with sarcasm.

He looked a little surprised at her tone and did not snap back at her. "We both enjoy certain advantages from our friendship, yes, but that does not preclude a genuine affection between us."

That bemused expression smoothed over into his usual haughty look. "Do you believe me so heartless that I am incapable of or unwilling to sustaining authentic human relationships? I do feel, Miss Granger, as much as anyone, but unlike most of the world, I have not let myself become a slave to my emotions. I see no reason why my good judgement, my reason, and my emotions should not be in perfect accord."

Now the conversation was getting interesting. Unconsciously, Hermione shifted slightly to face him and leaned forward. "Are you saying that you've never had to decide between something you thought was right and something else you felt was right?" For a brief moment, she envied that kind of simplicity which never seemed to come with Good Guy territory.

"Of course I've had to make that kind of choice, but I do so only after careful deliberation as to what set of consequences I most desire."

She supposed that was what most people did most of the time, but it sounded so… clinical the way he put it. She repositioned herself again so that she faced him directly, set one arm on the table, and leaned even closer.

"Okay, granted. But still, you've never been swept away by anger or grief or passion, never had your brain… completely overruled by something else?"

He regarded her for several quiet seconds. "Have you?"

Her eyes narrowed. Now he was just avoiding giving her an answer. What a ridiculous question; she was no the one here who manipulated people like she breathed. She had hated and raged and loved and lost just like anyone.

She sat back in her chair and drank some coffee before responding. "I think I must have been overcome with something when I punched your son in the face," she said, a little too casually to convince even herself.

When he did not say anything but continued to look at her expectantly, she sighed. "And once… I was half out of my mind with fatigue – which isn't exactly an emotion – and half with relief, and… well, you were there." As she finished, she noticed how close to him she was sitting and scooted back into her chair. "Now it's your turn."

"I'm afraid I cannot truthfully lay claim to having spontaneously assaulted anyone…" The stress he placed on that particular word encompassed both meanings. "…so it seems I must concede. Then again, there are some of my acquaintance who would consider my flight here a decision made in the heat of the moment."

Hermione paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth to regard Lucius with a perplexed expression. She set her spoon down and, again without realising she was doing so, leaned in close. "No, I don't think that counts. It was a decision you had to make in a matter of seconds because that's precisely how much time we had between subduing a potential assassin and facing discovery with a lot of awkward questions. I don't see how emotion entered into the picture at all; we needed to escape, and you knew of a discreet friend who's just thrilled anything you drop in for a visit."

His smile did not fade, but there was no longer a trace of amusement in his grey eyes. "That statement, ma chère, perfectly encapsulates the reason I made you the offer I did."

Though she did not have it in front of her – it must still be somewhere in her apartment, she supposed (oh dear God, her papers… all the Order materials… her paperwork for her job which she would never show up for again…) – she could have recited almost word for word the contents of that vexing message. That silly thing, she thought, must have started all this.

Miss Granger,

I'm writing to offer my congratulations on the work I understand you're doing here now. Quite a change from all those adventures of which I used to hear countless incredible tales.

I should very much like to meet with you some day soon to discuss matters of mutual interest and advantage. I confess, I've been following your career for some now, and some friends of mine with whom I'm sure you're familiar have expressed a great desire to know you better. I'm sure you're surprised to read this, but I am convinced that we have much to offer one another in this sort of arrangement.

Don't concern yourself with sending your reply – I will contact you again soon.

Best,

LM

The letter would look so innocent to someone who did not know their respective histories. Behind his flowery words, she read hints of threats, bribery, even blackmail underpinning the repulsive offer that she form an "arrangement" of "mutual interest and advantage" with him and his friends.

Thinking back, she remembered how much he had stunned her by acting so charming for her own friends, but she should have recalled that damned letter. He was very skilled at this – hiding his disgust even for a Mudblood under an elaborate veneer of manners… as long as he had something to gain.

But what did he stand to gain now? Was he still labouring under the delusion that he would convert her to his cause, or was he trying to ingratiate himself at last with the side bound to win this war. Or perhaps he was civil to her friends out of respect for the obligation he felt he owed her? Or maybe he was just working as hard as he could to confuse the hell out of her, in which case he was succeeding nicely.

All this flashed through Hermione's mind while he spoke and then paused to gaze intently at her. She had a tendency to become lost in her thoughts, and this situation was no exception. When Lucius reached out a hand and continued speaking, she jumped in her seat.

"You're clever and quick to act when the situation demands alacrity," here he tapped her temple once, twice, "but even after everything you and your friends have endured, you're still laughably naïve." His long index finger slid slowly from her temple down her jaw and came to rest under her chin, tilting her head up so she was looking directly into his eyes.

"All this talk of 'we' and what 'we needed'. You're a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and I am a Death Eater. There is no 'we'. There never can be a 'we'. I acknowledge that I owe you a debt, but you should never forget that I will always act to my advantage before anyone else's."

His eyes flicked to the wand, now lying on the table between their two place settings. She pretended not to notice. "Should I come to the conclusion that it will benefit me to flee this place alone or to deliver you to the Dark Lord, I hope you know that I will do so."

A part of her – a very small and foolish part, she told herself severely – wanted to… well, to cry at hearing that. Stupid little girl that she was, she had thought that maybe, maybe, she could one day make him see reason, one day even… no, that was stupider still. She needed to focus very hard now and look like she was doing no such thing. As he finished, she dropped her eyes, hoping she looked sad and not like she was watching closely his every movement. There, he was reaching with his other hand, probably to remind her…

She twisted her head and bit the finger still under her chin as hard as she could. He actually screamed and seemed completely to forget about the wand. It would not last, his temporary distraction, but… there. She had it. Before he could react, she leapt to her feet to tower over him, wand in hand.

"You're right," she began, "about everything. I am clever, quick to act, and entirely too trusting. So give me a reason not to bind you where you sit and owl someone to come and collect you. I'm sure the Order can protect me from your friends now that I'm able to Floo or Apparate anywhere they deem necessary."

He smiled. It was the most pleased expression she had ever seen on his face. His perfect teeth gleamed, and the corners of his eyes crinkled a little. He looked… he looked like he had just won something wonderful and unexpected.

"And yet, occasionally I am proven to be grossly in error. Merlin, you're beautiful when you're angry." That last sentence she thought he said more to himself than to her. It was not the first time he had uttered such a sentiment. Well, flattery was not going to get him anywhere.

"If you have nothing more interesting to say-"

"As I see it," he continued as if she had not spoken, "you have two basic options before you. You can turn me over to your proper authorities, perhaps after an interrogation I would be almost sorry to miss, or you could turn this situation to our, ah, mutual interest and advantage by allowing me to begin paying my debt to you."

"I need specifics," she said simply, no longer in the mood to bandy words with him.

He inclined his head. "Of course. I propose that you force me to take an Unbreakable Vow-" her eyes widened "-to the effect of… an oath that I will not harm you, put in you in danger, however you wish to phrase it, for as long as we reside in this house. That way-"

"That way," she interrupted, "you can relate at your leisure all that information you once promised me."

"I might even be persuaded to make restitution for everything you left behind during our flight." Everything? It was tempting… but would he be able to worm his way out of an Unbreakable Vow? He had just finished telling her that she was too naïve.

"I can imagine what you may be thinking at present. Let me offer my thoughts on the matter. If your wording of the vow leaves me ample opportunity to renege on our arrangement, you will have convinced me that you are unworthy of my consideration. If, however, I truly am prevented from delivering you to your enemy, I will necessarily be forced to rethink my assessment of you and, more specifically, your chances of victory in the war."

Damn him. It was just the sort of challenge she loved – an intellectual puzzle with more than her grade on the line.

"You've made an interesting case," she replied after a moment of reflection. She cast a modified body bind on Malfoy, a spell which allowed him some little mobility, enough to take a slow step or two at a time, but not enough to snatch the wand and run.

She frowned. "We need a Bonder. Is there… some kind of equivalent to a public notary we could visit?"

"Yes, and we do not even need to pay them the visit; they make house calls. I'm sure Edouard will not mind much if I use his name to send the owl." Ignoring the wand still trained on him, Lucius turned back to the table and picked up the quill he had used to write his earlier, mysterious letter.

Oh, and she had not even thought that he might have addressed that message to a Death Eater or an information. Her eyes narrowed. "I'll write the note, and you tell me whom I'm addressing."

"As you like."

He did not sound terse. If anything, he sounded approving. Hermione shook her head and sat down, accepting with one hand the quill and parchment. "One more thing." A feral grin spread over her face. "This vow? Not only will you not harm me or deliver me into a situation where I would be harmed, but you will also tell me the truth. You will not be able to lie to me if your life depends on it."

His cat-like smile matched hers, and their eyes locked. Finally, they understood each other.