.

"Nobody goes through more shite in life than a person with a good heart." Fuckology

Lucius Malfoy had never stopped thinking about Hermione Granger; her bravery, her intelligence... her beauty. He had instructed Draco to keep up the pretense of hating her and Muggle-kind as a whole — just as he had — despite his constant pleas to Mad-Eye. If the rest of The Order knew he and his family were spies, wouldn't it be easier all around? For Draco? Potter?

Wouldn't it be easier for her? To know she was admired, not hated? To know she was held in the highest regard by the son? To know she had a place in the heart of the father?

Moody had refused, insisting the less people who knew the better.

Constant fucking vigilance.

Narcissa's murder had been heartbreaking for Draco; he'd idolised his mother, mourning her death for months following the Final Battle. For Lucius, he had lost his best friend — the woman he had been forced to marry. She had had no choice but to leave the love of her life behind in the Muggle world and obey her family's demands — 'marry Malfoy or we kill the filth you've soiled yourself with.'

Lucius felt sick at the thoughts of breaking up a loving relationship, but his family and Narcissa's were too obsessed with blood purity, the Dark Lord was rising, the timing was all wrong… he wasn't strong enough.

Not back then.

Two days before their wedding, Lucius had presented Narcissa with a small brass key. He'd bought a small cottage near Andromeda and surrounded both properties with enough wards and protective spells to keep out Merlin himself. There she could be with her love; all he had asked for in return was an heir. She had heartedly agreed, their close friendship blooming from that moment.

Narcissa had suspected all along that her husband held deep feelings for Hermione Granger. She'd listened to him speak in awe of the young woman's intelligence and defiance of Draco, spotted his tears when Bellatrix had tortured her, held him afterwards while he'd sobbed.

Their plan was simple; once Voldemort was defeated by Potter, and the Malfoys were revealed as spies for The Order, Narcissa was going to leave the Manor to live in the little cottage. Divorce papers would be signed and registered, life would begin again for them both. But Mad-Eye had been killed — the only Order member who knew the family were willing spies — and Narcissa had been struck down for lying about Potter. In those brief minutes following Voldemort's defeat, Lucius realised his future had just gone to hell in a handbasket. He'd grabbed Draco by the arm, Disapparated them both to Narcissa's cottage, and stayed with her heartbroken lover until everything had calmed down.

Lucius and Draco Malfoy were never seen in wizarding Britain again.

On the morning of the Battle, Narcissa had handed Lucius a note, asking him to read it after she'd left for good. He'd put it in his pocket, agreeing to her request, and finding it weeks later when he'd shook himself out of his misery and decided to get on with his life.

My dear Lucius

There are no words to describe how grateful I am to you for your friendship and loyalty these past years. You truly are a giant amongst men and I hope, one day, our world will be in awe of the Lucius Malfoy that I have had the pleasure to know.

The kindness and compassion you have shown to Michael and I — supporting our relationship all these years — will never be forgotten, and we are truly in your debt. But I want to make sure you understand you will always have a place in my heart and that this is not goodbye, it is — as the Muggles say — a 'see you soon'.

Lucius, I pray your heart finds love with the one you have always wanted — the one who ignites the fire within you and helps you find peace. She intrigued you as a child, she bested you as a teenager, she captivated you as a young woman. Hermione Granger is, without doubt, the true love you deserve.

If I can help you win her heart, I will do so without question.

When you handed me that key — all those years ago — you asked for one thing. Just one. I willingly gave it, not realising it would change my life. Our son has been our best achievement, our miracle. He is everything I could wish for in a young man, and I am immensely proud to be his mother. Just as I have always been proud to stand by your side and fight for what is right.

When this war is over, and our secrets revealed, I sincerely hope you and Draco can live in the peace and happiness you both deserve.

I also hope you will visit me regularly. Michael promised to teach you how to play golf, remember?

A few more hours, I hope, and our lives can begin again. Just a few more hours.

Go get her, Lucius.

Cissa

His first priority had been to access the secret accounts he'd opened years before in Muggle banks and purchase a small property. From there, with the help of Michael, Lucius and Draco learned how to live like Muggles and settle into their society. They were quick learners, instantly taking a liking to good tailoring and scotch.

But the finer things in life were only the beginning.

Michael had recently spoken of a cousin dying from a drugs overdose. Lucius had sympathised accordingly, mulled over the explanations his friend had provided, and spent a long evening in the company of his son.

Planning.

Draco excelled as a potioneer, Michael had a talent for numbers, Lucius was born with a brilliant mind for business.

So it was decided.

The Malfoys were going into the drugs trade.

Hermione reluctantly walked to the back of the small pub where Carlos was patiently waiting, the door to the ladies' toilets completely hidden behind his bulk. She could feel the gentle brush of a strong hand at the base of her spine, guiding her towards the smiling giant.

"Carlos, please make sure Ms Granger is comfortable," Lucius spoke kindly, something Hermione certainly did not expect.

He leaned towards her again, his breath hot on her skin. Merlin, she could hardly think!

"I need to have a quick word with Raphael and Jerry. Would you like some coffee?"

Now, she could hardly nod.

"Y-yes, please, Mr—"

"Lucius, please. I'll be with you in a moment."

It was only when he removed his hand that Hermione realised he'd still been touching her all that time, her spine tingling from his caress. She was frozen to the spot, brought back to reality by a slight cough and the call of her name.

"Ms Granger… da questa parte, per favore."

"Oh, eh… sorry," Hermione blushed and walked past Carlos, into the ladies' toilet. "Th-thank you."

"Prego," he grinned down at her. "Go straight through, please."

He closed the door with the crooked sign behind him, leaving her in a tiny hallway with another door facing her, also mahogany but new and well polished. Taking a deep breath, Hermione did her usual trick of talking to herself.

"Come on, Hermione, summon that Gryffindor—" she paused, a wave of cold reality washing over her. "Actually, fuck that. Be yourself. Be a Granger."

She opened the door quickly and walked through, fully expecting to find a dingy toilet and no toilet roll.

She did not expect to find herself in a luxurious office lined with walnut panelling and gold inlay.

She did not expect her tattered Converse to sink into the plush carpet beneath her feet.

She did not expect…

Making her way cautiously into the middle of the room, Hermione turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.

The carpet was a deep cream, matching the leather seating around the Art Deco desk. Four tulip loveseats, also cream and walnut, surrounded a complementary coffee table, the Malfoy family crest engraved into the rich wood. Bookshelves lined two walls, artwork another. The fourth wall housed a large floor to ceiling window, the view of the Thames lit up at night instantly catching her attention.

Tears dampened her cheeks as she watched a sight-seeing barge make its way along the water, the memories of her day out in London with her father flooding back. Such innocent times — before magic, before the war, before the bloody Weasleys. Before the only things she had left were shrunk into a tiny beaded bag that sat in her jacket pocket.

"My apologies, Ms Granger," Lucius' voice shook Hermione out of her thoughts, "I've just sent—"

He had closed the door behind him, his suit jacket in his hand. The sight of her tears as she spun around stopped him in his tracks.

It was as if time stood still.

He was in front of her before she realised he'd moved.

"What's wrong?" He asked quietly, his eyes searching her face. "Tell me."

"I-I… I don't know where to begin."

Lucius snapped his fingers and a vintage Portmeirion coffee service appeared on the engraved table, her untouched Baileys beside it, the ice long melted.

"Come, Ms Granger." He placed his hand behind her elbow, his other waving towards the couches. "Let's talk."

It was early evening when Hermione had walked into Villiers. By the time she'd finished telling her entire life story to none other than Lucius Malfoy, it was near midnight.

Why she'd started she'd no idea, words just seem to pour as easily as the coffee. Hermione had years of pent-up frustration and anger, neglect and need. And here she was, sitting with one of the most devious and sexiest Slytherins of them all, renouncing her house, her friends, her extended family… her entire life.

His laugh was like a smack in the face.

"Are you mocking me?" She demanded, jumping up furiously, her coffee cup smashing against the table.

She froze, horrified as the hot liquid seeped through her jeans.

"Forgive me." Lucius looked suitably ashamed, the coffee cup repairing itself. "Your last comment was amusing and… unexpected. I believe you meant to think that, not say it out loud."

"Oh, bollocks." She sat back down heavily and buried her face her in hands. "Bollocks. Bollocks. Bollocks."

The couch dipped beside her and his hand hovered just above her faded denim. Hermione couldn't see what he was doing but the electricity shooting through her limbs left her in no doubt just how close he was.

"Did you burn yourself?" He asked.

"No. I'm… alright… thank you," she managed to reply. "I'd just like to go now, before I die from embarrassment. I'm sure I've only minutes to live."

She peeked out through her fingers to see the coffee stain siphoned away by the tip of Lucius' wand. His closeness was causing her body to react violently and she was terrified he could sense her emotions, not to mention her arousal.

Lucius suddenly stood up, turning to look back down at her. "Are you hungry?"

Hermione lowered her hands. "A little. But, as I said, I should go…"

"Have supper with me," he interrupted. "Please. I'll have something delivered here."

"What about the pub closing?" She asked. "Won't we be kicked out?"

He laughed again and she suddenly felt as if her organs had started playing Twister.

"I own this place," he replied. "It's not in my name, of course, but I bought it some years ago. I needed a base in Muggle London and Jerry, the barman, is a brother of a good friend."

"He's a wizard?"

"No."

"Squib?"

"No."

"Then his brother's a wizard?"

"No."

"Is anyone in their family magical?"

"No. They are all Muggles."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, not believing a word.

"You!" She pointed directly up at him, the rest of her body following. "You, Lucius Malfoy, have Muggle friends? Seriously, how thick do you think I am to believe something like that?"

"On the contrary, Ms Granger, I do not believe you to be thick at all." He reached forward to took hold of her finger, caressing it tenderly with his own. "I still believe you to be the brightest witch of our age. Michael Villiers has been an acquaintance since before you were born, and a dear friend for the past seven years, four months, and six—" he glanced at his watch "—seventeen days. Jerry is his brother. They were… are… extremely important to both me and my son."

Hermione's inquisitive nature piqued, she withdrew her finger from his hold and sat back down.

"Well then, Lucius, I've showed you mine, you show me yours."

It was past two in the morning when she was finally up to speed on Lucius' life following the Final Battle, and near four by the time he'd finished answering her questions.

"So you decided to produce non-addictive drugs?"

"Yes. It was a simple idea but I knew it would work. Draco and Pansy are prolific potioneers, the plants are readily available to us, Michael deals with the accounts, and Jerry provides this venue — I assure you, it's safer than Hogwarts. We sell across Europe and are constantly expanding. We put more drug barons out of business in the first two years than Interpol did in ten, and drug-related deaths are at an all-time low in the areas where we trade. Don't get me wrong; we're in a dangerous business and we've made a lot of enemies. We work alongside various government health departments and Interpol branches, but we've stood on a lot of toes along the way."

"So what's next on your agenda?"

"We recently signed a contract with a major pharmaceutical firm to develop more efficient cures for various Muggle diseases, all of which I will sell on the open market at a loss. It's my way of repairing the kindness I have experienced since turning up in this world with nothing."

He didn't think it was the right time to explain he'd been hiding money in Muggle bank accounts for years.

Hermione was speechless, nibbling quietly on a sandwich as she composed her thoughts.

"How did you meet Michael?"

Lucius pursed his lips, staring at her for a long moment before answering.

"It seems we've come to the crux of the conversation," he eventually commented. "You've bared your soul, I think it's only fair I do the same."

Sighing, he stood slowly and stepped over to the side of the ornate desk, tapping on a knot in the wood. A small drawer appeared in the panel and silently slid towards him, revealing a tattered envelope inside.

The envelope was placed on the coffee table in front of Hermione.

"My cards are on the table, so to speak," he commented, reaching for his jacket.

"Where are you going?" She frowned, placing the remainder of her sandwich down on the nearest plate and reaching for the envelope.

"I'll be outside," he replied. "After reading that, you'll have two choices. One, you'll ask to leave and I'll have Raphael escort you to wherever you want to go. Or two, you'll join me for a drink at the bar before we continue this morning somewhere more comfortable."

She watched him walk out the door and close it gently behind him.

The ornate script on the front of the envelope was unfamiliar to Hermione but, from the first few lines of the well-read notepaper inside, she realised it was from Narcissa Malfoy.

My dear Lucius

There are no words to describe how grateful I am to you for your friendship and loyalty these past years...

It took three reads of the letter for the words to sink in.

Another four reads to make sure what Lucius' late wife meant in her words were real, and not just what Hermione desperately wanted to read.

Two more and she was sure.

One more. Just for luck.

By the time she stepped back into the bar, Lucius was on his third scotch, a glass of Baileys on the countertop beside him.

"I really hope the ice hasn't melted in that glass," she commented, climbing onto the barstool nearest to him. "I hate a drowned drink."

She picked up the glass and held it up to his, tapping them together ever so slightly.

"Cheers."