Lucius had lain with many women, but never once against his will. Make certain of it, the eldest Malfoy would not be put into submission without his own consent. So he spread his back onto the marble floor letting the cold from the window seep into every muscle of his shivering body, knowing it was his wish to be under Hermione's watchful eye — a slave to her quick hexes. If the anticipation didn't kill him, the cold certainly would make him ache for days on end, but it would be worth it.

Ah, it had been so many years since he felt—felt anything as wonderful as this. The pain that surged up his body felt re-vitalizing and awoke in him the memory of when he had been younger. He hadn't liked being a death eater but he like the thrill of emotion that entered him every time he put on the mask and went on a mission. The submission in the eyes of those he had to torture, though torture Brought him no particular pleasure. He liked being noticed and considered . Since his dear Cissy left, no amount of wine or whiskey or walk at midnight brought him the same feeling as lying on the floor beside Miss Granger. He longed to feel alive again and to be taken fully.

Hermione, that little chit with the wand in her hand circled him like a hawk, her boots clicking slowly in the hollow emptiness surrounding him.

"Good," she said, her eyes avoiding his. "Now, take off your trousers as well. I'd like you to feel everything I do to you tonight."

"Yes," Lucius replied, aching to divest himself of every article of clothing that very moment.

He had to be strong and resist, in order to not become an enemy to himself. So he used his hands to unbutton his trousers all the way down to the bottom and untied the little, ribbon loop at the top. He was surprised to find himself so in control of his arousal, his member pushing slightly against the top of his pants. He was stirring, withering as he shimmied the fabric of the trousers over his hips while laying on the floor, his condition exposed to the young witch. He did not meet her eyes for he knew that if he did, it was certain his arousal would no longer be neatly contained within the silken folds of his undergarments.

Now with magic, he let his trousers down the left and then the right leg, shivering as his thighs and ankles touched the floor, splaying themselves against the merciless cold of the marble. It had been many fortunate years since he had to expose himself to the elements, flying through the frigid air on his broom to do the Dark Lord's bidding or standing in the forsaken graveyard, shaking from exhaustion and fear and rain soaking through his robes as his old master was resurrected from the Underworld. He was no longer a slave to the heat as he extended his arms into the hot fireplace to extract a rod, wielded from ancient metals and put in Black Fire, then used to brand Voldemort's followers with the Dark Mark. Lucius had grown softer—he had become used to the life of a man of wealth and comfort. The sudden cold of lying naked on the floor of his own manor was just a short lived calamity he'd have to endure.

Hermione seemed pleased with his obedience. Her brown eyes, like molten chocolate, observed his body from the bottom up. Now certain that he had nothing on him but his undergarments, she approached and knelt down, taking a closer look at the body she would soon handle and mould with her magic. She reached for him, mesmerized and concentrated.

"There, my sweet girl—do you like what you feel?" Lucius teased, his own breath travelling out of his mouth in uncertain heaves as Hermione's fingers traced his neck, his shoulder and his arm. The light tingle of her skin against his was sharper than her magic hexes and his toes curled in anticipation. He wanted to be touched like that all over, to have her fingers dance over every sensitive part of his skin—never letting him be fully consumed, but not leaving him wanting.

"You are so scarred," she said slowly. "I imagined you would have used your magic to heal the markings of the past."

"What is a wizard without his battle wounds?" Lucius chuckled as she ran her fingers over his belly button and over his sides. The pads pressing into his skin , prickking like needles.

"For some wizards they are prizes, but for you, they are nothing more than proof of your cruelty. For I know, Mr Malfoy, that you have these scars from killing the innocent and torturing the good." Hermione pulled her hand back. "Tell me where you have received all your scars and I will see if they are worth keeping."

"And if you do not like my answer?"

"I'll make certain you receive punishment for it, twice."

Lucius shivered. He did not like the sound of that so much, but still, he knew he had to obey his mistress of the night, and nodded in agreement.

The first scar Hermione found was on his leg. "Where did you receive this one?"

Lucius closed his eyes. "Ah wherever…wherever? Yes, this one had been when I had visited Hogwarts to see Draco. The story was that Mr Potter rid me of my elf."

Hermione looked at him. "Yes, I remember this. But it is not he who scarred you."

Lucius stalled. "I had left the castle that day overcome by emotion."

"What kind?"

"Sadness."

Hermione's wand stung his leg, grazing against the scar but not touching it. Lucius moaned.

"That boy," Lucius said through gritted teeth, "had the nerve to show me cheek. He, no older than twelve, hid a sock in a book and gifted it to that… creature, that ridiculous little servant elf and set him free. I'd never been so embarrassed. Had I not been in such a reputable place as Hogwarts, that Chosen Boy would have been smeared along the floor like a cockroach."

"But you did not say who gave you the scar?"

"my wife," Lucius suddenly recalled. "That day, I told her I let the elf go myself. What else was I to say to save face? Cissy was so enraged she kicked off her shoe and threw it at me."

"Only that?"

"Cissy would not stop her incessant babbling and nagging, well I'd slapped her cheeks and gave her ears a good boxing like the awful little brat she was."

Hermione scowled. "That sounds like the truth." Then she sliced her magic into his skin, the wound opening up suddenly. Lucius hissed as the blood dribbled against his ankle.

"This, Lucius, is for causing pain to a woman and this-" Hermione striked again, this time opening the wound deeper and teasing apart the old stitched in the faded skin. "-this is for lying to me about it. You will not do it again, or your pain will be much deeper than this. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Lucius said, blinking his eyes quickly. To tell the truth, he was frightened of what might happen to him when the night was over.

-xxx-

Hermione had never justified giving punishment. To hurt his wife as such was an abomination; an unforgivable act. She didn't like Narcissa much, but even she didn't think it was right to box her ears or slap her cheeks (even if Hermione herself had willed to do it the many times she'd come to her office over the years). What else had Lucius done to her?

Lucius Malfoy was a bad man, a cruel man, an unforgivable sinner. So why did her heart skip a beat when the wizard yelped over a hurt leg? Punishment was justified if he wanted it done onto him, wasn't it?

Abraxas hovered over her—so sure and still. His lips spread into a satisfied smile when he saw his son laying there and wincing in pain. He reached over and squeezed Hermione's shoulder, his grasp cold and firm.

"Excellent my girl. I can see your cure is working its magic on my son already. Look at him, so frightened and miserable. Just a bit more and we will send him on the right path."

Hermione grimaced. "You said it would be one cut. Just a bit of pain and not much more. You promised me it would not be much more than a little cut-"

"-and my promise I will keep, for I am a Malfoy and above all, I honor the word I give on my own accord. A word given to others by force is quite different. Now my girl, when the fruit is ripe, we must pick it. We cannot let Lucius go to waste now that he is on the path to redemption. We are so close, so close to achieving all you desire."

All you desire. The words crawled up Hermione's skin. Desires. She did have them, but they didn't have blond hair and light eyes.

There on his chest was a large gash—now that he was twisting about, the lifted canyon of skin, pale grey against his own flesh. It was clear now that the mark must have been left decades ago. Hermione cocked her head.

"Was this from your youth?"

"My Initiation," Lucius replied.

"You poor thing," Hermione whispered. The Dark Lord must have used his magic to slice Lucius through his chest in an act of exploiting his vulnerability and weakness. "The Dark Lord did this-"

"-not him," Lucius said, frowning, "but a young Muggle woman he asked me to have against her will."

He cried out as soon as the words left his mouth, the magic coming from Hermione's wand cutting through his chest in a jagged line. He opened like the carcass of a bloody book, the skin coming apart at the spine in leafy pages. Lucius screamed until his voice melted into silence and his wide eyes and gaping mouth bit into the ceiling. Hermione cut him until the blood spilled over his chest like a waterfall onto the black tiles.

And when he collapsed so did she and the tears flowed from her eyes. The cry of a woman echoed in the silence between them — as though a reminder of Lucius past misdeeds.

"How, how," Hermione cried. "How could he have been so cruel?"

The scream in the silence melted away, but Hermione shook in rage, ripped at her hair. "How could he be so cruel and yet so kind to me?"

Abraxus floated beside her, enveloping her in his embrace. "Hush now, I told you that men of our line cannot be trusted with women. They lie like they breathe, but only you, Miss Granger, hold the key to setting the scales in balance. Punish my son, strike him Venus until you cannot strike no more."

He lifted her up, and they floated over to Lucius' body. He lay there, a smile grazing his lips and when he noticed her, he tilted his head and mouthed the word, "more."

"What?"

"More, more," he whispered.

"After all this, you want me to continue?"

"More." And after that final word lay he head to the side.

She questioned him again about the scars on his body, each time the reply leading to silent screams on his end. There, a cut from being scratched at as he drowned a man in the Black Lake, and here, a mark on his wrists as the Dark Lord asked him to conduct trials in Carlisle: recruiting new witches and wizards to join the ranks in the 80s. Each time, Hermione's faith in any goodness in wizard kind dwindled away. Abraxus was right — his son was unforgivable, undeniably a monster.

The worst was his repentance of hurting children, some as young as newborns. Hermione couldn't imagine the Dark Lord was cruel enough to make his followers kill the babies of those who disobeyed him right before their eyes. She thought of poor Harry as she opened those gashes. He wondered if Lucius and his mates ever bothered to give them a proper burial or left them before their weeping parents. She wondered if they ever visited their graves, even in their nightmares, and appologized.

Sinking to her knees, Hermione held her forehead against her palms. With each opening scar it was as though she felt the pain of the victims that came before her— circling in her head and crying into her ear. Please Miss Granger, help us, save us . She imagined Lucius hurting them all, one by one and she wished she could do something to help her. He was merciless, he was horrible— he really was a Slytherin.

"Look at us," Lucius whispered , gazing up into the sky. "Just two souls — alone together."

Alone together indeed. Hermione swallowed. "If you could take it back, take back the pain you caused, would you?"

He turned to face her, gazing deep into her eyes. His own eyes, encased by shadows and the most light of lashes, were like crystal pools. "Every last one."

Hermione crawled over, crawled through the blood that covered the floor. Her knees slipped and slid on the marble, and she leaned on Lucius chest, cradling his cheeks in her own burgendy palms. "Do you swear it?"

He nodded, and what dropped from his eye was a red muddled tear. "What have we become? We're neither human nor beasts. We were given a power above Muggles and what have we used it for? Hurting our own kind and hurting others-"

"I don't know what we are." Hermione bit her lip and lowered her head against his chest, the copper scent filling her nostrils.

A voice called put her name, a voice that was vaguely familiar.

"Hermione ? Hermione!"

The footsteps echoed down the halls, first softly and then they approached closer and closer as the giant doors let out a whiff of air and the figure of Barnaby stood before them, mouth open in shock.

"Miss Granger! Hermione! What did he do?"