Author's Note: I'd just like to share that this fic has been nominated for and won 2nd place in the Best Mystery category at the Dramione Awards on LJ! Thanks everyone. :)
lucas'mom: Not a Dramione fan, eh? I am touch and go with the pairing; some are very well written and some aren't. I don't know that I'll write the pairing again after this. This story was more an experiment and a relentless plot bunny than anything else. I'm having a lot of fun writing it but like you, I do enjoy Lumione more. Yes, laptops are horribly temperamental, but they don't...excrete. Hehe. I'll probably check out Torchwood soon, on everyone's recommendations.
Megan Consoer: Here's a new chapter for ya.
she is brighter: You asked about Draco's screen name...DracoDormiens. Well, if you've ever seen the Hogwarts School seal, it says 'Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus', which means 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon' in Latin. So, Draco Dormiens on its own would mean sleeping dragon. I just thought it was a fun way to tie in that bit of Hogwarts trivia.
Kit: Haha, I'm sorry. Narcissa needed something to cool her down and Umbridge did the trick. I won't use that imagery ever again, I promise!
caseyjarryn: Thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying it.
CoCo82: Yes, Harry's temper got the better of him here. Believe me, he feels bad about it. I thought the two of them both sticking up for the other would be necessary to start to heal the rift between them, hence the Azkaban scare. Don't worry, I would NEVER do that to dear Lucius. Poor dear has been such a good boy. As for my favorite Lily Allen lyrics...there are so many to choose from, but I'm partial to 'good dancer, love, but you should've worn a bra' from Friday Night. I think that exact thought CONSTANTLY when I go out. Wear bras, people! I'm righteously infuriated about the cancellation of FW, as well. Torchwood might fill my void...
loveangelli: Yes Harry was taking no prisoners; he can be somewhat unreasonable and brash at times. Haha I love your reaction to the puppies. I needed to put something bright in a somewhat angsty chapter!
missMANNEQUINx: OOC? Perhaps. It is an AU, though, and a significant amount of time has gone by so anything is possible. Also, remember that Lucius has been living without magic for upwards of 6 years. He's HAD to change to cope. I hope you continue to enjoy the story, though.
Tears of Ebon-Grey: Thank you! Yes, Lucius and Draco definitely had a bonding moment there. And both Lucius and Narcissa are thinking about the other a little more than they'd like to admit. Here's a new chapter for your viewing pleasure!
Narcissa stood very still, the letter clenched in her hand. Rage was not an adequate word to describe what she was feeling. These bastards were toying with her. There was nothing in the world that made her angrier than that. Lucius had learned that lesson well enough very early in their marriage. Oh GOD, why couldn't she stop thinking about him? And that of all things…the one time she had dominated him so exquisitely, struck fear into his eyes, and earned a comment that perhaps she was more like her sister Bellatrix than he thought. She had slapped him clear across his beautiful flushed cheek, misconstruing it as an admission that he had slept with Bellatrix. He hadn't – the face he made was enough to tell her that - and he had wasted no time getting her right back for her viciousness. Oh, if people knew what had gone on in that bedroom in the first year of their marriage, their jaws would fall off.
She smiled, the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing. Whatever she did to Gaetano Scattori, it would not have a pleasurable payoff. Narcissa turned the letter over and extracted her lipstick from the pocket of her dress. In a dark shade of red, she wrote one word:
COWARD.
September 28
Hermione looked up from her book when a knock sounded at the door. It was late; all the students ought to be in bed. It must be someone important, or at the very least someone she shouldn't ignore. She unfolded her legs from beneath her, set the book down, and strode over to the door.
Draco was not the person she expected to see. She had gotten the impression that Hogwarts was somewhere he preferred to keep his distance from, and why not? Her memories of it weren't all spectacular, either. McGonagall, in that knowing way of hers, must have shown him to her rooms.
"Hello," he said, the left corner of his lip rising in an awkward half-smile.
"Hi," she replied, a little flustered. For Merlin's sake, she looked terrible and so did her living space. Today had been a taxing day; a third year Hufflepuff managed to explode his cauldron and she still bore a small burn across her cheek from a flying piece of superheated cast-iron. She should have gone to Madame Pomfrey but the day had been so busy that by the time she remembered, she was already in her room and had zero desire to walk back up to the infirmary.
He noticed it and reached out to touch her cheek. "Are you all right?"
They hadn't spoken in nearly five days, but his gentle concern made whatever confused anger she had reserved for him melt away. "I…I'm fine. Exploding cauldron incident."
His smile bloomed to a full one. "I still can't believe you do this. I hope it doesn't turn you into Snape."
"There are worse things to be turned into," she murmured. But not many…
"So…can I come in, or shall I let the castle's ears hear everything I'm going to say?" Draco cast a glance over his shoulder as he spoke and there was the unmistakable sound of a person scrambling away down the corridor. Hermione stepped out, curious about the eavesdropper's identity, but by the time she got around Draco the offender was gone. Without her obstructing the doorway, Draco walked in, heedless of whether she was going to invite him or not.
Hermione followed him and shut the door. "You could have waited until the weekend. If you had owled I would have come to see you in London. I just wasn't sure if you wanted me to."
"Not London," he reminded her. "I'm doing the doctorate, remember?"
"Oh, that's right. Where is it again?"
He rolled his grey eyes at her. "Don't act like you don't know where Finley Greene is based."
She made a disgruntled face at him. She was still jealous that he got to be anywhere near the man. Greene was simply a genius. "So. Philadelphia, then?"
"Yes, I'm all settled in now. I start on Monday."
Hermione sighed and went over to the fireplace. She started to call the kitchens, thinking tea would be nice, but his hand stopped her. "Let me."
"Why?"
"Because we're not going to the kitchens."
"Where are you planning on taking me?" she asked, even as she transferred the floo powder into his warm hand.
"It's a secret."
"I don't like secrets."
"You'll like this one, I promise."
She looked at him, searching his eyes. She had seen how much he resented her taking Harry's side in the skirmish earlier that week. He had been angry at her, and quite ready to make good on his threat to kill Harry. The wedge was still between them, no matter how they wanted to pretend that it was not.
His eyes flickered away and he looked at his feet. "Hermione, my father told me…about Ginny. I don't…I can't forgive Potter yet, but I know that if it was you, and someone had done that to you, I…I would probably want to rip them limb from limb, too."
She swallowed. Sudden tears prickled in her eyes. Wedge dissolved…
He dropped the floo powder back into its container, brushed off his hands, and took hold of her jaw gently. With a flick of his wand and a tingling sensation, she knew that he had healed the burn. A smile touched his lips, one that was slightly wicked, and a moment later she knew why.
"Anywhere else that needs…healing?"
She sniffled and laughed, swatting his hand. "Not right now."
He feigned disappointment; she wondered, though, how fake it was. "You were going to tell me something on Saturday," she spoke up. "Something about Harry, sixth year…"
Doubt flickered across his features. After a moment, he shook his head. "Don't worry about it."
"No. I want to know."
"Trust me, you don't."
"It's better that I hear it now, when we're both calm."
He looked uneasy. "Are you sure?"
"Draco, there is no one on this earth that knows more about Harry Potter's flaws than me. I can take it."
"All right. Let's take a walk, then."
"A walk? I thought you didn't want the castle hearing what you had to say."
"I came to apologize – that's the only thing I wanted kept private. Everything else…" he gave her an odd look, one that was a mixture of happiness and sadness, "the castle already knows."
Finally.
Lucius ran his hands down Emma's smooth back, no longer caring for the impracticality of it. If someone was going to be breaking down his door once a week and attempting to kill him, he was going to enjoy himself on the non-killing days. He had been ready to bed Hermione, glorious muggleborn that she was, not so long ago. The jump to a muggle was not so great and he knew he had chosen wisely; Emma was not nearly as demure as she looked.
He still had his qualms about her children. But this was just sex. Sleeping with her once did not mean he would have to marry her or fill the shoes of another (crazy) man. That man had to be crazy to leave her.
This was the best of his doldrums-at-the-Ministry fantasies coming true. How many times he had wished for a horny secretary with a short skirt in those days…but even if she ever miraculously appeared, he probably wouldn't have acted on it. He wasn't really in the business of being unfaithful. Now he had no one to be unfaithful to.
A small spasm wracked his heart. Where had that come from? He pulled Emma's pretty face down to his and kissed her. It effectively eradicated that unexpected pain. She wasn't a secretary, she was a businesswoman; that was better because she had more power and wasn't afraid to wield it. And judging by the fact that she was straddling him, her skirt hiked up around her hips, she fit both the horny and the short skirt criteria.
Her teeth tugged at his lower lip. It elevated his low throb of desire to a monstrous roar. At his agitated squirm, she paused and looked down at him, for in this position she was a little bit taller. Her eyes were fogged but not insensible. If it was up to him, they would not stay that way for very long.
"This could create problems. You work for me," she breathed.
It was absolutely ridiculous that she brought it up with her bare breasts a few inches from his face, and that was the only thing that kept him from being supremely annoyed. If she thought she could stop him – or herself - now, she was thoroughly mistaken. Lucius tugged her skirt up above where her hips had caught it and gripped her buttocks. He shifted her forward so that she could feel the part of him that had been far too neglected of late. Yes, there had been that delectable time with Narcissa – good God, his Narcissa. But she was not his anymore, he admonished himself, and pushed it from his mind. He pressed up against the woman in his lap, one smooth roll of his hips, and her gasp betrayed her.
With a smirk he announced, "I quit."
It was strange to be led through the castle by him. The old walls had seen many things, but rarely was it a Gryffindor and a Slytherin walking hand in hand. The paintings were whispering among themselves. Hermione smiled. For every sad memory she had of Hogwarts, there were twice as many good ones; it pained her to think that Draco might not feel the same.
He stopped and she looked around, orienting herself. "Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?"
"The one and only." He pulled the door open and held it. She gave him a sardonic look; in her opinion, such a chivalrous motion was wasted on a bathroom. Nonetheless, she went in.
It had been a long time. So many things had happened here; the brewing of Polyjuice, her accidental transformation into some bizarre cat creature (she wondered if he knew about that), Harry and Ron finding the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets…and if Draco was bringing her here, apparently something else had happened, as well. Something Harry had never told her.
Harry wasn't one for secrets. Not after so many had been kept from him. So for him to bite his lip and keep something to himself…it had to be bad. It had to be something that made him think he'd lose them if he told. Or something that made him feel so ashamed that he couldn't bear repeating it.
Draco was prowling the tile floor. It was strange how small it seemed now; at twelve it had seemed immense, like everything else in the castle. Now it was just a dank, cobwebbed, infrequently used loo. Her eyes drifted to the sinks in the middle of the room. There was the marking, the one Ron and Harry had told her about. Somewhere beneath their feet, the skeleton of a basilisk rested. So, too, did the first ghost of Tom Riddle.
Draco used his wand to blast a jet of air at the dusty floor. Hermione sneezed and he gave her an apologetic look.
"Do you see that?" he asked after her sneezing fit had passed.
"See what? The dirty floor?"
"There's an outline. Do you see it?"
Hermione focused where he was pointing. Come to think of it…yes, there was an outline, an irregular blotch with curved edges, like the stain a puddle of water might have made. But water would not seep into the tile and the grout between them and color them a deep shade of brown. Horror bloomed inside her.
"Is that blood?" she asked tremulously. She didn't like where this was going.
"Yes," he answered abruptly. "It's mine."
"Couldn't…couldn't they have cleaned it up?" she asked weakly.
"No. Not when it is the result of Sectumsempra."
Hermione blinked and met his eyes. She had never heard of that spell before. His glance was incredulous. She knew what he was thinking – the know-it-all Hermione Granger, stymied.
"You've never heard of it?"
She shook her head.
"I know you've seen it. It was what blew George Weasley's ear off."
Hermione gasped. That had been one of the worst wounds she'd ever had the misfortune of seeing. No matter what Molly did to try to staunch it, it wouldn't stop bleeding. Come to think of it, George's blood had never come out of her dress; she had thrown it away. It had scarred terribly, too, regardless of what any healer did.
"But you – you don't have any scars," she stammered. She knew that from experience.
"No, and the only reason I don't is because the creator of the curse was the one to heal me."
"Who?"
"Snape."
"But you said Harry--"
"Yes, Harry was the one to use the curse on me."
Hermione was flabbergasted. Sectumsempra was downright ugly, and she had only seen it inflicted on a tiny part of someone's anatomy. The blood stain on the floor was much, much too big to just have been Draco's ear. Oh, Merlin – how could Harry have used that on him, knowing what it could do? Harry had a temper, yes, but he wasn't a monster!
"How…how could he!" Hermione sputtered, pulled ten different ways by emotions. She had to admit that in those days Draco would go out of his way to incite Harry's rage, so the conflict was probably justified, but…what could Draco possibly have done to make him that angry?
"I'm sure you're thinking that I must have provoked him, and you're right. I attacked him because he saw something he wasn't supposed to see and he retaliated. But he didn't know," Draco said softly. "He'd read the curse scribbled in a book somewhere. Had no idea what it could do."
She was angrier at Harry for that; he knew better than to use a spell he didn't know the results of! He could have killed Draco! And even though they had wished many things upon him back then, they had never wished death.
"What…what was it like?" she dared to ask. George had been so blasé about it, joking through his pain until Molly became so upset that she knocked him out with a quick stunner.
"Are you sure you want to know?"
Hermione nodded.
Draco gave her a wary look, but went on. "Well, he got me right in the chest. The nearest thing I can think of to compare to is being flayed. You know, when your skin is peeled--"
"I know what flaying is!" she interrupted.
He chuckled at her fire.
"How can you laugh?" Hermione asked. "You could have died."
"I know." His smile widened. "Do you know how many times I almost died that year and the one after? At least with Potter I would have bled out quickly. The Dark Lord was not so merciful."
She backed against the sinks and leaned against the porcelain lip, bothered by the way he could smile when he spoke of such things. She had never thought about what life must have been like for Draco. She had assumed that he had been all in for Voldemort's agenda up until his own hide was in danger. Never had she made the connection that after the Department of Mysteries, after Lucius was shipped snarling and spitting to Azkaban, that Draco was left to take up his mantle. And what a mantle it had been; back then Lucius had been nearly untouchable in his hatred and his devious intellect. Draco had not lived long enough to amass even a fraction of either.
"I'm sorry," Draco said, interrupting her thoughts. "I shouldn't bring it up. It's over and done with."
"No," she negated, pushing back to her feet. "I want to know. I just wasn't ready for it."
He nodded. "So…I'm not going to have to keep you from mauling Potter, am I?"
Hermione smiled. "No. I think he feels miserable enough about it on his own. He was always very good at self-flagellation."
"Aren't we all," Draco said ruefully. "Let's get out of here."
Lucius lay next to her, sated and half-asleep. Bloody hell. Emma was a terror in bed. He didn't think he'd ever been pushed so hard by any woman. His neighbors were going to hate him; as she was a muggle, he couldn't whip out his wand and cast a silencing charm. If they were home, the adjoining houses had been treated to a graphic litany of sexual sounds and demands.
He wondered how long she had gone without; she was a busy woman, running her own business and raising two children. Surely she hadn't neglected herself in that way? How was it possible? There ought to be plenty of men who would be willing to bend her over at a moment's notice. He was on the top of that list, now.
He glanced at her. She was in a deep sleep with her back to him, her dark, sex-messed curls fanned out behind her. He snorted to himself; she should be unconscious after the evening they'd had. He couldn't imagine that she wouldn't be sore. He was sore. Such delicate parts were not really meant for the things they'd done. Not all the time, anyway. Once in a while was all right…
He frowned to himself. Perhaps she wanted it like that all the time. Maybe that was why her husband left her. Oh, who was he to assume that the husband had done the leaving? He knew all too well that wives nowadays had no problem with severing marriages.
This conjecture was getting him nowhere. He should be asleep, too. He started to turn onto his stomach and paused. Swallowing and feeling stupid, but not stupid enough to change what he was doing, Lucius moved closer to her. Lifting the sheet, he molded himself against her bare skin. His arm draped around her waist. Grateful that she was asleep and that no one was watching, he rested his cheek in her curls.
It had been too long since he was able to curl up to a warm, soft body. Hermione's venture into his bed two months ago had nearly killed him. The girl had no idea how sorely he'd been tempted. In the end, though, his loyalty to his son won out and he avoided complicating the already-complicated situation any further.
Emma was an excellent substitute, and he hoped a frequent one. She presented an interesting challenge, being a muggle, but he found that he didn't care. No, just now he didn't care…and he didn't care how weak and needy it was to find so much comfort against her warm back. He lay there, trying not to think about how rarely he had done the same with Narcissa. Perhaps if he had just…no, that chance was come and gone. Maybe he could craft something better from the splinters of that relationship, or maybe he couldn't; right now it didn't matter.
At last he dropped into a fitful sleep, luxuriating in the fact that he was not alone.
"Oh!" Hermione gasped. "This is beautiful."
"Yes," Draco agreed. "I really can't complain."
They stood on the roof of his building and the city stretched out beneath them. Straight ahead there was a river, the name of which she didn't know, and a tremendous bridge straddled its banks. Blue lights were placed along its graceful arcs, outlining it in the dark of early evening. There were boats, too, antique things with their many sails rolled up and their masts peeking above the horizon.
If she turned she could see the cluster of skyscrapers. There were not as many as she might have thought but each one was uniquely crafted and lit up in different colors. Everywhere else, buildings and residential homes sprawled in a tremendous radius. The hum of city noise created a low, constant rumble, and the never-ending lights winked in the distortion of a summer night.
"So this is Greene's building?" she asked.
"Yes. He likes all his students to live together in order to…let's see, how did he put it…in order to 'till the soil of ideation'."
Hermione chuckled. "Are most of your classmates from here?"
"There are nine of us, total. Two are from here, two from New York City, one from Hawaii, one from Germany, one from South Africa, one from Japan. And me, of course."
She nodded, a little jealous that he was going to be able to spend time with intellectual equals from all over the world. "Are there any women?" she asked. Potions was notorious for being a male-dominated field; for every ten men, there might be one woman.
"Just one," Draco responded, confirming her suspicions. "And she's already spoken for, so you don't have to worry."
"I wasn't worried."
He turned, raised an eyebrow, and smirked. "Maybe I should be worried about you…all alone in that drafty old castle."
"Don't be ridiculous," she rebuked.
Draco chuckled and closed the distance between. He wrapped his arms about her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I thought of something, while I was trying to figure out how to apologize."
"I should apologize, too," she said, leaning against him. "I really didn't think Harry would…" Hermione trailed off, shaking her head. "I'm sorry."
"We're even, then." His lips ghosted against her ear. "Do you want to hear my idea?"
She nodded, if just to feel the light friction again.
"All right. I want you to think of every date or outing or trip that Weasley never would have taken you on. Write them down in a list. Then, every week you and I will do one or two of them – within reason, of course."
Hermione's eyes widened. Oh, there was a virtual scroll of things she had always wanted to do with a significant other that Ron had never seemed interested in. Half of them were just foolish romantic yearnings, like picnics or moonlit strolls on a beach, but if Draco was going to give her license to fulfill all those things, she would have absolutely no problems forcing him to make good on it.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Well, if you say it that way, I think maybe I should put a limit on it." He paused thoughtfully. "The list can only be twenty items. That should give us enough time to get to know one another like a proper couple, instead of just shagging one another's brains out…" he trailed off.
"I like shagging," Hermione pouted. "We can still shag during this endeavor, right?"
Draco snorted. "I may be seriously endangering my dignity, but never my libido."
She laughed. "Good." She twisted in his arms, intent upon kissing him, but the sound of a door opening and crashing shut gave her pause. Hermione's breath left her body as she located the intruder. It was Finley Jacob Greene himself.
He was a tall black man, thin and gangly, with a shock of wiry grey hair. He wore his robes loosely and unfastened. They had the look of robes that had once been very nice and expensive, but through constant wear and cleansing, became comfortably worn and faded. He walked across the rooftop, pausing at the edge and looking out at the bridge just like she had a few minutes before.
He lit a thin cigar and then cocked his head at them. "This your girlfriend, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked. His voice was a crisp baritone, warm and commanding at the same time.
"Yes, sir," Draco responded, releasing her and giving her a slight shove in the other man's direction. "This is Ms. Hermione Granger."
"Hermione Granger?" Greene asked, her name sounding different in his accent. He took her hand firmly and shook. "The Potions Mistress at Hogwarts School?"
Hermione nodded, unable to form words in her nervousness at meeting him.
"I hear that you were one of the youngest ever to receive that certification," he mused. "The youngest woman, certainly. But I think that's only for lack of women in this field."
"Yes," Hermione agreed, finding her voice again. "I've been trying very hard to encourage the girls who show an aptitude in my classes."
"I'm sure you'll have great success. You are much more endearing than the last Hogwarts Potions Master, rest his soul."
"Thank goodness," Draco murmured.
"Well, I suppose it was not his job to be endearing," Greene shrugged. "He was one of the few that were certified younger than you, Ms. Granger."
"When?" she asked, curious.
"He was seventeen. Before he even graduated he sat the exam and the practical and got perfect scores on both. I had only just gotten my certification and I was ten years his senior at that point. I confess I felt a bit inadequate."
"I think we all did, around him," Hermione said, shaking her head.
"Yes. Snape was one of those. He would have done great things if he had survived," Greene sighed. "But I see that he left behind at least two students that could do great things in his stead."
Hermione blushed furiously. "Thank you, Mr. Greene."
"Well, I'll leave you two to your kissing," the older man smiled. "Such things are highly necessary for the creative process. Ms. Granger, you are always welcome. If you ever tire of teaching the next generation, my door is open." He stubbed out the cigar that he had barely smoked and dropped it into his pocket. Then he turned and disappeared through the door, his footsteps echoing in the stairwell.
Hermione stood still, stunned and fluttery. Finley Greene had just extended an invitation to her. He had more or less told her that she was welcome to study with him. She could have jumped up and down and squealed, but Draco's arms snaking around her prevented her from doing so.
"You heard the man," Draco whispered, lips against her ear, his hips flush against her rear. "Kissing is highly necessary for my creative process."
With a giggle that seldom escaped her, she turned and pounced on him. His reflexes were quick and he caught her by the back of her thighs, smiling as her legs wrapped around his waist. And so they kissed, the Ben Franklin Bridge twinkling in the background and the many sounds of Philadelphia forming a pleasant cacophony around them.
September 25
The thought of the funicolare was almost too much to bear. Narcissa had calmed down significantly in the walk from Scattori's empty house. She had sent the bird back with her bold note and stubbornly stood there for a further 45 minutes, fuming and wishing that Scattori would show his rotten face. Slowly, though, sense sank back into her and she realized that there was no point in waiting for the enemy. This was his turf; if his good humor did not hold, she could find herself severely outnumbered and in a very bad situation.
Deciding that she would rather risk exposure than go through the rickety cable car ride again, Narcissa ducked into an alleyway and apparated. The sounds and smells of Adriatica Alley immediately assaulted her. In the safety of her own home – or rather, Giacomo's home, as it was not hers just yet – she could plot.
He greeted her at the door and appeared surprised.
"Narcissa, my dear, I did not know you went out."
"Yes," she breezed by him, "I needed some fresh air."
"Where did you go?" he asked, genuinely interested. This was the kind of small talk that she had never been able to indulge in with Lucius. Lucius usually didn't give a shiny galleon where she had been. It had its benefits, but sometimes it irked her that he wasn't interested.
"Down to Capri," she responded. "I heard that it was beautiful."
"Oh yes?" He took her gloves and her small handbag, ever the gentleman. She did not see the apprehensive look that flashed across his face. "Was it to your liking? I have thought about buying some property there."
"It was nice," she said, "but one visit is enough for me."
"Next time you wish to go somewhere, perhaps we can go together," he smiled. "I can put someone else in charge at work." A moment later his decorum was broken by his ingrained machismo; he moved forward to drape an arm around her waist and press his fit body against hers suggestively. "You look very pretty in that dress, Narcissa."
Normally that kind of comment would have charmed the dress right off her. Giacomo had his flaws but he was quite good in bed. Today, however, it only annoyed her. "I'm tired, Giacomo. Wake me for dinner, please."
"Of course, love." He released her and she strode away, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floors.
Once inside their room, Narcissa removed the shoes and crawled into the massive bed. She was tired, though she knew she wouldn't get any sleep. Thoughts were whirling in her head, piecing themselves together in the aftermath of her anger at being thwarted.
It was a Mancini hit at its finest; I did not order it nor do I condone it. Scattori's words scrolled through her mind. A Mancini hit. He was blaming the other half of the crime family. Perhaps there was trouble in paradise…
Yes. That had to be it. Gaetano and his repugnant wife Rita had fled England for obvious reasons, two attempted murder charges among them, but perhaps there was something more. Perhaps another Mafia war was brewing behind closed doors in old Milano…
She heard Lucius's voice in her head, reciting lines from his letter with cool precision. I know that you will do what you want, but these people are dangerous. Your fiancé may be in their pockets, or they in his; if they are bold enough to attack Draco and I, nothing will stop them from coming after you if they deem it necessary. Every moment you spend in Milan may bring you closer to peril. Narcissa, I could not bear it if you were hurt…so please exercise your better judgment, whatever that may be. I have never had great judgment, myself, so I don't presume to tell you what to do.
Narcissa exhaled shakily. The next lines had rocked her to the core.
I love you and I always have. My floo connection is open and set to admit you.
And that was it. Damn him and his masterful ambiguity. True, there was nothing ambiguous about the declaration of love, but…it was entirely unfair how two little sentences could send her into a spiral of what-ifs. He probably meant nothing by it. He probably meant exactly what he said – he loved her and his floo connection was open. She shouldn't read into it. She wouldn't read into it.
September 29
Lucius woke to the sound of someone pounding on his door. Groggy, he lifted his head away from the spot between Emma's shoulder blades and blinked. The clock said 10:18 am. He probably should have been awake, anyway, but since his completion of business with his wizarding clients (the Bulstrodes and the Flints) and his apparent severance of services with Emma, he only had four clients. Three of which were barely concerned about their taxes just yet. One of which was the force of nature known as Franz. He knew that Franz would be the only one that bothered him today and thankfully that was only by phone or e-mail. So who the hell was at his door?
He extracted himself from the bed, careful not to wake Emma, and pulled on some pajama bottoms. He made a mental note to feed Oberon when he walked by the playroom and then, without ceremony, he pulled open the front door.
"Can I help you, Minister?" he said, feeling much more awake at the sight of Kingsley Shacklebolt on his doorstep.
"No, but I can help you," the other man responded. "Lucius Malfoy, I am here to inform you that the Ministry and the Wizengamot have seen fit to reconsider your sentencing this morning. They voted to commute your sentence, and a tally of 187 to 34 passed the motion. You are therefore released from the last two years, seven months of your sentence based on evidence of rehabilitation and good behavior." Shacklebolt paused and took a deep breath. He reached into his pocket and emerged with something that nearly stopped Lucius's heart in his chest. It was his wand. Shacklebolt held it out, a stern look on his face. "Do not make me regret this, Malfoy."
Lucius couldn't make himself reach for the sliver of wood.
"Take it, Lucius," Kingsley prompted. "You've earned it."
"This isn't…this isn't some sick joke?" Lucius asked, his eyes distrustful and his voice strained.
With an exasperated sigh, Shacklebolt reached out, grabbed his wrist, and pressed the wand into his palm. The magic that coursed through him at its touch made him gasp; his fingers clenched reflexively around the wand, no longer able to deny its pull.
"Like I said," Kingsley intoned, "do not make me regret this."
"I…"
"From now on we won't be monitoring you anymore. With your wand you should be able to keep yourself out of trouble. Of course, if you have any serious concerns the Auror department will always be willing to assist you."
"Yes, of course."
"Baggins in the finance department also wanted you to know that if you wanted your old job back, he's sure there's some underachiever that he can be rid of."
Lucius blinked. Then he leveled his gaze at Shacklebolt. "Hex me."
"What?" The Minister looked at him as if he'd gone mad.
"Hex me. This can't be real."
"I am not going to hex you."
Lucius looked at the wand in his hand. Slowly, he turned it so that it was pointing at his own chest.
"Nothing drastic now, Malfoy," Shacklebolt warned, catching his hand. "I didn't give it back so that you could injure yourself with it."
"Other people have been doing a spectacular job of that in the absence of my self-injurious tendencies," Lucius returned, having regained a portion of his wits. He dropped his hand back to his side. It itched with possibility and he had the distinct feeling that he was going to have to go into the dogs' playroom and shoot off fireworks.
"Yes, well, that shouldn't be a problem anymore." Shacklebolt's eyes flickered to a spot over Lucius's shoulder before he leaned in and whispered, "Your lady friend is awake. I suggest you put the wand away."
Lucius glared at him; in his current state of dress, there was nowhere to put it. Kingsley smirked and stepped back out of the doorway.
"I say this with the most respect possible," the Minister of Magic stated, his voice still low to prevent Lucius's guest from hearing, "it has been interesting, but I really don't ever want to see you again, Malfoy."
"Likewise," Lucius replied, "though I'm sure I won't be so fortunate, what with you being Minister."
Shacklebolt smiled and excused himself. Lucius shut the door, still in shock in spite of his snappy retorts.
"What's that?" Emma asked a moment later, leaning in the door of the study. She had noticed the wand in his hand.
"It's nothing," Lucius responded. He gave the wand a glance that was half filled with longing, half with trepidation, before opening a drawer in the small decorative table near the door and dropping the piece of wood inside. "Nothing at all."