Author's Note: As promised, here's the second chapter of this double update. Please r&r both chaps if you're so inclined. :)

October 6, 11 pm

Draco felt like he wasn't himself. It was mainly because he had been tickling Hermione Granger for the better part of twenty minutes, listening to her laugh and feeling her squirm agreeably against him. And the two combined put the biggest, goofiest smile on his face. He probably looked like an idiot.

He paused, allowing her to catch her breath. Hermione wiped tears out of her eyes and gave him a playful shove.

"Now that you know where I'm ticklish, you're going to use it against me all the time, aren't you?"

"I might."

"Are you ticklish?"

"If I am I wouldn't be stupid enough to tell you," he responded with a smirk.

She smiled wolfishly at him. "I'll find out, Malfoy."

"Is that a threat?" he asked, leaning in closer and letting her feel the weight of his body against hers.

"Absolutely," she replied. One of her legs twined around the back of his and pulled him closer.

"Mm…I think I like your threats."

"I know I like yours."

His lips lifted in a real smile before he lowered them to brush against hers. It really was ridiculous how horny she could make him, and on such short notice. He could go from not thinking about sex at all to wanting to bend her over and fuck her silly in ten seconds. Of course, he would be lying if he tried to make himself believe that the instigation of the tickling had no ultimate sexual goal. Hermione wasn't complaining; he'd noticed how her nipples peaked under her shirt under the onslaught of his hands.

She was so responsive, and her tongue, grappling gamely with his, felt so good. He'd always been a fan of a good snog. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Hermione did this well, because she did everything well. Or most everything – he had heard that she was appallingly bad at flying. Strange; she was very skilled at riding his broomstick…

It was thoughts like that that made him grateful no one could hear his inner monologue. It was about time to turn it off, anyway, because her hot little hands were sliding beneath his shirt. Her nails grazed over his skin and that was the only stimulation he needed to go from partial arousal to full-on trouser-testing attention.

"Mm," she breathed against his ear, her hands sliding down to cup his backside, "I've been thinking about you all week."

"Yeah? What were you thinking about?"

She blushed endearingly but it didn't put a dent in her boldness. "About how I'd much rather have your cock inside me than be teaching silly…" she paused and kissed his neck, "little…" another kiss, right over his pulse, "dunderheads…" now it was an open-mouthed suck that would probably leave a mark, "how to brew Pepper-Up."

He looked down at her, a little amazed. He'd never pictured her as the rampantly horny type. Draco knew well enough that she had a libido, but one that overruled academics? The possibility was interesting…and hot.

"I was going to send you a dirty letter, but I didn't want to interfere with your studies," she confessed with a smile that was slightly devious.

"You should have." He slid his hand under her shirt and swept it off. There was far too much clothing in his way right now. Once the shirt was gone he couldn't be bothered to reach under her and unhook her bra; he tugged the fabric of the cups down, freeing her dusky, hardened nipples from their prison. He was going to have to do the same for his cock soon…

Yes, especially since she purred appreciatively when his tongue teased around the little bud and then swept over it rhythmically. He'd figured out that she liked that, a quick flick of the tongue or the rub of his palm against the tips of her nipples. After lavishing some attention upon them, he lifted his head to look at her.

"Maybe," he said suggestively, "we should play professor and student."

She smiled, more perceptive to his idea than he thought she would be. "But who is the professor and who is the student?"

"That's easy. Which one of us is really a professor?"

"Me. That means I'm in charge?"

"Exactly. You're the Potions Mistress…and I'm the Head Boy who hasn't done his homework."

Hermione's hand slithered between them and rubbed over the bulge in his trousers. He breathed in sharply, enjoying the tingle of pleasure that coursed through him.

"You are definitely not a boy," she grinned, "but I think I like this idea."

So did he – a lot. His cock was throbbing. "Then let's go to your classroom," he whispered, his tongue tracing the curve of her ear. "It's late. No one will interrupt."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Have you done this before?"

He raised an eyebrow right back. "Maybe."

Hermione smiled. "I'll warn you, Mr. Malfoy…I'm not an easy professor."

"Bad boys need tough professors."

"Do they?" She wiggled out from under him, her breasts still hanging out of her bra, and moved toward her dresser. She opened a drawer, rooted around for a moment, and then said, "Aha!" in a triumphant tone. She turned and threw something at him.

He caught it. Much to his surprise, it was a school tie. Her old one, probably, since it was Gryffindor colors. Now he had to wonder if she had done this before.

"I don't want to be a Gryffindor," he said, pulling a face.

Hermione turned and put her hands on her hips. "Either you're a Gryffindor or you're going home with blue balls."

Ooh, she was tough. "I'm a Gryffindor, then," he relented, and slipped the tie around his neck, knotting it reflexively. The things he would do to be buried inside her…he shook his head. Draco watched as Hermione discarded her bra and pants and then pulled on her robe. It was quite sexy to know that she was bare beneath it, save her knickers. When she was finished, she walked over to him and pulled him up with a gentle tug to the tie.

"Let's go, Head Boy."

She'd led him through the darkened castle corridors like that, the end of the tie wrapped around her hand. He didn't feel embarrassed or emasculated in spite of the fact that she more or less hand him on a leash. He'd given her consent and he knew the payoff would be good. Slytherins were Slytherins; power play excited them no matter if they were the master or the servant.

The Potions lab wasn't far. It was a bit cheerier than it had been under Snape's reign, but the smell was the same. Fire and ingredients and heated metal mingled; the scent triggered his memories of school. Hermione released the tie and shut the door. As she did, a few candles lit around the cavernous room.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Malfoy," she said, walking toward the front and standing before the desk. He hid a smirk as he slid into one of the chairs. Draco suspected that he was simultaneously giving her permission to partake in an area of sex-play that had been off limits with Weasley, and catering to the bossy, dominant little bitch living inside her that sometimes needed to get out. He didn't think he was going to mind unleashing her.

"You know why I gave you detention, correct?" she asked.

"Yes, Professor," he answered, doing his best remorseful-student-that-was-full-of-shit voice. "I didn't hand in my essay."

"And why is that?"

"It was quidditch, Professor. I'm captain of the team and I didn't have time--"

"The other quidditch players managed to hand theirs in, Mr. Malfoy," she cut him off. "That isn't an excuse." Hermione walked forward, wand in hand. "I think you've become lazy. It's your seventh year, you're Head Boy, you've already taken your NEWTs…you're complacent. You think no one would dare to fail you this close to graduation."

Oh, she was really pouring it on, wasn't she? He'd meet her every step of the way. "No, Professor, I…I just really didn't have time to do it."

"Then you should have come to me and asked for an extension. If you had a good reason, I would have given you an extra day. Too late now, though." She leaned on one of the desks. "I'm afraid you'll be receiving a zero for this assignment."

He didn't have to dig deep to find the horror necessary to react to a zero grade. He was an overachiever, just like her, and even the thought of failing so spectacularly had the power to unsettle him. Fear of failure was ingrained in him, courtesy of his father, though it had only ever pushed him to do better.

"Professor, please! That will drop my grade to…"

"To Acceptable. Still passing, Mr. Malfoy. Though, if I remember correctly, you were hoping to enroll in Auror training and they won't take you without an O or E in Potions."

Was she channeling Snape? If she was, she was a much more attractive and tantalizing version. "It's just one essay! There must be some way I can make up for it!"

"If you make just one mistake as an Auror, Mr. Malfoy, people die. You can't make up for that. I can't allow you to enter into the profession if you aren't capable of doing what you need to do when you need to do it."

She was good. He was actually starting to feel a bubble of anxiety in his gut, even though he'd never wanted to be an Auror and he'd never gotten a failing grade on a test or paper in his life. Not even sixth year, and that was something.

"Professor, it's my dream to be an Auror. I never wanted to be anything else. I can't be anything else. Please, give me a chance to make this up. I'll do detention every day for the rest of the school year, if that's what you want. Please."

She tilted her head to the side, contemplating. "That may work."

"Oh, thank you, Professor, thank you! I promise, I won't disappoint you," he said earnestly.

"I hope, for your sake, that you won't. Come here, Mr. Malfoy."

He stood up, unable to resist looking into her eyes for a moment. She was enjoying this. The look in her honeyed eyes reminded his erection that this was all protracted foreplay and a fresh swell of blood hardened him painfully. Sweet Merlin, he had to get these trousers off, and soon. He drew even with her, knowing that his advantage in height did nothing to mute the power he'd given her.

"Come closer, Mr. Malfoy. I don't bite."

He stepped closer, wondering what approach she was going to take. He could go for a few whacks across the arse in the guise of discipline, but he doubted she was quite there yet. This was new territory for her. Depending how this went, it wouldn't be new for long.

"I've seen how you look at me, Draco."

His head jerked up. "I…I'm sorry?"

"I know you look at my arse when I bend over. And my breasts, when I check your potions. Do you like my body?"

A faint streak of possessiveness hit him – there had better not be any horny seventh years looking at her breasts when she checked their potions. Her arse, either. That was his. But back to the task at hand – she had asked him if he liked her body.

"Yes, Professor," he whispered. A resounding yes.

"Is that why you didn't do your essay? You were too busy fantasizing about me?"

"No!" he protested. Then, shamefully, "…Yes."

"Do you touch yourself when you think about me?"

He could have let his cock answer that one; it twitched in response to her words. She would want to hear it out loud, though; at least he would, if their positions were reversed. And they were definitely going to be reversed in the near future.

"Yes."

She reached out and took hold of his belt. He experienced a moment of surprise that was more real than fake. The more he let himself slip into the role of the student, the hotter this became…

"I want to see you, Mr. Malfoy. I want to see how hard you get when you think about me." Her hands were undoing his belt, working on his fly…oh, God, if a pretty young Professor had been removing his pants at age 17…and thank goodness she was removing them, because he was beginning to think that the restriction of his arousal might do permanent damage.

Words could not express how much better it felt when his trousers eased off. He sighed when her hand extracted him from his boxers, stroking up and down his length.

"I don't think you'll disappoint me, Draco," she said, a smug smile on her face. "What a naughty young man you are…"

He might love this woman. Really, he might. She released his cock and turned; he didn't hold back the groan that the absence of her touch evoked. It was quieted, however, when she pivoted at the desk and opened her robe. His eyes drank in her bare skin, her peaked and darkened nipples, and the pink flush that glowed on her cheeks and was starting to creep down her chest. Slowly, she divested herself of her knickers. At last, she was gloriously, gloriously nude, the large black robe hanging off her shoulders and framing her feminine shape. She beckoned with her index finger.

"Come here, Mr. Malfoy. Your detention starts now."

Oh, this was like bad porn, but he loved it. He stepped forward, leaving his trousers behind in a pool of fabric. She hoisted herself up onto the edge of the desk, parting her creamy thighs. He could see how wet she was, and he'd barely touched her.

"Do you think you can please me?" she challenged.

He nodded.

"Then get on your knees."

Draco controlled the knee-jerk reaction of pride; a 17 year old would be down almost as soon as his sexy professor ordered it. Draco Malfoy, Head (Gryffindor) Boy, wouldn't have any reservations. He just had to elbow aside Draco Malfoy, 25, Slytherin, genetically programmed for hubris. That wasn't too hard to do when he thought about tasting her arousal and readying her for a thorough fucking. He sank to his knees, looking up at her.

Her eyes betrayed faint surprise; she'd expected a protest. Then they warmed with approval. "Make me come, Mr. Malfoy, and then we'll discuss how to make up for your failing grade in more detail."

He didn't need to be told twice. He leaned in, pressing his face to the juncture of her thighs. She smelled so good. He dipped his tongue between the folds of her labia, tracing up and down, parting them. So wet already…he wouldn't tease her. Seventeen year olds didn't know how to tease, anyway.

He found her clit, swollen and sensitive, and bathed it with the tip of his tongue. It was time to find out what she liked by trial and error. Circles…she was purring softly, stimulating her nipple with her fingers. Good, but not great. Up and down next; that was better, because she moaned and he felt a surge of wetness against his chin. Side to side was about even. Direct pressure…he pressed his tongue against the pleasure button, reveling in the way she gasped and jerked and seemed almost to want to escape him and for him to keep doing it at the same time. She'd probably like this, too…

He sealed his lips about the bundle of nerves and sucked. Her hips bucked. He loved it when he was right.

"Oh God yes, Draco!" she moaned.

He had his method. She liked just about everything, though she might be a bit too sensitive for the heavy pressure. Smiling into her pussy, he ate her out like his life (or his future career) depended on it.

Hermione's reactions were padding his ego; in the space of minutes she was quivering against his treatment. Her heels were digging into his back. She was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling as she drew air in and expelled it in dirty entreaties.

"Ohhh…fuck yes…Draco…that's right…!"

He wanted to put his fingers inside her. He knew what happened when that other spot within her was teased. She'd come apart. She'd scream. Well, if he wanted to atone for the failing grade, he'd best start with the most intense orgasm possible – even if his school-aged self wouldn't have known what a G-spot was if he met one in a dark alley…

Without warning, he slid two fingers into her slick passage. She spasmed and cried out at the pleasurable invasion. He didn't let up, tonguing her clit ruthlessly as he delved into her, searching for that place the drove her insane. Draco knew he'd found it when her feet dug into him hard enough to bruise.

Oh, yes. That was working. Her pussy was tightening around his fingers, a trickle of moisture sliding down his palm. She was very close. The temptation to tease, to bring her to the edge and then back down again, was awful. But he'd promised he wouldn't. Besides, in this game, turnabout was fair play and he really didn't want her to retaliate. He was so aroused that his balls were throbbing, warning him that he'd best get off soon or he'd be in for a world of misery.

Draco gave her what she needed, pressing his tongue against her clit in hard, quick swipes while he stroked over her spot. She screamed, her hands working into his hair and pulling. Bugger, that hurt, but it was worth it; her body was trembling, her insides clenching about his fingers. It would be his cock soon. The thought made him moan against her; the aforementioned organ twitched between his thighs. The vibrations wrung another intense spasm out of her, accompanied by a few more gasping keens.

A long minute later, she flopped down on top of the desk breathing as if she'd just run a marathon. He lifted his mouth from her slowly, followed by his fingers. His knees were a bit stiff as he rose; that definitely wasn't a position he was used to. Grinning, he draped himself over her and licked his fingers as she recovered.

When at last her eyes refocused, he asked, "Was that good, Professor?" He couldn't quite manage to keep the gloating out of his voice. He knew it had been damn good.

"That was," she panted, "you receive…an Outstanding…in cunnilingus."

He couldn't help it; he laughed.

"Unfortunately," she went on, "that is not an area you're tested on…in Auror training…unless your boss is a…very smart woman."

"Like you?" he said, still smiling.

"Like me." She stretched beneath him, making sure to brush some very sensitive areas. "You've made some definite progress toward raising your grade. I think you've earned back a point."

"A point?" he protested. "I think that deserves at least ten."

"Five."

"Seven"

"Five, or it's none at all."

"Okay. Five," he nodded. The grin had not left his face. "What else can I do to earn points, Professor?"

Her fingers trailed over his lips, which were pink and still moist with her juices. "You can turn me around and fuck me stupid. Another orgasm like that, Mr. Malfoy, and you'll have your ten points."

She couldn't contain a small squeal of surprise when he physically lifted her off the desk. Then he set her on her feet, spun her, and pressed her down with a gentle hand in the middle of her back. She braced her forearms on the scarred wood, curling her fingers beneath the far lip. She knew she was in for a rough ride.

Once he'd taken care of the rest of his clothes, Draco stroked his hands over her taut little bottom. He wanted to smack it just once to see his red handprint blooming there, but that could wait for another day. His eyes feasted on the sight of her: her pert backside angled up toward him, the little pucker of muscle that he might enjoy one day if she let him, the lips of her sex wet and swollen and waiting to be filled by him…oh, Merlin, he couldn't wait any longer.

He sheathed himself inside her with one measured jab of his hips. God! Every nerve ending along his penis fired at once, sending a very, very pleasurable signal to his brain that made him shudder against her. She was hot and tight and perfect. Her hand rose to grip his wrist.

"Fuck me, Draco."

He exhaled. "Yes, Professor Granger." He pulled back and thrust in again, biting his lip at the feeling of her slick friction. She seemed to want it hard and fast; he was going to have to figure out how to do that without coming too soon. She probably wouldn't appreciate him stopping and casting a stamina charm. Willpower it was, then.

First he tried to think of something else while he rocked his hips against her. It didn't work. The lovely suction of her insides overpowered it, as did the feel and sound of his balls impacting her mons. Certainly the image of his cock disappearing inside of her over and over and her low, throaty moans didn't help. Fuck. Okay, well, he'd just have to make her come quickly and hope he'd hold out.

"Hold on," he said gruffly as he took hold of her hips. She barely had enough time to grab the side of the desk before he slammed into her to the hilt. The sound of her cry was still echoing around the classroom when he did it again. Once he found a hard rhythm, gritting his teeth against the rising pleasure, he reached around her and found her clit.

Now he did tease her, easing on and off of the center of her pleasure. She was moaning and gasping, half out of ecstasy and half out of frustration. Her palm slapped down on the desk and the sound made him start slightly even though he'd seen her do it.

"Dracoooo!" she groaned. It was as much a warning as an entreaty.

"I'm not going to last if you--"

"Shut up and do it!"

Well. She was in charge, after all. He took a deep breath and had at her as hard as he could, plunging in and out in the same breath while his hand pressed emphatically against her center. Speaking of breath, that was becoming more and more difficult to catch. Pleasure was pooling in his loins, expanding, drawing his testicles near to his body.

He felt her go rigid and then another magnificent scream burst out of her. She erupted into a flurry of contractions around his questing cock. His pleasure spiked into ecstasy and he knew he was crying out, too, as she wrung his seed from him.

Oh, God. Oh, hell. He had to brace himself over her, hands against the desk, to make sure his legs didn't give out. At this volume they could wake the entire castle and probably some of the dead. Thank goodness for silencing charms. Wait, had either of them remembered to cast one? No…but they were in the dungeons, nobody would hear.

"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione exalted, boneless against the desk. "Ten points to Slytherin…Gryffindor…whatever house you're in!"

"Mm," he groaned, still inside her, "I think that's a good start."

October 7, 9 am

Lucius woke slowly and blissfully, floating out of sleep without the aid of any alarm or spell. It was nice, save for the fact that he was alone in his bed, draped across it diagonally with one leg sticking out of the covers. There were two kind of people in the world, he reflected; those who preferred to sleep alone, and those who couldn't sleep without a warm bed-mate. He had never realized how much he leaned toward the second until he spent nearly three years with naught but a pillow for company.

He supposed he just liked the feel of someone being there. He didn't mind being alone, now, but before he'd found that his own company left a lot to be desired. Even if he had been remarkably closed off to his wife, he had always found comfort in the mere fact that she was there. It was the same with his son. If only he had been smart enough to show it…

Lucius blew out a breath and untangled himself from the blanket. He could run through every 'if only' in the book and it wouldn't change anything, so it was best not to bother. Things were what they were. He was lucky he was alive and free. Many men had made better decisions than him and still ended up dead.

He stood and stretched. He'd come out of football last night mostly unscathed, though he did have a bruise on his knee from an over-competitive opponent. Some of the men played like it was life and death resting on the next goal and he found that to be incredibly ridiculous. Then again, he wouldn't mind if pick-up football was the thing in life that most concerned him; it meant that everything else was as it should be. He ought to envy those men. Nevertheless, he still found it rather difficult to envy a muggle.

The Lucius of ten years ago would have wanted to kill the Lucius of today. He would have found himself repulsively muggle and common. He wondered, every now and then, how he had not simply rotted from the inside out with all the bigotry. In a way….he had. He was just fortunate enough that, like a bad case of the flu, it was reversible – and that no matter how deep he had fallen in to Voldemort's rhetoric, he had never truly surrendered his heart.

These were heavy things for the morning after the pub. He'd gone with the other men again and been a little confused at how comfortable it was. He had really forgotten what it was like to have (dare he say it?) friends, if indeed he had ever known in the first place. Again, the Lucius of antiquity would have struck him dead.

This was what happened when he was not kept busy. He thought too much. Shaking his head, he went to the loo to relieve his overburdened bladder. Once that was done he meandered toward the kitchen, scratching all the necessary things for a man to scratch in the morning on the way.

That was when he stepped on the piece of parchment the fireplace had burped out the night before. He registered the change in texture from the carpet and bent down to pick up the offending scrap. Recognizing his ex-wife's handwriting immediately, his eyes devoured her words.

Lucius,

I think I am in trouble. A few nights ago, a man and his two daughters appeared at my door looking for Giacomo. The man was badly injured and said that Giacomo was a healer and could fix him; I never knew anything about him being a healer. Whether it was just an accidental omission or something he purposely kept from me, it is showing me that I don't know as much about my fiancé as I thought.

Giacomo wasn't home when they came. The man asked me to care for his daughters while he went to a different healer and I agreed; they are young and I didn't want them to be hurt as their father was. Since then the father has not returned and the girls will not tell me anything. And you know how good I am at tricking people into talking, Lucius.

All I know is that their names are Renata and Daniela. I had hoped to get some information out of the younger one, Daniela, but her sister is with her every moment of the day and she makes sure that she doesn't reveal anything.

Giacomo has only been home for a few minutes and won't tell me anything, either, except that everything is fine. My gut is telling me to leave, but if I do there will be no one to care for these girls. However secretive they may be, they are still innocent. But I can't help but think of your warning; I know what machinations go on here in Milan and I hate not knowing if I am unwittingly part of that.

I guess what I am asking is that you look into your resources and see if you can figure out who Renata and Daniela are. If I have that piece of information I will be able to decide if I should cut and run or stay the course. I hope I haven't alarmed you, and please, berate me gently.

Cissa

He couldn't stifle the worried smile that appeared at her last sentence. She knew quite well that he would not approve of her lack of caution. He hoped that it was harmless, but his intuition was telling him it wasn't. Lucius moved toward the dining room table, where his resources about Milan's Mafia were stacked neatly.

Renata and Daniela…he'd heard the name Renata before. He combed his brain as he combed through the papers. Where was that blasted family tree? Renata…Renata…where had he heard that before?

His eyes fell on an aged newspaper article. Oh, hell. It was the one detailing the murder of Renata Scattori by Tacito Mancini. Renata was a Scattori name, then. Obviously the first Renata was dead, but there was nothing to stop any other relative from using the name again, to honor her…

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He hoped he was wrong. But when he found the family tree he was looking for, the neat writing confirmed his fears. At the bottom of the Scattori tree were Lorenzo and Gaetano; Gaetano was childless, but Lorenzo had two daughters. Renata and Daniela.

His wife had taken in Lorenzo Scattori's children. He knew nothing about the other Scattori brother, but if he was anything like Gaetano, he didn't want Narcissa to have anything to do with him. What really troubled him, however, was Giacomo. He was obviously in with the Scattoris; how had Lucius missed that? He'd investigated the man thoroughly! There had been nothing, nothing at all, to suggest that he had connections to the Mafia.

And perhaps that was the way he wanted it. Damn it. How was he supposed to do this? Common sense told him that to appear in Milan would not be very smart; he was still high on the Scattoris' list of undesirable people. It would be like apparating into the middle of a firing range. But a letter would not be immediate enough to warn Narcissa of the danger. There was a chance that she might not see it, or that the floo would be closed, and if it was, an owl would take much too long to get to Italy.

A glamour? Yes, that might be the only way. He sat down and quickly scribbled out a letter.

Cissa,

The girls are Scattoris – Gaetano's nieces. The man is his brother Lorenzo. Your fiancé has connections to the Mafia after all. Get out of there, now. Don't even take anything with you. Just get out.

I'll be under a glamour, but you'll recognize me because I'll be wearing that midnight blue robe you got me on your last trip to Paris. If you don't answer the door and can't leave with me right away, I will wait in Adriatica Alley until 19:00. If you aren't there by then, I will assume you didn't get this letter or are in danger, which are at this point one and the same. If that is the case, I will do everything I possibly can to find you. I pray that it won't come to that.

He didn't sign it. She would know who it was from, and if it fell into the wrong hands his plan would not be immediately foiled. Stuffing the letter into his pocket, he steeled himself and apparated back to the Manor for the first time in ages.

Narcissa grimaced as she took a Pepper-Up Potion. She wasn't too fond of the stuff, but after not sleeping more than an hour here and there for the last two days, she definitely needed it. Smoothing her hair down, she rose from her chair and willed herself to actually want the breakfast that she was going to.

The girls had not misbehaved in their time here. Daniela actually sort of liked her, in spite of the fact that she had been schooled by her sister not to tell Narcissa anything. The younger girl didn't know why, but knew better than to ask questions. Renata still looked at her temporary guardian like she was dirt.

Renata might be a perfectly nice girl, but she certainly wasn't showing it here. There was something about her that didn't sit well with Narcissa. The girl reminded her too closely of her relationship with her own older sister. Andromeda had always been a free thinker (and a good, hard puncher) and as such was mostly impervious to Bellatrix's will, but not Narcissa. She had been born a waif and couldn't physically stand up to her. Trying to protest against her verbally was like talking to a wall, and there was always some kind of retribution if she tried. There was no help from her mother, who liked Bella best (Narcissa was second and Andromeda a distant third), and her father was rarely present. So, at a very young age, she'd been browbeaten into being the vessel of Bella's will. She feared the same would happen to Daniela if she didn't find sanctuary from her sister.

But it wasn't really any of her business. If Giacomo said things were ok, it meant that their father would be back to take them soon. Though she wasn't entirely sure she ought to trust her fiancé's word anymore. She was about to turn into the dining room, more enticed by the smell of potatoes than she wanted to be, but the sound of the front door closing gave her pause.

Giacomo strode in. He was moving quickly and wearing a harried expression. Well, she wasn't going to hold back her questions because of that. He owed her some answers.

"Giacomo--"

But almost as soon as she had started, he spoke over her. "You have mail." He thrust a letter at her and brushed by. "When you are done, we have to talk."

Stung, she let him pass. They had to talk? That was the understatement of the century! She restrained herself from going after him and yelling. Maybe this letter was a response from Lucius. With a quick glance around, she unfolded the letter.

Her eyes widened as she read the brief, messily scrawled sentences. Lucius was normally very neat; the hastiness of the letter conveyed just how serious he was. Her heart leapt into her throat for more reasons than one.

Narcissa took a deep breath to calm her nerves. She had left her wand on her nightstand. Part of her wanted to go back and get it, but another glance at the note ruled that out. She was going to turn around and walk out the door. It occurred to her that she was only going from one man shrouded in secrets to another, but…what was it they said? Better the devil you know?

No, that wasn't fair to Lucius. Her ex-husband had changed, and drastically; he wasn't the same man she'd divorced. But that was all irrelevant while she was in danger. Narcissa straightened up and stepped toward the door.

"Narcissa, darling? Are you going out? I thought we were going to talk," Giacomo's voice sounded down the hallway. He was walking toward her.

She spent only a second near panic. Then she composed herself and turned. "The letter was from my son. He needs me. I will only be gone for a little while. Once I return, we'll talk."

Giacomo stopped in front of her. Then he reached out for her hand, and she tried not to start at his touch. For a moment nothing was amiss. Then his hand tightened around her wrist.

"We talk now, Narcissa."

Lucius cursed his luck as he walked away from the house. He had been relying on Narcissa answering the door and coming with him right away. She had said Giacomo wasn't around. But who should answer the door but Giacomo Cannavare himself? Lucius wasn't daft; he had asked to speak to Narcissa directly, but Cannavare had curtly informed him that she wasn't available and that he'd make sure she got the letter. Pushing to see her would seem suspicious and things could have changed a lot in the twelve hours that had incubated from the time her letter came through the floo to this moment. It might already be too late.

He had cast a quick privacy charm on the parchment, rendering it impossible for Cannavare to read. Even if he never gave it to Narcissa, he wouldn't suspect that anyone knew of his involvement with the Mafia. If he did give it to Narcissa she would meet him in Adriatica Alley if it was at all possible.

Regardless, if his wife (ex-wife, he had to keep reminding himself of that) didn't show by the time he'd indicated, he was going to have to switch to a more drastic plan. He didn't relish the idea of storming Cannavare's house. His skills were as sharp as they had ever been, but he had to go about this carefully. He was surer now than ever that he was missing pieces of the puzzle. It was hard to act without really seeing the big picture. Especially when he couldn't be certain of who was on what side. He'd grown up among Slytherins, but even Slytherins could learn a few things from mobsters.

Damn it, if only he'd seen her letter sooner! He might already have her safe somewhere that Cannavare and the Scattoris couldn't touch her. He bit his lip, feeling the scratch of the facial hair he'd given himself. He might have enjoyed reasoning his way out of a situation like this once; now the stakes were too high. Sighing, Lucius retreated into the hustle and bustle of Adriatica Alley, his mind full of turmoil and his gut full of lead.

"Giacomo, let go of me," she said firmly, tugging against his grip.

He ignored her and began to pull her down the hall.

"This isn't funny, Giacomo. Let go now!"

"I can't do that, Narcissa. Now please, come with me."

Oh, so he was going to politely betray her. How nice. Well, she could still be considered a waif, but that last year of the war Lucius taught her how to physically defend herself. He didn't trust the Dark Lord and his cronies as far as he could throw them, so he'd taken steps to make sure she could hold her own if he wasn't there. Her spellwork was never in doubt. However, she had no idea how to fight someone off without it.

Once he taught her the skills, it was him she'd have to practice on; he'd come out of dark corners at her, suddenly appear and attack to test her. She knew he meant her no true harm. He was only doing it because he loved her and he wanted to make sure she was safe. It was bizarrely romantic. Invariably, whether she managed to fight him off or not, they ended up shagging. There was something about a scare and a scuffle that set the blood pumping…

She was not going to end up shagging Giacomo. In fact, she was going to do something that she'd never do to Lucius – she was going to kick him in the balls, if need be. Narcissa gathered her strength, focused on where the weakest part of his hold was (the spot where his thumb and index finger met), and yanked her arm away from him as hard as she could.

It worked. She was free. Narcissa turned to run for the door. That was when Giacomo's hand clamped into her hair, halting her. A shot of pain radiated from the sharp pull on her scalp. Son of a bitch! Well, she'd taken great relish in learning this one, because Lucius had long hair, too, so it was just as easy to trap him…

She trapped his hand with her own and twisted around to face him. It hurt, and she was sure she would be parted with some of her hair, but Giacomo didn't expect it. He was wide open. She kneed him in the groin. A choked sound escaped him and he reflexively released her. Now to get the bloody hell out of this den of thieves…

She ran. If there was one thing slight people were blessed with, it was speed. She wouldn't be caught if she made it outside. She was reaching for the door handle when suddenly the heavy wooden portal was flying toward her. Narcissa managed to stop just short of it, but her beloved Louboutins got the better of her; her ankle twisted. She fell with a cry, blinding pain shooting up her leg. Oh, no…her ankle was either broken or severely sprained. She could see it swelling already.

Fuck. Tears pooled in her eyes, borne of pain and panic. She reached for the shoe, ready to pry off her impractical footwear and try to hobble out the door (forgetting altogether that someone was standing in the way), when a gentle voice sounded.

"Don't remove your shoe. It will help control the swelling."

She looked up, and it was the nail in her coffin. The man towering above her was him. It was Lorenzo Scattori – and this time around, he didn't have a scratch on him.