Chapter Three
When she awoke, it seemed every inch of her ached. So much worse than how she'd felt upon awaking in the tent that she couldn't recall the events of the evening. Even without any immediate memories, however, some instinct told her to hold very still.
Just barely refraining from forcing a gulp down her throat, she took stock of what she could sense. She heard crackling . . . water dripping and echoing. Perhaps she was in a cave? How the ruddy hell had she gotten into a cave? She could certainly smell a thick dampness in the air, scents like mildew, but also the strange not-wholly describable scent of water on stone. And smoke, that oddly sweet and rich scent of wood burning.
Okay, she thought sure she was in a cave with a fire going. Again, how the ruddy hell . . . ?
At last opening her eyes, she saw in front of her a figure crouched before a haphazardly-constructed firepit. With their back to her and the light from the flames blocked by their body, she couldn't make out their silhouetted features.
But, as she roamed over the person with her gaze, still immobile and trying to scrape together her recollections of the time after she'd left the tent, she spotted the wand on the ground beside him. The wand she'd nicked during the chaos in Malfoy Manor.
Eyeing the mysterious figure once more, Hermione crept forward the tiniest bit, intent on snatching up the weapon before her companion even noticed she'd awoken.
"I would not do that, were I you, Miss Granger."
Her eyes shot wide. The sound of Lucius Malfoy's voice—low, but echoing effortlessly off the walls of the cave to mingle with the crackling fire and dripping water—brought the memory of stumbling over him screaming back to her. She knew with a troubling immediacy that if she turned her head, she would be in agony from the bite he'd given her between her neck and shoulder. Remembered how fresh the bite she'd examined on his arm had been, and yet . . . .
Yet those eyes that had flashed at her before he'd sunk in his teeth had been strained with that wolfish golden-amber—and he'd had sharpened teeth to sink into her in the first bloody place! Not the signs of one who'd narrowly missed the curse taking hold, like Bill Weasley, no. This was something else. She knew she'd not moved in any way that was audible to her just now, but he'd still caught her movement, even with his back to her.
He'd only just been bitten, how was he already on the brink of his first transformation? It took days for the lycanthropy curse to manifest in its victims. And how was he holding himself there? Under the moon's sway, yet not transforming? None of what she'd witnessed thus far lined up with anything from her studies on werewolves.
"You and I are both aware my current instinctive responses aren't to be trusted," he went on, moving in a way that she thought indicated he was prodding at the fire before him.
"I . . . ." God, her voice came out sounding like her throat was made of sandpaper. "I don't understand. What happened to you? How are you already—?"
"How am I already turning?" he asked, his broad shoulders slumping. "I should've realized you'd seen the wound and would know it's new. Your guess is as good as mine, Miss Granger."
Wincing, she carefully raised a hand to press to the wound in her neck. There was a wadded bit of cloth pressed to it, sticking to the damp and ragged skin unpleasantly, but he'd tried to dress the wound, she supposed that counted for something. Even if he was the one who'd wounded her, he was someone whose pure-blood upbringing and lifestyle had likely not equipped him to learn first aid.
"I don't understand," she repeated, gingerly moving to sit up. As she did so, something fell away from her and she looked down to see a cloak pooled around her. It was mostly dry and she didn't recall him wearing one when she'd pulled him from the mud.
Ignoring the question of how or where he'd gotten it from, she focused on the more immediate thought that he'd attempted to bandage her wound and covered her. Here, she'd always been sure that if Lucius Malfoy had ever found her in a near-death state in the middle of a forest with no witnesses about—once more, putting aside that he was the reason for her near-death state—he'd have left her for dead without a second thought. It also seemed he's used magic to clean the mud and soil from them, both, as she and Mr. Malfoy each appeared spotless, if a bit bedraggled.
She would thank him once she had a handle on precisely what was happening. Maybe.
"We were punished," he answered with a shrug, still facing into the fire. "The Dark Lord was so enraged that Potter slipped his grasp, yet again, that he turned that rage on us. Killed Narcissa on the spot, and commanded Greyback to bite Draco."
Her eyes flashed wide. Two Malfoy werewolves running about? She let it go unsaid that perhaps a 'Malfoy Werewolf' should be its own classification, some sort of subspecies, if something in their family's physiology had them responding to the effects of the bite so fast. But . . . Mrs. Malfoy?
As she tried to scramble for something to say, some words of comfort to offer, he went on. "I . . . well, I believe the term 'snapped' applies to what happened next. I saw him charging at my son and suddenly I threw myself in his path."
"Oh." The word tumbled out of her mouth seemingly all on its own as her brows shot up. That was an unexpected show of bravery from the Malfoy patriarch.
"I know, I still hardly believe it myself," he said with a derisive laugh.
"But . . . ." Blinking hard, she shook her head. "What about Draco, then? Did he still . . . ?"
"No. In fact, the Dark Lord thought the bite was killing me. Instructed Greyback to drag me out of the house to die alone somewhere." His voice was low, but bland, as though he wasn't affected by recounting the events for her. "Sort of odd, I don't think I was conscious for it, but I'm almost certain Greyback stayed by my side until he was sure I was dead. Though . . . ."
She arched a brow, wondering what there could be to question about that. Clearly the werewolf stuck around to see if the job had been left unfinished! "Though?"
"I had the oddest impression he was hoping I'd pull through." Lucius looked over his shoulder at her, then. When he saw that she hadn't moved, saw how she kept her hand pressed to her poorly-bandaged wound, he sighed.
Climbing to his feet, he crossed to where she sat, the cloak he'd found discarded in the woods—likely from one of the poor fools Greyback had dragged before the Dark Lord and bitten to add to the werewolf army—still covering her from the waist-down. From the sound of her breathing, he could tell she was in pain. He wouldn't dare to think just now that he could tell something like that from someone's breath, or that he could hear her breath so acutely over the sounds of the cave and the fire.
She managed to squeak out a surprised sound as he bent to slip his arms beneath her and lifted her. Though she looked about rather than at him—rather an awkward moment given their dynamic, she thought—her hands reflexively gripped around his neck as he carried her to the fire.
Setting her down, he surprised her yet again by pressing the wand into one of her hands.
When she looked up at him in question as he returned to his original spot and sat down, he only offered another of his languid shrugs. "As I said before, my current instinctive responses are not to be trusted. I think we'll both feel a bit better if you've a way to defend yourself."
Swallowing hard, she nodded, flexing her fingers around the weapon. "So why not just go back?"
His brows drew upward as he met her gaze with a look of utter disbelief. After a few heartbeats, he started speaking in a slow and deliberate way, as though he suspected his bite might have addled her brain. "The Dark Lord was amused at the thought that the bite was killing me. If and he learns I've survived, one of two things will happen. He will have Greyback finish the job, or he will force me to exist as one of his precious werewolf army. He will use my disgraced state to further torment my son, who is currently his prisoner. No, Miss Granger. If I go back now, it will only make things worse for Draco. I believe at the moment, Greyback will have no desire to reveal his failure to the Dark Lord—his opinion of werewolves is low enough as it is. No. If I'm believed dead, he will see it as a clean break for my son. He will afford Draco the opportunity to stand in my stead and prove his worth to the Dark Lord's cause."
There was a moment of silence between them then, and she found herself shifting uncomfortably. "I'm sorry about Mrs. Malfoy," she said, her voice low. She tried not to consider that he didn't seem more broken up. Sure, she'd be the first person to lob a joke about Malfoys and the terrible trouble Healers must have during examinations trying to locate their tiny hearts, but she could not know what he was feeling, or what losing a spouse did to someone.
Lucius' mouth pulled to one side as he stared into the fire. Nodding to whatever he was thinking, he explained. "You likely think me cold that her murder is not weighing on me more, hmm?"
Her eyes shot wide once more and her jaw fell a bit. Nearly as though he'd read her bloody thoughts. As she scrambled to answer, she became strangely aware that she could tell by the sound of his breath and the thud of his pulse beneath his skin that he was not upset by what he assumed she was thinking.
That was . . . unsettling. As was the way the details of her surroundings became sharper. Odd. Nothing seemed brighter, but the shadows beyond the edge of the fire's light took on varying degrees of darkness. Subtle differences that allowed her to make out the shapes in the night-dark distance as though the area was illuminated.
Sidetracked by her notice of the differences in what her senses were telling her about their environment, she lost the opportunity to speak against his assumption.
"I am angered that she's gone, Miss Granger, because I should've prevented it. But she and I both knew going into this war, that it was not likely all three of us would survive." He exhaled a thoughtful sound. "I will miss her, yes, but . . . as close as we'd become during the course of our years together, it had never been a marriage built on love. A smart match, they'd call us. And we got on well enough, so arrangements were made. Friendship, understanding no one else would tolerate either of us," he paused to breathe out a short, quiet chuckle at that, "and the mutual love of the son we would eventually share kept us together as a family. But, you see, as I said, we knew we would not all make it out of this alive. I simply always thought it would be me."
"It's still terrible," Hermione said, her voice small and trembling as she turned her attention to the mouth of the cave, trying to gauge what her vision could register out there under the blanket of night. "To lose someone you've been so close with for so long."
He nodded, a mirthless smile curving his lips as he stared unblinking into the flames. "It is. I suspect my life is going to get very lonely very fast."
She was surprised to feel the way her heart sank at his tone. Yes, it should be easy to feel sympathy for someone in his position, but given who he was and the things he'd done? She'd expected compassion would've been harder to scrape together for him.
All at once, however, she was distracted from any further attempt at offering consolation as she realized how clear the darkness outside the cave was to her. As she realized she could actually hear things outside—animals scurrying through underbrush and damp leaves rustling against each other in the wind. Yet, the sounds inside the cave had not become louder, only sharper, more easily distinguishable. Their direction and distance discernible to her.
Swallowing around a sudden lump in her throat, she felt her eyes water with her confusion. She snapped her gaze over to lock on Lucius' face across the firelight. "What's happening to me?"
Meeting her eyes, he cursed softly under his breath. "So I did pass it to you?"
"I don't understand!" Her voice came out halting and barely audible as she watched him climb to his feet and circle that haphazard pit to sit beside her. "How is this happening so fast?"
"Again, as I said earlier, your guess is as good as mine." He reached for the bandage on her neck, his features pinching in an unexpected wash of anger when she batted at his hand and leaned away.
She spoke through clenched teeth as she regarded him. "I suspect there's something about your lineage you perhaps don't know that's caused the effects to take hold so quickly."
His nostrils flared at the slight against his family line, even while he made another attempt to reach for the bandage. "I only mean to check your wound," he said, his own voice slipping out in a lethal whisper.
Again, she moved to bat at his hand, but he caught her wrist in his free hand. He arched a brow at the little growl that rumbled out of her throat, strangely fueled by her aggression as he yanked the bandage from the wound.
There it was, as he watched her, as she bit out a sound that was an equal mix of anger and pain. Her eyes flashed amber. Bright, wolfish amber in the firelight.
The sight of it triggered his own eyes to change, somehow. The sound of her ragged breaths and her hammering heartbeat seemed to crawl across his skin. Baring his teeth, he let out a deep, rumbling growl of his own.
Hermione wasn't quite sure what exactly happened next, or how she'd gotten there, but she found herself in his lap. Found her arms twining around his neck as his hands raked at her clothes and his mouth covered hers in a savage kiss.