A/N: Here I am again after such a long time! Thank you for sticking around with me.

Music:

First Part: Crave You – Flight Facilities, Giselle

Lucius' princely encounter: Symphony No.7 in A Major Op 92. II. Allegretto Beethoven by Wolfgang Sawallisch

Pub crawl: Alors on Dance – Stromae

"Men do not value a good deed unless it brings a reward." – Ovid

14 Nightmares

Few witches and wizards studied magic in such a systematic way as Hermione did, since logical thinking was a rare ability among wizarding kind. However, logic was a prerequisite for understanding the inner workings of magic, which is why she was the first witch who attempted to classify the structural composition of arcane energy. Proud of her work, she wanted to publish her innovative research someday. But this did not suit Lucius' plan. He wanted her paper to be handed in for refereeing for the upcoming issue of the scholarly journal Modern Studies of Magic. It was a bold yet clever move, as it included a call to its readers to help with interpreting inconclusive data that concerned a certain unnamed, cursed wizard. But she felt inadequate for admitting to the magical academic community that she could not publish a breakthrough yet.

Would she have admitted that in front of Lucius? No.

Did she regret agreeing to this plan? Hell yes.

It exhausted Hermione pulling another all-nighter for the third time this week. She was rereading the paragraphs she had written last night, but nothing made sense anymore. The more she revised it, the more she found her conclusions did not connect to her earlier findings on the arcane matrices. Perhaps she was just overworked and needed a fresh set of eyes on her work. Or perhaps her paper was just bad.

'It shouldn't be that hard for a witch of your abilities. Wouldn't you agree?' Lucius had said and Hermione's insides writhed at the memory. Getting her research paper ready was not just a matter of diligence, but also a matter of time. Time she did not have. But she wanted it to be perfect, and this definitely required a second opinion. Unfortunately, she could not find a peer quickly enough. It was a nightmare.

The clock was ticking, overbearing and relentless, telling her it was time for her cover work. Hermione forced herself to an icy shower and downed an invigoration draught just to make sure she stayed awake throughout the day. As the drought kicked in, her vision blurred. Her body demanded rest, which she had denied herself for days. A sharp pain surged through her right arm from the tension she suffered from since yesterday. But tending to it will have to wait. She rushed out of the house with her blouse half-buttoned up and frizzy hair, tearing open the Muggles letters crammed into her letterbox. Inside were bills, a NGO leaflet on saving sea turtles, and a bank statement that left her gasping in surprise; An unknown company called Grand Trove had transferred half a year's Muggle salary to her account. This cannot be, she thought as she counted the number of digits on her bank statement.

Still the same.

No, she did not trust herself anymore in her drug induced state. As soon as she arrived at the auction house, she locked herself up in the office and checked her bank statement once more. The result was the same.

Is this a poor joke? A scam? Out of her wits, she called her bank to inquire about this transaction, that stated that it was not an error. Hermione hung up. Now she was paranoid.

"I don't have the time for this!" she exclaimed. This had to wait too, she decided as her mobile phone rang. One cursory glimpse told her it was Lucius. About 777 miles separated them from one another, the Channel and the whole of France in between, and he still got on her last effing nerve. Despite being told many times to stop, Lucius kept calling her every day to inquire about her progress. But it got even worse: When she managed to get a few hours of sleep, he visited her in her dreams. It started always the same, the two of them in his study on that day she had analysed him when her hand trailed down his toned stomach, past his navel. But this time he did not stop her and her hand slipped into his trousers. She teased his heavy penis, exciting him until he would kneel before her, pushing her knickers aside and satisfying her with his mouth.

Hermione pressed her palms against her eyelids and groaned. She desperately needed a stress relief. Why couldn't she dream of someone else? That actor she met? Derek Bobbins? Victor Krum? Anyone? When was her last intimate encounter? Lucius was the only man she had seen with half his clothes off in a long time. And it felt so nice touching a man's body again, especially such an athletic one.

For goodness' sake! I'm such a desperate pervert. Thank god no-one can read my dirty thoughts.

Ginny's frowning expression came to mind and morphed into Draco's face.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. No! NO fucking. Think about donating to the sea turtle preservation campaign, yes?

"Ugh…"

Hermione turned her phone off, rolled her shoulders back and dragged herself from her desk for a lifesaving mug of coffee.

Later in the evening, Mr. Brown made tea in the kitchen, while Hermione studied the family photos on display in his living room. His much younger wife, Mrs. Brown, must have been about twenty when she had married her husband. Mrs. Brown was quite overweight and had a flat nose on a broad face. But her genuine smile and blue eyes were stunning. In one picture, she laughed and kissed a boy which must have been her son Kelly Brown, a now grown up and famous rugby player who had inherited her flat nose. Another photo showed the entire clan in front of a cottage and Hermione recognised Lavender Brown among the people. A sudden memory of Lavender flashed up, dead and staring into nothingness. Hermione felt a tightness in her chest and looked at another photo. It depicted the couple with politicians and their wives at a fancy party. There was also a black-and-white Muggle photo of two smiling young girls hand in hand, standing in front of a fenced-in, rundown school building.

"It's awfully nice to have visitors about." Mr. Brown entered the room with a tray, the china clattering from his shaky hands.

Hermione smiled and thanked him for the tea. "I'm very sorry to hear that your wife isn't well."

"You'd think it would be the opposite," he said. "Well, well, young lady, how may I be of service?"

"Mr. Brown…"

"Call me Richard."

"Richard. I'm here because Harry Potter and I are conducting inquiries about Lucius Malfoy's trial. We've already been talking to some people of the Wizengamot. But we need a better understanding of the entire case to…" How could she phrase that diplomatically?

"Possibly re-evaluate his acquittal?" Mister Brown concluded.

"Eh, yes, possibly." Hermione could have kicked herself for that lie.

However, he nodded in approval. "An evil man, through and through. Sometimes, I regret to have changed my vote. You know, I pleaded for the Dementor's kiss. But once that was off the table, the least he deserved was a lifetime sentence at Azkaban."

"What changed your mind?"

"Not what, but who. Kingsley, yes, he wanted them all, still wants them all, those rotten Death Eaters." Mr. Brown shook his head. "We needed names of the remaining Death Eaters. All of them. There can be no justice if even one remains free."

His gaze drifted to the photo of the whole Brown family. "Almost half of them gone, dead, and…" His voice cracked. Tears welled up in both their eyes.

"I understand."

"Do you?" he said. "Ah, I forget…"

Hermione bent forward, wanting to squeeze his arm, but before she could, they heard a muffled groan from somewhere in the house.

"Excuse me, my wife-" Mr. Brown rushed upstairs.

Hermione took a deep breath, thinking her presence somewhat tactless. "I'm so sorry that I'm taking up your time. Perhaps I should come back another day," she said as he came down.

"No, no, please, stay, I insist. What else do you want to know?"

"Apart from his role in the wars… did Lucius Malfoy ever work against you? Posed a threat to you?"

Mr. Brown took his time, letting his gaze roam over the family photos. "My wife and son are both Squibs. My wife grew up in an orphanage. You're Muggle-born, yes? You know that family plays a crucial role in our world. But for a Squib without a family… it's even worse." He blew his nose. "Lucius never threatened me directly, no, but what he did, carrying on with Abraxas' - his father's - agenda to oppress Squibs. How could they…" his voice was gentle but quivering. "Squibs are people too, yes. They deserve equal rights, just like any of us."

"I agree," she said while dying a little inside.

The floorboard creaked, to which Hermione drew her eyes up towards the stairs. A gaunt, hunched figure stood at the top of it, clawing on the rails to keep itself from falling. Hermione could have sworn it was an inferi; Deep furrows and wrinkles in waxy, greyish skin followed the prominent curves of the skull. Mrs. Brown's shaggy hair fell limp from her shoulders like spiderwebs, and her pants hung onto her bony, protruding hips like a skirt.

Mr. Brown rushed towards the figure with as much speed as his health allowed. "Dear! My dearest." He stumbled up the stairs and guided her back to her room while she uttered incomprehensible words in a scratchy voice.

"Christ…" Hermione said, horrified. It was heartbreaking to see Mrs. Brown in such a poor state.

Mr. Brown apologised profusely when he returned from upstairs. Hermione insisted she had already wasted too much of his time and left him to tend to his wife. Drizzle fell on her phone screen as she checked her missed calls from Lucius before deleting the entire list. Neither of them looked like they could kill Lucius. Mrs. Brown was incapable, and Mr. Brown did not seem like the type to commit such a crime. Lost in thought, she walked down the roadway to the village and into the local coffee shop to write her report. By the time she finished, her tea had gone cold. She watched an old lady doing her crosswords and tried to remember any sort of event that connected her with the ominous company Grand Trove.

A sudden spark, an idea formed in her mind whilst staring at that old lady, or rather the magazine, in her hands. Hermione's throat went dry as she doodled Grand Trove in capital letters on her notebook and stared at them as if she expected them to switch places. With a discreet tip of her wand, they eventually did and only stopped until it said DRAGON VERT.

"Green Dragon… Oh you…"

Hermione packed her things together, left some coins for the server, and darted outside.

Hundreds of miles away, Lucius waited in the venerable anteroom of the prince's office at his official seat of power. With hands folded behind his back, Lucius gazed outside the window overlooking the small realm surrounded by mountains and hills coated in a thick forest. The prince's ancestral seat was a 700-year-old fortress that had seen several families and renovations throughout the centuries. It had been sold and bought back by the princely house but always remained what it was; a symbol of ancient and impenetrable power.

"Your Serene Highness," Lucius said after they led him into the office. He bowed to the angular man standing by an enormous fireplace. The prince shook Lucius' hand with a slight smile on his thin lips, which stressed the laughter lines around his sharp grey eyes. Lucius did not smile back.

"Mr. Malfoy, please," he said and offered him a seat on the Biedermeier sofa. The wizard unbuttoned his jacket and sat down. "When was the last time we had bid against one other?"

"I believe that was over ten years ago. It was a long evening," Lucius said. The prince's smile reached his eyes once more. "Ah, Rubens' Decius Mus tapestry. You beat me to it." He lifted his forefinger. "My offer still stands."

"I keep that in mind," Lucius said with a hint of amusement. He recalled the evening when the prince offered him an outrageous sum for the tapestry he had auctioned from an infamous widow with a famous private collection. The prince was known for paying any sum to complete his collections. An egregious sum of 19 million pounds was the amount the prince paid for the Badminton Cabinet to complete his pietra dura furniture set. But Lucius had no intention of allowing him to achieve the same with the complementary tapestries of the painted Decius Mus cycle.

"Alas, you came here for a different reason, Mr. Malfoy."

"Indeed, sir, on an official but delicate matter."

The prince's glance was pleasant. Yet, it also expressed a sense of superiority Lucius did not like on a Muggle. Not even if it was a sovereign.

"One of your subjects, Anfin Rowle, an unfortunate orphan, is by birthright a British citizen. His father, Thorfinn Rowle, who's enduring a life sentence for his deeds, had entrusted the responsibility of Anfin to my care."

Lucius handed the prince a parchment whose stare lingered on the official seals before breaking them. He read the parchment, held it into the light that came through one of the small arched windows. The letter explained that Thorfinn Rowle hid in this principality for years, had a child with a local witch, and then fled to Iceland after being recognised as a war criminal. Unfortunately, Anfin's mother died in an accident involving experimental magic.

"The young boy's powers became apparent, which is why I had to address this matter with Your Serene Highness."

The prince scratched the bridge of his long, thin nose and nodded at the grubby old portrait on his left side. It depicted an austere looking middle-aged woman wearing an ugly ruff. Any trace of friendliness was gone as the prince asked the woman in his harsh dialect, which Lucius struggled to understand: "Is this true? Why hasn't anyone come forward to discuss this matter?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes and suppressed a seething comment on his tongue. He took it as a personal insult that the prince questioned the authenticity of the letter.

The witch in the portrait stretched her back and replied in a different, more intelligible, dialect: "The council decided not to intervene to avoid any diplomatic contretemps. We do not acknowledge Anfin Rowle as a wizard of our principality. There are no living relatives of his deceased mother and he is the sole heir to the House of Rowle. It would serve our countries best if Your Serene Highness would, by virtue of his office, decide to pass the boy to Mr. Malfoy's care."

Heavy silence lay over the room. Lucius wanted to laugh. It paid out that he convinced the council with a heavy bag of gold to take this decisive attitude.

Unfazed, the prince said with studied carelessness as if it had only just occurred to him: "Why am I handling this matter with you and not an official representative regarding the boy who is my subject? Who exactly are you, Mr. Malfoy, apart from being a… wizard with independent means?"

Lucius glared at the prince, showing his displease in his eyes that now turned golden, judging by the Muggle's shocked expression. "Your Serene Highness, if I may, the more relevant question is what I am to whom. To Anfin, I am his only opportunity to lay claim to his rightful inheritance. I'm his godfather and his solitary connection to his genuine heritage. As are other children whose parents met incarceration or perished during the last wizarding war on British soil. Anfin's father, Thorfinn, sacrificed himself to secure a future for his son. This young boy of extraordinary talents does not belong in these surroundings. He should be nurtured among his peers in his homeland. As for the question of who I am in relation to the wizarding world…"

Lucius crossed his legs and leaned back. The wizard spoke in a soft, almost nostalgic manner and revealed just enough to make it clear what kind of man Lucius the Second was.

"Hm," the prince leaned back too, tugging on his collar, which was now damp from sweat. "Hm," he went on repeating. "And what you require from me is my formal approval?"

"Yes."

Neither spoke, but both understood that nothing in this world came without a cost.

An hour later, Lucius arrived at the runway where Marius was already waiting for him next to a small Cessna with the flight crew Lucius ignored.

"How did it go?" Marius asked while taking care of Lucius' bag. He wore shades. This was not a good sign.

"Damn him! He insists on the Rubens' tapestry for the child! To complete his collection. Can you believe that? He doesn't even have the space to hang the Decius Mus cycle chronologically in his obscene Garden Palace, where he keeps them all. The tapestry has to be hung in a separate room along with the others. Pah!"

"Scandalous."

"It is, Marius, it is!"

"Well, should I contact your curator?"

"Yes, and Justin. God damn it!"

"But we have the kid, yes?"

Lucius climbed into the jet. "Yes, we do. We'll pick him up next week."

After the Cessna took off, Marius made several phone calls, while occasionally glancing at Lucius, who kept his eyes hidden under the shades and brooded over the impudence of Europe's richest sovereign.

"God damn it!" Lucius spat. "I need a bloody drink! NOW!"

Hermione stomped through the mowed grass of Lucius' home and followed the noises of men shouting. She spotted two figures clad in ivory-white fencing gear, which gleamed in the emerging darkness as they attacked one another with swords. They were encircling one another like wolves, considering the best moment for the next attack. Out of nowhere, one figure swung his sword forward, missing his opponent by a mere inch. Metal clashed on metal; the slimmer figure of the two grunted and forced his opponent to his knees by pressing down on his sword; their blades slid down their crossguards, and with a swift, slight movement, the sword of the sturdier one fell onto the grass.

"Take it up!" Lucius barked, but his opponent took off his helmet and nodded towards Hermione. She recognised Lucius' chauffeur.

Lucius turned. "Look who's here," he said in a foul voice as he peeled off his armour, tossing it onto the lawn. Sweat ran down his forehead and he dismissed his chauffeur with an imperious gesture. Raging fury gleamed in Lucius' eyes, telling her to fuck off to wherever she came from, which fuelled her own rage even more. What on earth possessed her to have filthy dreams about that awful man?!

"Are you sure?" the chauffeur asked, to which Lucius spat: "The hell I am!"

"How could you!" Hermione roared as soon as the chauffeur was out of earshot. "The money! On my account? From Grand Trove? Dragon vert? Green Dragon! Your HERALDIC animal!"

Lucius smirked and changed his shirt, showing off his bloody athletic body and his toned muscles. "Answer me!" Hermione demanded. "Have you forgotten the new anti-banking secrecy decree? What if someone looked into my accounts?"

Lucius' impersonal voice poured over her like a bucket of ice. "Well, you shouldn't have confided in Potter in the first place!"

"You did this on purpose? I can't believe it! You're insane!" She barely resisted the urge to pick up the sword, stick it into his heart and be done with it.

"Enough, young lady!" Lucius cut her off. "We have an arrangement, which you've breached. It's not my concern if you believe to be suffering from the consequences of your own actions!"

"I apologised. Isn't that enough, Lucius? Why are you still punishing me? We're screwed if anyone finds out!"

"My dear, it's evident that you've been generously compensated for your advisory role. Which is why I expect a bit more commitment. Instead, you've been ignoring my calls and dallying away your hours at the auction house rather than delivering some actual tangible results. What an absolute disappointment."

"How… HOW. DARE. YOU! You think you can just buy me like… like a slave?" Hot tears streaked her face. "All these nights I've been working just to finish that paper! You- you ungrateful, self-centred…" she clenched her fists. "Rot in hell, Lucius!"

With shaky hands, Hermione pointed her wand in his direction; Lucius walked towards her, confident, steady, until the wand touched his chest. He glared at her. She glared back. It would have been so easy to set him on fire, to petrify, freeze, or electrify him. All it needed was a flick of her wand. He was breathing heavily, covered in sweat, and she felt her body respond in ways she did not want to. She screamed a curse; a lance of fire shot out of her wand, missed Lucius by a whisker and set a whole bush on fire. She turned her heels, stomped off towards the town and disapparated.

Hermione had had enough of this bullshit. Her evening started with a coworker at a Diagon Alley pub, ranting about society, work, and the world. An owl later, Harry and Ginny joined, which was celebrated with two rounds of whisky shots. Sundown washed up quite a thirsty crowd of witches and wizards ready to moisten their throats with what some of them called liquid bread. The crowd grew and became so loud that they had to shout to communicate. Drinks after drinks were served, and Hermione forgot she wanted to have a quiet word with Harry to discuss her latest encounter with Mr. Brown. Someone came up with the fabulous idea of doing a pub crawl. From then on, recollections of what followed became blurred.

The next thing she knew, Hermione found herself wedged between Neville and Luna. "Oh, Luna and Neville, you're here too? How wonderful." Hermione kissed each of them on the cheek, not noticing Neville's embarrassed laugh in response: "Yes, we know how much you think it's wonderful that we're here." "Heavens! Look at that jawline! When did you get so fit?" Hermione said, lost track of that thought and turned to Luna: "Your carrot earrings are so fascinating…"

"Oh, my god. She's totally shitfaced…"

Torchlight blinded Hermione as she found herself in another pub, holding another beer. She watched a couple snogging by the bar. The longer she stared at it, the sadder she became.
"Why am I so alone?" she sobbed.
"Because you're a workaholic, Hermine," Ginny explained with patience and rubbed her back.
"But I don't want to! It's just that there's so much to do," she complained.

"Sh, sh, everything's ok. You're with us now in the Sphere for The Sons of Mandrakes concert. Here, let me give you something better than beer…" Hermione downed an entire glass of water.

"You're so nice to me Luna… I don't deserve you as my friend… nor Ginny." Hermione embraced them in a tight hug. "I want to come back home," she said in between her sobs. "Why aren't there any men as wonderful as you? Would you be my girlfriend, Luna?" "That's so nice of you asking." Luna said. "I didn't know you swing that way when you're drunk. But you would be so embarrassed once you've sobered up. Let's just keep it that way, yes? There, there…Ginny, help me heave her onto the sofa…"

"Ginny I love you-"

"I love you too, Hermione."

"Gosh, your hair is so silky, Ginny. I love silky hair. Can I lean onto you? I want to rest my eyes for a second…"

Hermione woke up with her head on Ginny's shoulder, her cheek wet from her own saliva.

"Better?" Ginny asked, to which Hermione nodded and wiped her mouth in embarrassment. "I think I have to go to the loo…"

Hermione came back dressed in her spare t-shirt and jeans and a tad sobered up after yet another invigoration draught. She tried apologising to Ginny and Luna for her behaviour, but they were having none of it and instead dragged her into the dancing crowd in front of the stage.

The Sons of Mandrakes concert was already in full swing, the cellar stifling hot, buzzing with raucous bawling, guitar and drum noises penetrating their eardrums. As she turned her head towards the ceiling, she watched strings of vibrant colours mingling with one another. Apparently, mixing alcohol with invigoration draughts made her see sounds. That was a pleasant side effect, she thought and moved her body to the rhythm of the music. The concert was a blast and after the last encore, Hermione staggered up the stairs for some fresh air, spent but content. She found Luna in a deep discussion with some wizards about whether Blibbering Humdinger existed. Harry and Ginny bid goodbye and Hermione made her way to The Leaky Cauldron. She wasn't up for a sleepover at Harry and Ginny's place; the last time she did, she woke up from their lewd bedroom noises. Hermione felt happy for them, but sad for herself, she mused as she passed by Nocturn Alley. But hearing them having a go at it was like hearing siblings -

Thump!

Hermione stopped at once and stared into the darkness of Nocturn Alley. Nothing happened for the length of a breath. But then it clattered again, causing a hushed argument between two people. The voice sounded familiar. Should she check?

Someone disapparated to which the one left behind cursed in the most vulgar fashion. Hermione's heart raced and adrenaline coursed through her as she connected the voice to a face.

Pietra dura = is an inlay technique to decorate architectural elements and furniture.

A/N: II hope you enjoyed this chapter. I had so much fun writing it!

Did you find out who the mysterious prince is? Have a guess. BTW, the rooms in the prince's Garden Palace are indeed too small to hang upRubens' beautiful Decius Mus cycle in the right order.