A/N: Vielen Dank LiterallyLiterary for Beta-reading! Thank you, dear readers, for your reviews; They're a great motivation! Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Please, read & review. Your reviews sustain me :-)

ICOW = International Confederation of Wizards

"The opportunity to secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself." – Sun Tzu

6 Destruct to Rebuild

"Like I already said, it was an accident," Hermione said impatiently. "I merely tried to avoid a catastrophe. Besides, according to international law you aren't even allowed to detain or sentence me. I've got diplomatic immunity, given by the ICOW and I'm a taskforce member –"

"– who infringed the law you ought to reinforce!" Hit Wizard Evert Provoorst cut her off sharply.

He shook his head disapprovingly and straightened his moustache. "We had to Obliviate four Muggles. Four, by Merlin's beard. My eleven-year-old daughter has pictures of you plastered all over her bedroom. What should I tell her now? Hm? That her idol was on the verge of blowing up a wandless wizard?"

The witch bit the inner side of her lips, nearly drawing blood. How she hated it if people pulled the hero-card. She did not choose to be a bloody poster-girl.

"Listen, Mister Provoorst," Hermione explained placatory, "I didn't mean to do any harm. Attempting to stop the seizure with protective spells seemed the most appropriate measure to take since Mister Malfoy failed to disclose that a magic-ban spell had been casted on him. But whoever was responsible for it, I find it hard to believe that our Minister would have allowed such crude measures to be applied on any convicts."

Evert Provoorst responded with a false laugh to show her exactly how he thought about that, and said curtly, "Lucius Malfoy claims you provoked him deliberately and invaded his mind. You know what this means according to US-Wizarding law? This is a serious offense."

That backstabbing git! Hermione thought angrily.

"Again," she said but failed to restrain the anger in her voice any longer, "I'm not a Legilimens. It was that curse which created a connection between us and forced me inside his mind. He invaded mine too. It wasn't my fault."

Provoorst waved dismissively. "Miss Granger, the fact is, you infringed the International Statute of Secrecy. You caused Mister Malfoy's seizure and nearly –"

"No!" Hermione's patience snapped. Angry tears were shooting up her eyes and she got louder as she continued in her most authoritative voice "How many times do I have to repeat myself that I didn't know and that it was an accident? I'm fed up with explaining myself over and over again. I insist on my diplomatic immunity. You have neither the right to detain nor interrogate me. Set me free at once if you don't want any problems with the ICOW!"

"You diplomats are all the same, aren't you?" Provoorst said, dangerously quiet, his voice carrying the sort of disdain she normally reserved for people like Umbridge. "You think you're better than the rest of us, don't you? Because of your privileges? But I'll tell you something. Your lot is nothing more but a bunch of corrupted officials, spitting on the laws we have sworn to reinforce day after day. While we are out on the streets, doing our damn best job to keep the Wizarding community safe, you detect and confiscate trinkets and trappings to protect Muggles instead your own kind, attend glamorous banquets and dine with Ministers, and rubbing shoulders with moneybags. I may not be able to sentence you but I can fine you, and I will. In fact, I'll fine you here and now with three thousand Guilders –"

"This is absolutely ridiculous!" Hermione screeched indignantly, her hands shaking from anger. "I don't have three thousand Guilders! I don't even have one thousand Galleons in my vault!"

He stood up and assessed her coolly. "I couldn't care less, Missy. Pay now or wait until the offices are open in Britain so I can inform your boss about your infraction. I do believe that he wouldn't like to be left out on the fact that one of his precious subordinates almost blew up the wizard who helped your ministry to catch You-Know-Who's followers. It might cause quite a scandal, don't you think? And I assume that the ICOW doesn't like to see their reputation tainted by such an ugly affair. So, if you're not willing to pay the fine, I suggest you to start looking for another job. Good luck, Miss Granger."

"No! Wait…!" she pleaded hysterically, "This is illegal and unfair and totally out of proportion!"

But he already flounced out of the interrogation room. Five minutes later, Hermione was locked up with two passed out and snoring witches, one sodden with something that must have been her own vomit. It reeked of stale urine.

"Well done! How very fucking well done!" Hermione swore, kicked into a wall and bellowed.

After throwing her heels into a corner, she massaged her sore toes and tried to organise her reeling thoughts. She needed to get out of this cell, but how? Three thousand Guilders (which was equal to three thousand Galleons) was an amount her vaults never accommodated before, since she was investing most of her earnings into S.P.E.W and into her personal research project on meta-magic. It was absolutely ridiculous, and Provoorst made it clear enough that he inflicted such a high fine upon her just to take her down a peg or two.

"As if I'm misusing my diplomatic status!" she exclaimed enraged. People knew nothing about her line of work. The only banquets Hermione ever attended were the annual and mandatory Christmas banquets, and Kingsley was the only Minister she befriended and he was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Rubbing shoulders with the rich? At the end of the day, the only things she rubbed were her temples to soothe the headache her spells caused.

Unable to pay the fine, the only option was to owl her boss, Perkins, but it would only make matters much worse. If Hermione were to face a hearing, the press would get wind of it and lead people into drawing false conclusions. Then, she would be forced to take on a dead-boring archive job, if not sacked immediately, thus depriving her of the only thing that allowed her to work without anyone breathing down her neck while pursuing her own research. But in the end, it did not matter whether she owled Perkins or not, of this Hermione was certain, because it would be very unlikely for the staff here to keep their mouths shut after collecting such a significant haul.

But what kept Lucius Malfoy from protesting in court against the magic-ban spell? Did Harry know about this? Did Draco know? Such an atrocity should not be kept a secret. It was a travesty against nature; a scandal! He could have died!

Oh God! Hermione covered her mouth in horror.

What have I done?

Sickness overcame her as the blunt truth finally sank in.

She nearly killed Lucius Malfoy.

Tears ran down her crimson face, hot from shame.

She nearly killed Lucius Malfoy.

Provoorst was right; it was all her fault. This was not how a role model ought to behave. It was her selfishness, arrogance, and pride that led to this nightmare. She nearly killed Lucius Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy who helped the Ministry greatly in the hunt for Death Eaters, who was her friend's father, who asked her to keep him company on his birthday. And considering their past, he actually treated her like a human being throughout their entire stop-over. And how did Hermione behave? Like a self-righteous arse.

By Godric Gryffindor, she fucked up.

The door flew open with a loud bang, causing the distraught witch to start in surprise.

"Miss Granger! You're out of here!" a young, friendly-faced Hit Wizard announced.

"What?" she exclaimed, still in shock, while the other witches in the cell merely flinched in their comatose sleep.

"You are free to go."

"Oh, thank God!" Hermione exclaimed, relieved as she wiped her tears away.

With her shoes dangling from her fingers, Hermione followed the wizard through the hallways of the New Amsterdam Magical Law Enforcement Department. Apparently someone must have talked sense into Provoorst, she concluded hopefully, but only just before she was overcome with a gloomy presentiment. It could not be. Murphy's law was wrong.

"Why am I set free?" Hermione asked nevertheless.

The Hit Wizard gave her a warm smile before he responded. "Mister Malfoy paid your fine."

Her heart slipped into her boots. "No, no, no. Don't pull my leg," she said disbelievingly, on the brink of laughing and crying hysterically.

He gave her a flustered look. "I'm not. I'm telling you the truth, love. Just heard it from the boss himself."

Her mouth opened and closed several times, unable to utter a coherent response.

"Ah, come on!" The Hit Wizard nudged her forward. "He just paid three thousand bucks to get you out!"

Which is exactly the problem! Hermione wanted to scream, a sob escaping her. Paying the fine in her stead was like rubbing salt into her wounds.

"How…dare…he…"

"Now, now. Don't cry. I know, that sort of kindness can sometimes be overwhelming," he said sympathetically.

She wanted to punch him.

Another five minutes later, Hermione's release form was practically tossed into her face by a sour looking secretary with magenta hair and heavily pierced ears, sitting behind the reception desk. But, tired and defeated from the events, Hermione kept her mouth shut.

A deep frown graced her forehead as she studied the paper. "This is wrong. Geneva isn't in Sweden, it's in Switzerland –" she gasped for breath and shouted "– and my occupation isn't being a cold-hearted Greeffindork-Princess! You even spelled it wrong! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Blatant hate flashed in the secretary's eyes and she hissed "What do I care? For all I know you dumped Ron!"

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Excuse me, but what did you just say?" she asked incredulously, her voice shrill. This, after all, was not something she had been expecting.

"Don't worry about Amber!" the young Hit Wizard shouted from behind before he emerged. "She's bitching around because she's Ron Weasley's groupie. Just sign the paper. Here's your wand – ouch!"

Amber had started kicking him violently into his legs. "I'm not bitching around! It was her who broke poor Ron's heart. He told me so!" Amber retorted and snatched the paper from Hermione's grasp just as she barely finished her signature. The quill gave an unpleasant squeak and drew a long black line across the entire form.

But Hermione did not pay attention to those two bickering employees after she saw the next two men emerging from the same hallway she just came from.

"…will be pleased, Auror Gysbert," she heard Lucius Malfoy say with a smooth and friendly voice as the men shook hands. "Let me apologize once more for the commotion we caused."

"No offence taken, Lucius – and thanks," the Auror said with a smile on his lips and both patted each other's shoulders reassuringly, whispering something inaudible to one another.

The trembling in Hermione's body started before she even registered the shock.

How was it possible that he, the sentenced Dark wizard, walked free while she, a ministry official and ICOW taskforce member, was being interrogated, thrown into a cell, and fined? How was it possible that he looked as if his seizure never happened? And why did he shake hands with the Auror who just arrested them?

"De Forest! Wynkoop!" Auror Gysbert barked in a frosty and authoritative voice and the Hit Wizard and secretary winced audibly. "Stop pestering our British guest and show some manners! I want to see you both in my office. De Forest, now! Amber, in ten minutes! Do fetch Provoorst and his team before, will you? What are you waiting for, Aidan? Move your ass inside!"

The young Hit Wizard hurried into Auror Gysbert's office, not before inclining his head reverently towards the Dark wizard.

Their eyes met. Hermione's pulse echoed in her ears. Lucius Malfoy clenched his jaw.

And he strutted to her with the determination of a predator approaching its prey. Hermione took a step back. It painted an evil smirk on his face that did not quite reach his eyes.

Bang!

The witch jumped back as Amber stamped her release form with such force one could think she'd been mortally offended. "Take your wand and clear my counter, domme slet!" the secretary snapped and to which the blond wizard's glare wandered to her. "Pardon, sir," Amber apologized fawningly and batted her eyelashes, completely missing out the seriousness of the situation.

"Hermione Granger…" Lucius Malfoy said quietly, turning her name into an accusation, a threat, and a claim altogether. He let his eyes flick over her release paper before he picked it up, deliberately slowly, and folded it, whereas the squealing sound of his nails scratching along the length of the paper made her skin crawl. Then, he let the paper disappear beneath his waistcoat.

He could as well just have stabbed her; it would have stung less.

Speechless and defeated, Hermione picked up her wand and fell onto the nearest bench, burying her face in her hands. A knot of raw guilt as big as her fist seemed to fester in her stomach and twisting her guts. This was the worst night she had in years, a disaster of epic proportion, utterly humiliating and degrading. She had been fined for inflicting the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy – the law she was appointed to protect. She had to endure nasty insults from one of Ron's plenty scores who just tried to flirt with Lord Voldemort's former right hand. And to crown it all, she was now indebted to the Dark wizard she almost killed in the attempt to save him.

Hot salty tears leaked through her fingers. Intruding one another's mind was worse than losing her virginity, and rifling through their memories pushed sexual intimacy down to the level of handshakes.

The bitter irony of it was that this mind-rape revealed that her facile image of the Dark wizard was absolute bollocks. In the end, and if everything else was stripped off of him, Lucius Malfoy was nothing more than a husband and father who tried to protect his family, and a son who tried to live up to his father's expectations.

Someone covered her shoulders with a soothingly warm jacket, its distinct aroma revealing exactly that wizard as its owner. It drugged her, reminding her of the overwhelming feeling of his body on hers while they had danced, passionately angry and fervently sinful, how his blazing touch felt on her skin – It was too much.

And for the first time in Hermione's life, she felt absolutely and utterly ashamed of herself.

She wept more.

"Na, na, na, Miss Granger, pull yourself together. Humiliation isn't lethal," she heard Lucius Malfoy saying patronisingly. "The next shift is imminent and I won't have you causing any further embarrassment. Up, up! The fireplaces are at the far end of the hall."

"No," she managed to say between her sobs. "It's too late anyway…"

Lucius Malfoy sighed and pulled her up.

"No it isn't, so stop sulking like a stubborn child!" he scolded her as she tried to shake him off. "If you want to deliver yourself from this predicament, you ought to come with me. Now."

Hermione sniffed, wiping the salty streaks from her face. But she held her head high, her lips drawn to a stern line, holding back the sobs stuck in her throat.

At least she had slapped him.

"That's much better," the wizard said, oblivious to her last thought and continued in a business-like voice "Now, when we arrive at our hotel, you have exactly fifteen minutes to take a shower, dress in something more comfortable, and take a calming draught before you and I are going to have a little chat. I expect to find you in my suite not a minute later if you don't want to risk your job and reputation. If you try to contact anyone in the meantime, I shall know and you will come to regret it – that much I can promise you. And don't even think about Obliviating me – the curse won't allow it. Do you understand?"

The nod was barely noticeable.

"Say it," he demanded.

"I…I understand." More than she wanted to.

"Good."

Barefooted and crestfallen, Hermione moved along the empty hallway while Lucius Malfoy strutted beside her, resting his hand on her back possessively. She felt like a hunting trophy being paraded through a sea of spectators, which in reality only consisted of her wounded pride and guilty conscience.

At least he spared her the applause.

Domme slet = Stupid slut (ned.)