Eleven for a Party

Chapter 13: Eleven for a Party

Hermione and Snape spent the next several days like children with a new toy, never tiring of their wondrous discovery. Their timing couldn't have been better: very few students had stayed behind for the Christmas holidays, and duties were extremely light. Every spare moment was spent hiding out beneath the covers or conducting serious research into the other beds and surfaces of their living quarters.

Christmas Eve arrived, and Hermione sat before her dressing table, applying makeup in preparation for the ball at Malfoy Manor. She had tried to convince Snape they should remain at Hogwarts and send their regrets to the Malfoys, but her attempts to persuade him with other enticements had proved futile, yet satisfying. He had repeatedly pointed out that they'd made a promise to Draco, and she found his insistence on honouring the commitment charmingly noble. She was dreading the evening, but as she was nowhere near ready to explain the cause of her anxiety, her options for avoiding Malfoy Manor...and Lucius Malfoy in particular...were limited. At least she had the thought of dancing with Snape to look forward to.

Sweeping her hair off her shoulders, she arranged it into a casual twist, allowing some tendrils to fall loose and frame her face. She had chosen a deep red gown made of cool silk covered with chiffon georgette. The fabric caressed her bust and hips before falling to an off-centre slit at the knee with soft ruffling. She loved the feel of the fabric and the way it moved with her when she walked, gliding over her skin like soft ripples in a stream.

The top of the gown sported thin straps that crisscrossed behind her neck, leaving a great deal of her back exposed. The front plunged daringly and ended in a festive little spray of glittering crystals. Although the amount of cleavage exposed was more than she would normally allow, it was somewhat hidden by more softly shirred chiffon that draped elegantly across the front. The only way the revealing amount of flesh could be viewed was from directly above, and she fully intended that only one man would be dancing close enough to see that tonight.

Grabbing her cloak, she walked from her bedroom to the sitting room, stopping to admire Snape. He was wearing dress robes, which had always reminded her of a Muggle dinner jacket. He had not yet bothered to fasten the top buttons of his dress shirt, and the ends of the black bow tie were left to dangle enticingly around his neck. The small pair of reading glasses perched on his generous nose somehow added to the appearance of scholarly sexiness, and she realised that she was holding her breath as she surveyed him.

The book he'd been reading was quickly abandoned as she entered the room. He tossed it aside and removed his glasses, eyes narrowing as she approached. His gaze made a slow journey down the length of her body. She had become skilled at recognising the look of desire that came to his eyes, and she smiled in appreciation.

"Do you suppose the band will play a tango?" he asked, looking back at her dress.

Hermione considered her outfit for a moment and realised that with the deep red colour, crisscrossing straps, and the slight ruffling along the slit, it would be an appropriate choice for the scorching Argentinean dance. She felt her pulse quickening at the image of Snape leading her into the sultry steps, their bodies slamming together and legs intertwined. She had never before seen him dance, but he moved with such grace and agility that she suspected his talents on the dance floor would prove impressive, just as they had elsewhere.

"The tango is a Muggle dance," she pointed out. "I'm surprised you're familiar with it."

"I happen to be a lover of art," he commented dryly. Then he took another long, meandering gaze down her body. "In all its forms."

"Is that an invitation?" she asked, batting her eyelashes in exaggerated coquetry. She twirled on the spot, allowing him a glimpse of the revealing back.

With lightning speed, he left the sofa, reaching her just as she spun to face him. His hands clamped onto her waist, and she was pulled against him tightly, held completely still. There was heat in his gaze: she could almost feel the searing intensity of it, and once again she forgot to breathe. With achingly slow precision, he trailed one hand to her hip while the other moved to grasp her hand. Then he pushed her away with enough force to spin her half around, allowing her to face away before stopping her progress with a hard tug on her hand.

Her brain was racing to catch up as he continued to move them around the room. It took several seconds to process the fact that he was actually dancing the tango with her. He spun her around again, taking a step back as she neared. When she ceased spinning, it was her back that stopped hard against his chest. He immediately snaked his free hand around her waist and placed it flat on her stomach, moving his pelvis behind her in rhythm and motion to unheard music. The tops of his thighs pressed against her legs, the warmth of his body easily penetrating the thin fabric of her dress. Using the hand on her stomach in combination with his legs, he moved her hips in perfect timing with his.

Her hand was lifted and placed behind his neck. He skimmed his fingers down the length of her arm before coming to rest against the side of her breast. Her gasp echoed through the room. He repeated the process with her other arm until her fingers clung to the back of his neck, and she melted against him, feeling weak. Having her arms stretched up behind her had caused her back to arch: her chest jutted forward in a wanton pose, open to his exploration. Her eyes closed when his hands sharply caressed her. For a few glorious moments, her brain shut off, and she knew nothing but the feel of his rigid body pressing into her, hard planes perfectly moulded to smooth curves. Her body trembled with recognition as his strong hands slid over her breasts, down her ribs, and across her stomach.

He dipped his head and kissed the skin where her neck met her shoulder, finding a magical spot that instantly sent a bolt of desire to her core. She shuddered as his lips travelled up the side of her neck, once again holding her breath when they reached her earlobe. He flicked his tongue into her ear, eliciting a sound that was part-moan and part-whimper. "We'll never leave if we keep this up," he whispered.

"I'm fine with that," she told him, surprised by the breathless quality to her voice.

The kisses ceased. She waited, wondering if he would change his mind. His forehead dropped, resting atop her shoulder as his rapid exhalations heated her bare skin, and still she waited for his decision. He seemed to consider for a long time...longer than she thought he might...before unwinding her arms from his neck and returning them to her sides. He turned her around and stared down into her face, his expression fierce.

"We'll leave early," he said in a rough voice.

Hermione responded with a simple, "Yes, please." Blood heated and heart racing, she hardly noticed the bracing temperature as they left the castle and journeyed to a spot where they could Apparate to Malfoy Manor.

As far as Hermione could tell, very little had changed at Malfoy Manor since her last visit. She and Snape had Apparated into a narrow lane and approached the large wrought-iron gates in silence. They were swung open wide tonight, welcoming the partygoers. Stepping past them, Hermione suspected the bone-chilling cold seeping into her body had more to do with her own wretched memories than the frigid December evening.

As if sensing her discomfort, Snape placed his hand against her back. She found the gesture just as soothing as the contact. The imposing white manor loomed in the distance, and as they drew near, she could see lights sparkling festively in the diamond-paned windows. Inside the house, an orchestra was playing. Strains of music floated out towards them, cheerful and inviting.

Side by side, they approached the sweeping stone entrance to Malfoy Manor. Hermione's dread rose with each step she ascended, and although there were only a few, thin stairs, she felt as winded as if she'd just scaled a mountain peak. She hesitated at the top, concentrating on taking even, steady breaths as she gathered her courage. Snape leaned in close to her and whispered in her ear, "The sooner we enter, the sooner we can leave."

She chuckled, glad for his words and the way they chased away some of her tension. She turned to face him and was struck by the immense power within his presence. Strength radiated from him, wrapping around her like a warm blanket of peace, calming her more than she would have thought possible, considering she stood at the threshold to the source of so many nightmares. Placing her palms on his chest, she rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.

"Well, well. The mistletoe seems to be working," drawled the familiar voice of Lucius Malfoy from the doorway.

Hermione stepped away from Snape, and a sudden, terrible thought entered her mind. It had been several years since the war, and much had been forgotten and forgiven. But old prejudices still lingered, and she wondered if Snape would despair of his Muggle-born lover now that he was surrounded by the cream of the pure-blood crop.

"Lucius," said Snape in acknowledgment. Hermione was pleased to hear a trace of irritation in his voice, as if he hadn't cared for being interrupted.

"Severus, so good to see you up and about," said Lucius. Then he turned his gaze to Hermione, and she tried not to recoil. "And Miss Granger! How delightful to have you join us... again."

Hermione didn't miss the way his smile changed as he ended his statement, as if desiring to remind her of her last visit. Bastard, she thought to herself. But she was determined to deprive him of the satisfaction of seeing her upset by memories or in any way fearful of him.

She plastered an amazingly bright smile on her face and said enthusiastically, "Thank you for inviting me. It's lovely to be here."

Lucius stepped back to allow them entrance. They walked into the enormous hall as rows of sallow Malfoy ancestors stared down their aristocratic noses at them. Lucius moved to take his place beside his pale wife, who was greeting a portly little wizard who had just arrived.

Snape removed Hermione's cloak, passing it to a nearby servant along with their heavy coats. She glanced over at Lucius and found him watching her closely, speculatively. She supposed many women would find him handsome: his face was remarkably unlined, and beneath his expensive dress robes, his body appeared toned, a slight bulge of muscles visible in all the right places. She had heard of magical spas in Switzerland where a witch or wizard who was willing to spend a small fortune could obtain the latest in age-reversal spells. Lucius had obviously indulged in the finest treatments his money could procure: he looked at least a dozen years younger than she knew him to be. Even so, she could never get past the brittle, soulless gleam in his eyes to ever consider him physically attractive. With Snape at her side, she made her way back to Lucius and Narcissa and exchanged brief pleasantries before entering the ballroom.

Hermione felt her shoulders relax and a sigh of relief escaped her lips. The first encounter with Lucius had passed without incident, and she was glad to have it behind her.

"I believe you promised me a dance," Snape said in her ear, earning himself a grateful smile. He led her onto the dance floor where she stopped to admire the magical orchestra on display before them. There was a full contingent of instruments, impressive in itself, but even more notable for the lack of musicians. The pieces floated in place, playing their perfect notes as bows raced across strings and flutes danced in the air. Each section had been enchanted to play an amazing selection of works, and even the conductor's baton hung suspended in the air, pointing rhythmically as it led the ensemble.

Snape was an excellent dancer, as she had suspected he would be. He led her around the floor effortlessly, and it soon felt as if they'd danced together for many years, so familiar were they with each other's movements.

Hermione was surprised by how quickly the evening passed. They spent a pleasant couple of hours dancing and visiting with the numerous witches and wizards in attendance, then turned their attention to the many delicacies offered on the sumptuous buffet.

Snape's status as hero soon became evident, and several people treated him like a bit of a rock star. It was obvious he didn't care for the attention being foisted upon him, which Hermione found rather humorous after his years of taunting Harry for fame and notoriety. He did not appear amused when she pointed this out to him, however, and deliciously promised retribution for her cheek.

As the hour grew later, they spent time with Draco and Luna and chatted briefly with Gregor Ustinov, the new Minister of Magic who had replaced a retiring Kingsley Shacklebolt two years earlier.

Hermione had never met Ustinov before and had to admit that his leadership thus far had yielded mixed results. He was obstinately by-the-book, which wasn't necessarily a quality that Hermione disliked, but he had shown himself to favour rules above reason on more than one occasion, and that was never a good sign.

Ustinov was a tall, thin man with rapidly receding wisps of willowy grey hair brushed sideways in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his balding pate. His features were unremarkable other than a pair of abnormally large, full lips that were strangely mismatched to anything else on his face.

"Severus, so good to see you again," he said as he greeted Snape. Hermione noticed he had an odd speech impediment: not a lisp, per se, just a bizarre habit of making his "s's" sound like "sh's," so that Snape's given name was pronounced as "Sheverush." She idly wondered if his inordinately large lips were partly to blame for this.

Snape politely bade the Minister a pleasant holiday and introduced Hermione when Ustinov turned his curious brown eyes on her.

"This is Hermione Granger, a fellow professor at Hogwarts," Snape informed him.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Minister," Hermione said with a smile, feeling a bit childish for her fixation over his speech.

"Yes, hello," he told her, flattening his mouth into an astoundingly thin line while offering his hand for a limp handshake. His murky eyes studied her intently, and a strange snarl curled his upper lip, as if he smelled something unpleasant.

Turning back to Snape he frowned slightly and said, "I must be going." Then he raised one eyebrow and seemed to regard Snape quizzically before turning on his heel and joining other wizards vying for his attention.

"What an odd man," Hermione remarked when he was out of earshot. "I didn't realise you had met him before."

"Yes, he came to St Mungo's for a photo opportunity."

"Oh, of course," she said quietly. She slipped her arm through his in a subconscious gesture of support at the reminder of his many years spent in the hospital. He patted her hand and gazed at her intently, as if he were working out a complicated Arithmancy problem in his head. Then he smiled, and she quickly forgot all about the new Minister of Magic, caring little for anything but the man leading her back onto the dance floor.

She was glad for the many people occupying the ballroom, as it gave her an excellent excuse for diversion. Several times throughout the evening, she had seen Lucius Malfoy watching her, and she had the distinct feeling he was trying to catch her alone. She took careful steps to ensure she remained surrounded by fellow partygoers. The tactic worked, and he seemed reluctant to approach her with anyone around.

She'd been flirting with Snape...suggesting they'd been there long enough...when Draco sought them out and insisted on dancing with her. Snape walked away graciously, which, considering the way she'd just propositioned him, showed amazing generosity.

"I believe I know someone who's going to have a happy Christmas," Draco told her with a knowing smile.

"I haven't any idea what you're talking about," she said with a laugh.

"I'm thrilled for you, Granger. For both of you, actually. Severus deserves something bright and good in his life at last."

"Yes," Hermione agreed and then frowned. She'd been doing everything she could to avoid her past tonight...living a lie that was neither bright nor good. On top of that, she'd been incredibly selfish, so concerned with her own memories of Malfoy Manor, she hadn't once stopped to consider what horrific things Snape had experienced here. Voldemort had used this house as a sort of command post during the war, and as his most trusted advisor, Snape would have undoubtedly been a frequent visitor.

Feeling remorseful, she searched the room as she continued to dance with Draco. She located Snape at last, standing by the fireplace with his arms folded across his chest. An old witch stood beside him, talking excitedly. His shoulders were slightly slumped, and he looked exceedingly bored, but when their eyes met, he instantly straightened. The dull look fled his face, replaced by a slight smile, just for her. She smiled back at him slowly.

"Girl, you've got it bad," Draco drawled as he watched her face.

Hermione looked at him quickly and swallowed hard. "I know," she admitted. She hadn't wanted to think about it, and even now, she wasn't entirely convinced that her heart simply didn't know the difference between intimacy and love. But each time he touched her, she felt her armour slipping further, and she was helpless to stop it. "I just wish he did, too," she told Draco quietly.

"He hasn't taken his eyes off you all night," Draco told her. Knowing his keen powers of observation, she believed he spoke the truth. But it didn't come close to convincing her that Snape's feelings matched her own.

"I think he just likes the dress," she said with a smile.

"Every man in the room likes the dress, love," he confirmed, making her giggle. "But only one gets to leave with the woman inside it."

Hermione felt herself blushing and thought, it's enough. She had known going into this that Snape would never be hers to keep. She would just have to learn to savour however much he would give to her while she could and hope it continued to be enough.

They finished their dance, and Draco led Hermione to Luna, who was sitting in the corner watching the dancers with a smile on her face. Draco excused himself, and the two women sat in companionable silence, gazing at the elegant couples swirling around the dance floor, a colourful blur before their eyes. After a few minutes, Luna informed Hermione that she felt like going for a walk. She stood and held out her arm, and Hermione took it, no longer surprised by the way Luna rarely conformed to the normal standards of society.

They strolled around the perimeter of the ballroom, and Luna said, "You and Professor Snape look lovely together."

Coming from anyone other than Luna, the words "Snape" and "lovely" being used in conjunction would seem sarcastic, but Hermione knew she was being genuine. "I had hoped we were being discreet," she told Luna.

Luna smiled her faraway smile and said, "Oh no, it's quite obvious. Of course, people don't always see things the same way I do, so it's entirely possible I'm the only one who's noticed."

Hermione laughed and said, "I've missed you, Luna."

Luna smiled, plainly touched. She looked away and appeared to be contemplating something. "You know, in school, everyone always thought you and Ron would get together. But I never could see that. You're much more suited to Professor Snape. I think you're very much alike."

Hermione arched her brow. "Are you saying I sweep around the castle like a bat and terrorise my students?" she asked with a laugh.

Luna chuckled and said, "I doubt that. No, I mean that you're both smart and charming and noble and strong."

"Don't let Severus hear you say that," warned Hermione. "I can't imagine he'd enjoy being referred to as charming, and he just might hex you for suggesting he's noble.

"But he is, isn't he?" Luna persisted, piercing her with a questioning gaze.

Hermione nodded and felt the absurd sting of tears in her eyes. "Yes, he is," she whispered.

"I'm so pleased for you," Luna told her. "I've been hoping you'd find happiness. Of course, I'm feeling rather happy, and it makes me just want to see everyone as content as I am."

Hermione watched as a small, secretive smile played across Luna's shining face. Without any further preamble, she announced, "I'm pregnant."

Hermione gasped and stared into her friend's face, smiling at the joy she saw. "That's wonderful, Luna! Congratulations!"

"Thank you. It's very exciting. Draco doesn't want to tell anyone yet: he didn't want his parents announcing it to the world tonight."

"That's understandable," said Hermione.

"Mmm. I think he likes the idea that it's just our little secret for now. But I don't think he'd mind me sharing with you," she said. A small frown creased her brow as her voice trailed away.

"I'm honoured, Luna," she told her.

"I think you're rather good at keeping secrets though, aren't you?" Luna asked, and Hermione froze. Her mind tumbled frantically, searching for an explanation for her words...for some idea of what secrets Luna could possibly know about.

Luna elaborated, "You were the one that kept Dumbledore's Army safe from discovery for so long."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief and then cursed herself for feeling so paranoid. Being in such close proximity to Lucius was obviously making her jumpy.

They continued walking and eventually left the ballroom. Soft music flowed into the entrance hallway, caressing their ears as their feet sunk into the luxurious carpet. Luna sent an absentminded wave to one of the portraits on the wall, and they soon entered the drawing room.

Hermione surveyed her surroundings as a chill ran down her spine. The last time she'd been in this room, the furniture had been carelessly pushed against the walls and Bellatrix Lestrange had been using the Cruciatus Curse to torture her. The room looked lovely now, filled with decadent chairs and dominated by the large marble fireplace.

Somehow, she couldn't reconcile the beauty of the room with her memories of it. "Doesn't it bother you to be back in this house?" she asked Luna suddenly.

Luna turned her large blue eyes to Hermione and drew her brows together. "It used to," she admitted. "But I find if I stay away from the cellar, then I don't mind it so much."

Considering the many weeks Luna had spent locked in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, Hermione was amazed that she now seemed so content with her life, having married into this family. Then again, few people could have guessed the secret behind Hermione's intense dislike of Lucius Malfoy: the rest of the wizarding world seemed to accept the fact that he'd repaid his debt to society. Gregor Ustinov's presence tonight only confirmed this. She had no doubt that for all outward appearances, Lucius was an upstanding citizen and a tolerable father-in-law to Luna.

Unfortunately for Luna, Lucius was the only father figure she had left. Xenophilius Lovegood had died peacefully, not long after Luna and Draco had wedded. In many ways, it had seemed that old Xenophilius had just been waiting to make sure his daughter would be cared for before passing from the earth.

"The girls are usually here with us, you know," Luna said. "And there's something about the sound of children laughing that seems to chase away the darkness."

Hermione nodded, then frowned as she watched Luna's eyes grow wide and a bizarre look overcome her features. Luna quickly pulled her arm away and said, "They call it morning sickness, but I always get it at night!" before hurrying from the room in a blur of blue ball gown.

Hermione started after her friend in concern, but she had quickly disappeared around a corner, and Hermione had to assume that Luna knew this house better than she. Making a mental note to send over a bottle of her Sickness Potion, Hermione turned back to the drawing room for one final look. She stood in the centre of the room, and her eyes rose to the magnificent crystal chandelier which was obviously a new addition. She had been in a state of semi-consciousness when Dobby had dropped the old chandelier the day he had rescued them. In her head, she could still hear the horrendous crash as the crystal had shattered into thousands of shards.

"Reminiscing?" asked a cold voice, startlingly close behind her.

Hermione spun, cursing the sound-muffling ability of the thick carpet. Lucius Malfoy stood towering over her, so close the scent of his expensive cologne filled her nose and made her stomach knot. The delight in his smile was a chilling contrast to the menace in his eyes.

"I was just admiring the new chandelier," she told him, pointing to the ceiling. She was hoping he had some unpleasant memories of his own: Voldemort had to have punished his faithful subjects severely for letting Harry slip through their hands that day.

She was glad to see his lips curl in displeasure.

"You've been avoiding me," he accused.

"I'm sure you're imagining things," she told him, stepping around him to leave the room.

He made a derogatory "tsk" as he grabbed her arm and shifted his body to block her exit. "Such appalling manners, Miss Granger. One might be forced to question your upbringing," he said nastily.

"Let go of me."

Rather than releasing her, his fingers bit deeper into her arm.

"That's hardly an appropriate way to treat your kind host," he began, "or your former employer."

Her gaze flicked to the door of the room, checking to see if they could be overheard.

Lucius noted her actions and said, "Ah, let me guess... You haven't told anyone that you worked for me." There was a twisted smile on his face at having made the discovery.

A quick memory surfaced in her mind, transporting her back to her hiding place in a cramped broom cupboard at Arglist Industries. She had been shocked to recognise Lucius's distinct voice and had hidden herself instinctively. She'd held her breath as he had spoken to Henri Garnier, the Director of Arglist, discussing the horrible ways they would use the results of research she had once thought brilliant.

"I didn't know I worked for you," she hissed at him. "If you recall, I left the moment I found out."

Lucius' face contorted with fury, lips snarling as his fingers squeezed her arm harder. "I quite clearly remember the fact that you destroyed millions of Galleons worth of equipment and research first, you impulsive little bit..."

"Has anyone seen..." Draco's distracted voice came floating in from the door. Both Malfoy men stopped speaking at the same time, regarding each other coolly in the strained silence. Lucius's hand remained clamped on Hermione's arm, but before she could open her mouth to speak, his fingernails sunk into her flesh in warning. He shielded the sight with his robes, hiding his actions from Draco's vision.

Draco seemed very aware of the expression on Hermione's face, however. He looked back and forth between his friend and his father, and his brows drew together in a frown. "What's going on in here?" he asked quietly.

"That's not your concern, Draco," Lucius replied sternly. "Miss Granger had just agreed to grace me with a dance." Then he turned to Hermione and asked, "Shall we?"

Hermione could see the dare in his cold blue eyes, taunting her to refuse. She considered briefly, wondering how much he was willing to say...how much she was willing to refute...if forced. So many secrets, she thought with disgust. He'd be implicating himself as well, but the damage he could inflict in the process was considerable. It wasn't a risk she was willing to take.

"Of course," she said and allowed herself to be led from the room.

Draco was regarding her intently, and she knew she must have looked upset: she could feel her cheeks burning. She averted her eyes from Draco as she walked past, wanting to avoid a scene at all costs.

"Now, where were we, Miss..." Lucius began in a quiet voice but stopped when Draco called out to them.

"Hermione, I forgot... Severus wants you to meet..." he started, but Lucius snapped at him again.

"Don't interrupt, Draco!" he silenced him angrily. "You were raised better."

Lucius ushered her through the hallway and back to the ballroom where she began searching the many faces for Snape.

"Looking for someone?" Lucius asked mockingly. He placed his hand on the bare skin of her back as he led her into a waltz. Hermione shrank from his touch, an act he undoubtedly noticed. He splayed his fingers out and explored, seeming to enjoy the look of revulsion on her face.

Smiling down at her, he said, "Mikolaj tells me the Acromantula Venom was a stroke of genius."

Hermione felt sick at the confirmation that Mikolaj Brukowski, her old Potions professor, was indeed trying to pick up the research she'd left behind. Her stomach twisted more at his next words.

"He's found a way to neutralise the Dragon Bile, though." His smile grew lurid.

"Mikolaj would never be working for you if he knew what you were planning," she told him hotly.

"Oh, but he does know, my dear: he's known all along. Why do you think he encouraged you to accept employment with Arglist in the first place?" he asked, his expression almost gleeful.

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. She remembered how odd it had been when Brukowski had come to her, suddenly suggesting she take the job with Arglist Industries. Her hands began to shake at the realisation that Lucius had been holding the reins, even those many years ago.

He chuckled at her silence and continued to spin her around the dance floor, nearer to the orchestra.

She looked away and stared at the other couples gliding along happily, oblivious to the terrors inside her head as they blithely enjoyed the holiday party. She knew that anyone watching them would think Lucius Malfoy the most charming of hosts. They'd have no idea the evil he was capable of, and they'd never suspect that his arm around her waist felt more like the walls of a prison closing in on her.

"It doesn't matter," she said at length, although she could hear the uncertainty in her own voice. "Brukowski can have all of my notes. He still won't know how to recreate the samples."

Lucius clenched his jaw. For a fraction of a second, an unpleasant snarl crossed his face, fleeing as quickly as it had appeared. She knew she had finally managed to score a point against him. Lucius must have already come to the conclusion that her notes were not enough, and she felt a small ray of hope that the horror she had unintentionally created was truly gone forever.

His features suddenly arranged themselves into a handsome smile. "I fear you underestimate me, Miss Granger," he said, sounding refined and polite. She trusted this side of him even less.

In an equally polite tone, she replied, "Not at all: I've always regarded you as the very incarnation of evil."

"Ah, but I'm a generous man," he said, ignoring her insult. "If you return, I'll forgive you the immense cost of the destruction you caused at Arglist. Mikolaj can be your apprentice: how would that suit?"

"Not a chance," she told him flatly.

"Be reasonable, my dear. A brand new laboratory... The best equipment money can buy... Every convenience in the world at your fingertips. Surely you miss that?" he purred.

Hermione remembered the first time she had seen the amazing labs at Arglist Industries and how desperate she had been to work there. After six years of second-hand, grant-funded equipment at Jagiellonian University, the appeal of everything Arglist had to offer had been overwhelming. They'd possessed equipment she'd only read about in periodicals, some pieces one-of-a-kind. It had been ridiculously easy to accept their offer of employment, and that, she realised in retrospect, should have been her first warning.

The pull had been intoxicating, drawing her in like a lover who knew every illicit fantasy that had ever entered her mind. From the power of running her own lab with her own rules, to the limitless resources provided to her, she'd been given everything she could think to ask for. Too late, she learnt that such greed and desire always come at a terrible cost. She would never allow herself to repeat that mistake, so she answered Lucius's question rather flippantly. "No thanks. I prefer my draughty castle."

"Come now, Miss Granger," he whispered, spinning her in a circle and placing his mouth very near her ear. "Everyone has a price. What is it you want most in this world? Just name it."

Hermione was surprised when a sudden image of Snape rose in her mind. Lucius's smile broadened as he watched her. Too late, she realised the corners of her mouth had lifted when she had pictured her lover. Not wanting him to misinterpret her expression as deliberation, she frowned and shook her head, but her refusal was lost by his next actions. A change in the cadence of the dance had the couples turning large, sweeping circles on the dance floor. Lucius took the opportunity to manoeuvre her around the side of the orchestra and through a heavy black curtain at the edge of the ballroom. A sudden blast of icy air forced her lungs to constrict: he had brought her outside, alone on the cold, dark terrace.

While her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Hermione tried to pull away from him, determined to find her way back to the curtain. But the man obviously knew his house better than she did and deftly steered her away from her goal, refusing to relinquish his hold. He gripped her arms tightly and backed her into the hard, stone wall of the house. The frigid rock bit into her bare back, causing her to gasp loudly.

The sound of her cry seemed to encourage him, and he pressed himself against her body. She pushed against him, the taste of bile rising to the back of her mouth at the feel of his thighs flattening hers. She beat her fists against his chest, but he was standing so close that it was impossible to put any leverage into her blows. Shock flooded into her brain. She'd been certain that Lucius had always despised her: he'd treated her with nothing but disdain until tonight. But as his body pinned her to the freezing wall and his hips ground into hers, a different kind of fear gripped her. She struggled to push him away, intensifying her efforts to extricate herself.

Although she could hardly be considered a weakling, Lucius's strength proved far superior to hers. She soon accepted the fact that her efforts were futile and drew a deep breath to scream, thinking to draw others onto the terrace.

Obviously sensing her intention, Lucius halted his actions and quickly ducked his head towards her. He whispered into her ear, his voice barely audible but no less threatening. "Don't make a scene, my dear. You wouldn't want to be forced to explain yourself."

Hermione stood completely still, silently loathing him.

"Good girl," he breathed in a whisper, pulling his face back slightly. His eyes travelled over her features, lingering long enough on her lips that she felt a fresh wave of revulsion spread through her body.

"So beautiful," he said, tracing a finger along her jaw. "I seduced you once before," he reminded her, his tone low and sultry. "I can do it again."

Hermione closed her eyes, hating the truth in his words. She had been seduced by the offer from Arglist. And she'd been too blinded by desire to question the generosity; to investigate the source of all that money; to learn that Lucius Malfoy owned Arglist Industries. There was no way she would allow that to happen again.

"I believe you'll find I'm no longer a naïve girl," she told him.

"Yes, I can see that," he said, moving his hand to her hip, sliding it slowly up her waist and ribcage. "I must say, I quite like the way you've matured."

The light from the full moon overhead cast long shadows, bathing his features in a ghostly white pallor. Hermione shivered as his face dipped closer, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight like a vampire about to bite.

"Come back to me," he said, almost lovingly.

"You must be mad," she whispered.

His hand tightened around her waist. "I'll give you everything you desire."

Hermione was about to point out that she desired nothing more than the removal of his groping hands, but a slight movement from the corner of the terrace caught her eye.

"I hope I'm not interrupting?" Snape asked smoothly as he approached them, his arms folded.

"Severus!" Hermione cried with a startled gasp. His sudden appearance seemed to surprise Lucius as well: he dropped his hands, and she was able to shove him away as relief coursed through her. Then Snape's words and the tone of his voice sunk into her brain. She froze, trying to piece together what he might have overheard. Dread filled every pore of her body when she imagined how she and Lucius must have looked. Without knowing the context, their exchange could be easily...horribly...misconstrued.

Lucius didn't help matters by turning to Snape and speaking with a tone of mock repentance. "My apologies, Severus. I'm afraid I just couldn't resist the charms of this alluring little witch."

"No!" Hermione shouted, stepping towards Snape with her hands held out in plea. "This isn't at all how it looks!"

Snape lazily shifted his gaze to her. Hermione braced herself for the anger and hurt she would surely see in his eyes, uncertain whether she could bear either. She searched the ebony depths and found... nothing. There was no anger, no disgust, certainly no pain. He might have been looking at a speck of dust for as much emotion as he exhibited.

He turned back to Lucius and indicated Hermione with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "Be my guest," he said, then turned his back to them and walked down the steps of the terrace.

"Severus, wait!" Hermione called after him. She hurried to the top of the stairs, but it was too late. He turned on the spot and was gone with a turbulent crack that split the night and sliced through her pounding heart.

She stood there numb, staring at the spot where he had just been. There was a soft chuckle behind her, and she heard Lucius speak, his tone ingratiating.

"Oops. I hope I didn't cause a misunderstanding... New relationships can be so fragile."

Hermione whirled around and stalked past him, grabbing for the curtain that led back to the house and yanking it aside.

Lucius placed his hand on her arm, halting her progress. "Think about my offer," he said.

"Never," she spat.

The warning tone in his voice was clear. "I believe you will find my patience is limited, Miss Granger. One way or another, you will return to Arglist."

"You can't blackmail me, Mr Malfoy. You have just as much to lose," she tossed at him, hoping it was true.

He chuckled again and whispered, "Perhaps. But I have many other means at my disposal. I'm certain I can find a way to... convince you.

In the distance, some of the revellers were beginning to turn their way as the curtain she held open allowed the cold December air to blow through the orchestra and into the ballroom. She stepped inside, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and Lucius. All around her, the sights and sounds of holiday merriment continued. She heard nothing but a ringing in her ears and saw only startled faces as she pushed her way through the crowd.

Stumbling into the entrance hallway at last, she paused at the door, desperately trying to stop the uncontrollable shaking that had overcome her body. She was in no shape to Apparate, and she knew if she tried right now she'd end up Splinched. Or worse. But the longer she stood there, the more frantic she became to find Snape, which in turn only intensified her shaking.

"There you are, Hermione," Draco said to her back as the servant who had taken her cloak earlier approached with it in his hands. "I was trying to tell you before... Severus wants you to meet him on the terrace. It sounded pretty romantic..." There was a teasing tone in his voice that made Hermione close her eyes.

"Thank you," she heard herself mumble. She couldn't help thinking of how easily the incident could have been avoided, had she been given this message earlier. Her nausea returned as the irony sunk in. She flung her cloak around her shoulders haphazardly before heading out the door. Then she remembered that Draco had been speaking to her.

With wild eyes, she turned back to him. "Happy Christmas, Draco. Thank you for a lovely party," she added, only vaguely aware that her voice rose with an alarming note of hysteria. She fled through the front door, running across the manicured grounds as the sounds of Christmas music mingled with Draco's calls and slowly faded into the distance.

A/N: At last, I can explain how I chose the name for Arglist Industries. As you probably know, in French, mal means bad and foi is faith, making 'bad faith' the literal definition of Malfoy. My online translator claimed the German equivalent for 'bad faith' was arglist, although I've since learnt it's one of the lesser-known definitions (primarily, the word means guile, malice, and cunning, which are also quite appropriate, although it does sound a bit Scooby Doo to name a company Guile Industries). Too bad Flitwick's Reddo charm didn't work on proper names... Then again, this would have been a very short story if it had!

As always, huge glomps to Karelia and little_beloved for being such wonderful betas, and many thanks to lettybird for Brit-picking.