Two

The HP universe belongs to JKR, I only borrow. Can I keep Lucius?

Beta acknowledgements held until after the reveal, but you know who you are. My heartfelt thanks, ladies. What would I do without you?

Nine months later.

Hermione yawned and stretched comfortably before she pointed her ash wand at the tea pot to refill it. Snuggling into the well-worn sofa, she looked around her living room. The table in front of her held the remnants of her breakfast, a newspaper and a couple of books. More books, which hadn't found a space on the overflowing shelves, were strewn throughout the room, keeping company with a quill, a few spare bits of parchment and a little woollen mouse. Hermione watched her black cat play with the sunbeams that came in through the window. He rolled around on his back, lazily batting at the rays of light. Hermione smiled and remembered how she had found him on a rainy evening last summer. He had crouched low in a dark corner of Diagon Alley, hissing and spitting when she had tried to approach him; a scruffy little fur ball ... all bones and attitude. She had left him a bit of her sandwich and had come back at lunchtime the next day to look for him. The evening had seen her again in Diagon Alley, as had the day after that until it had become a habit.

'Are you coming to the game tonight?' Ron asked, rushing into her office and stopping right in front of her desk.

It wasn't until the door had closed behind him when she noticed the tears streaming down her face. The lump in her throat was gone.

It had taken all of Hermione's lunch breaks, most of her evenings and lots of little titbits for two weeks until the kitten had finally let her touch him and take him up. A visit to a magical veterinarian had shown that there wasn't anything wrong with the little fellow. All he had needed were a few good meals and a bit of love, both of which Hermione had been happy to provide.

As if reading her thoughts, the cat jumped up on the sofa and stalked over to her. He sniffed at the newspaper with an air of deep disdain, making Hermione grin. With his gangly limbs, dark fur that always appeared ill groomed and a face that looked as if the cat was constantly scowling ... if cats were able to do such a thing ... he would never qualify as "cute", but he was the best companion she could wish for. At least this was one life she had been able to save. She poured herself another cup, added a bit of milk and buried her nose in the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet.

Hermione perused the editorial; it discussed possible changes in the legislation against former Death Eathers. She sighed as she remembered that the first hearings were set in a few weeks. There was no hope that these would take place without tremendous attention from all the wizarding media.

An impatient tapping at the window interrupted her train of thought. She looked up to see an elegant eagle owl hovering outside in the February gale. After Hermione had opened the window, the owl swooped onto her rickety coffee table and held out its leg so that Hermione could untie the roll of parchment attached there. The haughty look the owl cast around clearly implied that her flat was way beneath its usual standards. Intently watched by a pair of kitty eyes, it nevertheless accepted a piece of toast from Hermione before it flew off through the still open window.

Hermione quickly ran her wand over the roll of parchment on her table. No sign of anything sinister. Never hurts to be vigilant, she thought as she carefully untied the silver ribbon. The white parchment was of the very best quality available, the flourishing handwriting on it unfamiliar to her. The letter was wrapped around a snowy white rose: not only its petals were of the purest white but also its stem and its leaves. Its beauty spoke of winter, of ice, of glittering snow.

Dear Miss Granger,

Your admirer

Hermione stared at the letter before her. Who did she know who would write such a letter? And more importantly, who would write such a letter to her? Was this someone's idea of a joke? What if it wasn't? Most of her male acquaintances were either married or seeing someone. Of those who were single, none had seemed to be particularly interested in her. So who could it be? Should she go? Take a Portkey to an unknown destination to meet a stranger? What if it was a trap? There were enough of Voldemort's supporters still around who would consider the world a better place without her. Not to mention a few people who had paid hefty fines or spent a bit of time in Azkaban thanks to her. But neither would be that transparent. Yet some stranger taking a fancy to her sounded too much like the plot of a bad romance novel. Though the letter spoke of previous contact. Nobody she knew owned an eagle owl. Unless...

No, impossible. Wishful thinking at best ... which in itself was so wrong on so many levels. Hermione reminded herself once more who the man was and what he had done.

But why had he asked her to dance? And why had she danced with him? That one was easy to answer: because she had been more than a little tipsy and annoyed at Ron. And why did he have to dance so well, and smell so nice, and... A little wistful sigh escaped Hermione as her hand crept inside her dressing gown, slowly wandering over her body and finally finding its way into her knickers.

Enchanting music seemed to come from nowhere, always the same slow seductive tune. They were dancing all alone in a beautiful garden. The night air was warm, filled with the fragrance of lush summer flowers. His silver eyes never left hers as he held her close and slowly lowered his lips to hers. Hermione willingly opened her mouth to him. They took their time, deepening the kiss. Neither noticed that they had stopped dancing. Lucius's hands tangled into Hermione's hair, one of them coming up to the back of her neck. A little moan escaped her in response to his kiss, and she leant closer into his body, her hands wandering over his back and further down.

Afterwards they lay for a long time, not saying anything, just holding each other, feeling warm and comfortable in their embrace.

*****

Lucius Malfoy quickly downed the contents of the potion vial, relief soon spreading through his body. He took a sip of the scorching hot black coffee before he started to read the Daily Prophet on Sunday's gossip column, which these days was titled What the Beetle Saw. His attendance at the opening of the new St Mungo's wing had been duly noted. The article also mentioned his generous donation and speculated about the pretty woman who had accompanied him. Excellent. He leafed through the rest of the articles, filtering out the information he could use to his advantage.

Lucius rubbed his eyes and carefully flexed his left leg. Maybe a massage would make him feel better; or a night of uninterrupted sleep, come to think of it. But his bed was too large, too empty, too cold.

Perhaps he should have taken Cathy ... or was it Katy? ... home with him yesterday, but he never brought anyone back to the manor. Or he could have stayed at her place. The encounter had been pleasant enough, and she hadn't been one of those women who had the weirdest ideas about what an alleged ex-follower of the Dark Lord would get up to in bed. Not for the first time, he wondered where that rumour about certain Dark revels had started. No, all in all it had been a nice evening, yet the idea to see Katy's ... or was it Kerry's? ... face when he woke up had held no appeal for him. As had become his habit, he had waited until she had fallen asleep, disentangled himself carefully from her arms, quickly cast a whispered Obliviate on her and left.

His look fell upon the picture of Narcissa that had a place of honour on the mantelpiece. She smiled warmly at him as she had done every morning for so many years. Suddenly the house seemed to be even emptier than before.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a slight movement before his house-elf stood next to his chair. 'What?' Lucius snapped.

Silently, the elf held out a tray with a roll of parchment on it. Odd, he thought as he untied the silver ribbon. What was so urgent that it couldn't wait until Monday?

Dear Mr Malfoy,

Longingly yours

A completely white rose lay innocuously inside the parchment. Lucius smiled. So some unknown woman was asking him to dine with her and probably more. That was a bit more interesting than the veiled and not-so-veiled invitations and offers he usually received. Who might she be? Probably she was married to someone else and wished to remain anonymous. He pictured a clandestine little tête-à-tête with a masked woman. Somehow the prospect failed to intrigue him as much as it would have a year ago.

On the other hand it could also be a trap. Regrettably he wasn't yet as respected again as he had been, so some people might be inclined to think that they could trifle with him.

Yet something about the letter didn't fit either picture. The parchment was of solid good quality, but not the kind the women of his circle would use; neither was the style. It probably was a little ruse to veil her identity. Unless...

No, not likely. Someone like her would sign a letter. A young woman with serious brown eyes and a vast amount of bushy hair. Incredibly strong and loyal, even as her body had been contorting under Bella's curses. Intelligent and resourceful. Would Potter ever have defeated the Dark Lord without her? Highly unlikely. Fierce, determined and powerful in a fight as she'd been running through the chaos of the final battle, firing hexes and curses with precision and might. In many ways so much like Narcissa, and yet so different.

Lucius almost let a little sigh escape his lips and then quickly checked to make sure that nobody, not even a house-elf was around. He wouldn't be caught pining after a woman, especially not that woman.

A light flowery scent wafted into his nose as he was holding her warm body. They slowly danced and she leant easily into his touch. She allowed him to draw her closer and willingly melded her soft curves against his body, inviting his hands to explore her. Her mouth looked so enticing, just waiting to be kissed...

His trousers suddenly uncomfortably tight, Lucius decided to relocate to the privacy of his bedroom for a while.

*****

Hermione stood before her floor-length mirror and turned around. The pale pink accentuated her natural skin tone perfectly, and the tight bodice hugged her upper body nicely. Maybe she was a bit overdressed, but she had waited for an occasion to wear this dress ever since she had bought it as a present to herself last summer. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, took her handbag and checked that she had her wand before she went into her living room, the mirror whistling appreciatively after her. Picking up the rose, she waited for the familiar tugging behind her navel that would signal that the Portkey had activated.