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If she had to admit it she would only do so under threats of harm to her loved ones. And even some of them would be a little worse for wear before she acquiesced. But wine drunk in her empty flat, alone in the after midnight hours she would not deny that from ages fifteen to twenty two she had found Draco Malfoy good looking. In an arrogant, coldly pretty way. But she had nevertheless had an errant fantasy or two of his pale skin slick against hers his grey eyes full of lust.

If she had to admit her next thought, only irreparable, drastically quality of life altering, or fatal harm to her innermost family would pull it out of her. But wine drunk in her empty flat, alone in the midnight hours she would admit that, for the last few months, she had actually found Draco’s father, Lucius, far more attractive.

Draco had been, and still was in all honesty, prettier. Smoother. Softer in a sense, not in a physical way but somehow she got the sense that he’d never ~try~ for her. He’d let her go after a minor tiff if he didn’t feel like arguing. Hell, he’d let her walk away with another man if he thought he could get his needs of the night met elsewhere instead of playing protective boyfriend.

Lucius though. He was not soft. He was older, rougher, tougher. He had elegance, confidence, wit and most exciting of all, he had intelligence in his dark slate gaze. He would stare down an approaching potential suitor before the thought of talking to her ever crossed their mind. He would counter and reason and work out the fight and he’d work for a solution. Hell, he starred in a few of her more far fetched and bizarre fantasies. She’d need to be rescued and he’d be there as her savage hero in her very own ‘touch her and die’ story.

After things went to shite with Ron she had been throwing herself into ministry work a little more. She was just grateful they’d never had kids. But then Harry had gone off the grid. With every passing week without word she threw herself harder at her work. If she couldn’t fix her life she would help others fix theirs.

Over the first three months she found herself at the ministry for twelve, even sixteen hours at a time, six days a week. She’d have gone on Saturday as well but the ministry had set up a ward that kept her out “for one day a week Ms. Granger and that’s because you’ll work yourself to death if we don’t intervene.”

So for the last nine Saturdays in a row she had gone to a muggle library in London. And for the last nine Saturdays she had seen Mr. Malfoy tucked away in said library reading.

The first time she saw him he was wearing muggle business casual and sitting at a table. He was reading a relatively modern hardcover she couldn’t see the name of. She wasn’t sure it was him at first. It was so incongruous that she had done a double take. Then she had sneaked around a far shelf and peered at him, spying on him like she used to do on his son. He read for a while, stood up, put his coat back on and grabbed his cane. It was the cane with its concealed wand space that told her for sure that she wasn’t seeing things.

She had decided not to follow him. His magical limitations and most of the tracking spells had expired and he was clever enough to disappear before she ever got to the end of the row. Next time she really was there to kill time by finding a book or four to kill time with later. She gasped quietly when she turned a corner and saw him reaching for a book above his head. Coatless and long-limbed, he stretched on his toes, causing his dress shirt to untuck from his waistband. She saw a brief flash of toned abs. He dropped silently to flat feet and spun but she had ducked around the side of the row and quickly started losing herself in the maze of a library. She had just had time to think, “that man is fit, even for someone much younger.”

She sought him out every time after. He was always somewhere different. Sometimes she would be lucky in her encounter and she could spy without having risked his attention. Other times she practically ran into him. She knew she could, even with only muggle means already at her disposal, easily disguise herself well enough that she could practically fall on top of him and he’d never know who she was. But it became a sort of game to her. It gave her something to plan that wasn’t politically motivated. She was able to gather information - Lucius could hold his own in topics she didn’t think he had any knowledge of, interest in, or anything other than dislike for.

People didn’t always engage him in conversation mist weeks. She had listened for three hours today as he charmingly held conference with a group of four nans that had somehow surrounded him in a designated reading/discussion area. Never once did he insult them. Never once did his arrogance or general air of just being a dick show. Instead he told one of the ladies to try planting her herbs in a different configuration for mutual benefits for the neighboring plants. She didn’t know he knew anything about what herbs even were beyond “flavors,” but he not only recognized the muggle names for a few potion ingredients, he was also pretty spot on with the advice as well.

Another of the nans had asked him about something mechanical and he smoothly told her, “Madam, I am a gentleman. I know as much perhaps more about flying carpets, than I do about those contraptions.” They had giggled at his mock outrage at having been mistaken for one who would be expected to know those things.

She loved the sound of his voice. He could do so many things just by changing his tone. She’d heard him spitting his curses like venom, heard him stand authoritatively and give orders that brooked no sass back. Anger burned in his words when he wished it to, sharp enough on his tongue to cut glass.

But his low pleased laugh. The cheek he could exude in a few short syllables. The over all charm. He sounded like chocolate made her tongue feel. She closed her eyes, back pressed to the shelving that separated them from sight. She sucked her lower lip, catching the corner between her teeth. She sighed as she let herself imagine what it would feel like to hear other emotions through his words.

“That can be arranged, Ms. Granger.”

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and barely stopped herself from yelping. She held both hands to her mouth, eyes still closed, heart racing. Maybe she thought he wouldn’t be there when she opened her eyes. But he was.

He leaned against the shelves across from her, as far apart as they could get. He had on black trousers, a black button down, and a green serpent patterned tie. His hair was long and sleekly silver-white, with braids over his ears keeping the locks from his face.

He was at least five or six inches taller than her but he had negated some of it by leaning back.

Hastily she removed her hands from her mouth.

“Mr. Malfoy. Pleasure to see you again.” She was startled. A little nervous. But never rude. Not to someone whose intent wasn’t yet clear while they were in a public, muggle, building. She fumbled for a tissue or a McDonald’s napkin or anything but her sleeve to dab her lip with.

“Hmm,” his lip quirked. “I’d say it was at least a small measure based on what you’ve been thinking.” As she had been patting pockets and checking her small bag, he had stood and closed the gap. “Here.” He handed her a folded handkerchief. It was green like the tie but not silk. “Blood stains are nothing to worry over Ms. Granger. But you’re going to need to do some washing yourself if you let yourself bleed any more.

Quickly she placed the cloth to her lip.

“Would you care to accompany me? I think we have several things we should have a chat about. For instance, your unlawful surveillance and potential harassment charge?” His eyebrow raised with the question but there was nothing dangerous or even irritated in it. She nodded.

He led her through a few corridors and down a flight of stairs before stopping at a door. He grabbed the knob, paused a second, then opened the door and led her in, flipping a light switch as he entered. She was starting to get edgy. He’d just used a wordless and, for all intents and purposes, wandless spell to get them in. He was familiar enough with the place to know where the switch was. He was bigger and stronger than her. And he knew more offense spells than she did so her best chance would be to leave now or play defense. This had been a bad idea.

“Tut tut,” he said softly, and it almost sounded disappointed. He put his cane with his wand on top of a desk on the left and then passed her to go sit on the worn couch across from it. “I would not attack you. Not here. Not now.”

“But it’s not off the table completely again?” Her voice didn’t waver as she watched him. She’d literally just seen him do magic without words or really touching his actual wand at all. He merely touched what was essentially a storage device. So no, leaving his wand across the room wasn’t exactly reassuring.

He laughed. She’d never heard him laugh above library volume and it was a beautiful thrum to her.

“I know the room and layout here because sometimes it gets overwhelming and I need to be away from people but still do some work. I found this room to be an old school study space that’s disused and forgotten. I can ward it and keep my privacy and sanity. There’s no conspiracy, no danger here.”

“What do you mean by “overwhelming” and “keep your sanity?” She’d caught the specific reasoning and she was frantically recalling what he’d said to her. Something about her thoughts. Twice. She had an idea what he was going to say.

“Ms. Granger.”

“Hermione. Please Mr. Malfoy. ‘Ms. Granger’ makes me feel like I’m being scolded.”

“Hermione. I suppose that makes me Lucius for you. Though I’ll by no means make you say anything at all.”

“Lucius.” She tested it. She’d spoken his name aloud before but never without savagery and hatred. “Alright. Why did you say things that way.”

Lucius sank back into the couch, lounging with an arm across the back and the other over the arm if the couch. He was relaxed enough that his legs stretched out at a catty corner angle to the cushions. She stayed standing, out of his reach.

“That’s a semi personal question that I regret allowing to come up. But I will make you a deal. I will tell you what I meant if you tell me why you’ve been following me.”

She hadn’t been in any official capacity. So she could tell him a reasonable approximation of the truth.

“You first.” She challenged.

“Very well. As you may or may not know, I am and have always been adept at Legilimency.”

She hadn’t known. But she didn’t indicate anything.

“What is not as widely known as even that is that after years of having my own mind delved into and manipulated at the will of an evil man hurt my natural powers. There are times when I cannot control whether I can hear what those around me are thinking. It can be a minor irritation of one person’s constant internal voice reading or it can be a cacophony of minds that I cannot separate or shut off. Were I not able to find a private space to get under control again I would have to leave for the day.”

“I didn’t know that you’d been magically injured.”

“Not many do. I don’t exactly spread it about. There are plenty who would take advantage of a perceived weakness and more still who would think nothing but pity until I snap. I’m hoping you do not fall into either category.”

She really didn’t think she did. Her initial pity had been that he had suffered so long without relief that it caused permanent harm. But she didn’t pity him in the here and now. Right now she thought him stronger and resourceful as always.

“Your turn. Hermione.” He raised his hand off the arm of the couch, splayed his fingers, and rested his chin in his hand, staring intently at her. His eyes were stormy. She could see he was definitely thinking strongly about something but she had no idea what it was. She just knew somehow that it wasn’t malicious.

“I wasn’t following you. At first. You just happened to be here when I wandered in the first time. I admit, I spied long enough to be sure it was truly you because,” she raised her arms in an everything gesture, “why the hell would you have all men be here? It didn’t and still makes no sense.”

“I see. Go on.”

She started to pace as she got into get story. She always had restless energy when she was trying to explain something she deemed high importance enough to get as detailed as possible. “The second time. I was startled to run into your path in a different area. It made me yelp to see you again and I thought you’d probably heard me so I left.”

“Ah. The ‘fit’ comment.”

“Precisely.” She agreed and kept on. “After it became apparent that you were indeed there on Saturdays I kept coming back because it made me feel excited again having a mystery to solve and something to do besides researching books all day and -“ she stopped dead mid stride. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes became wide and anxious. “The … the ‘“fit” comment.’” She trailed into a whisper. “You. You. Aw Merlin’s left bollock.” She blushed from her collarbones to her hair.

His laugh coated her in its pleased tones.

“Ms. Granger. Hermione. Please.” He continued to smile at her. “Come. Sit.” He pulled his legs up and gestured towards the other end of the couch. She watched as he gracefully adjusted his body until he had his back to the armrest, but his knees were bent and his feet were flat on the floor. “I don’t bite.”

And she prayed to every deity that ever existed that he didn’t hear her thinking “even if I ask?” She couldn’t tell. So she sat across from him, mirroring his pose. It took her a few tries but she was able yo look up and meet his eyes despite heat still burning in her cheeks.

“If it makes you feel any better, it is quite the compliment. Especially from such a woman as you.”

The way he called her a woman sounded warm and appreciative. She rather liked how he described her as such.

“Well, Lucius. I suppose it won’t do any good to lie about it. Yes. I was taken by surprise and I do not not regret that it is true and I meant it as such. I do apologize for being so crass and rude for having objectified you.”

“A true Muggle Liaison of your time. You worry that personal thoughts not meant to be shared could ever be offensive. You do not live in an Orwellian dystopia. No one should censor your thoughts. In fact, if they’re all so kind to an old man, I wouldn’t mind hearing more.”

She was gaping again. She couldn’t help it. “You. You, Lucius Malfoy, have not only read, but understood and referenced a muggle novel?”

“I do believe I have demonstrated that I indeed know how to read. Why does that surprise you that I actually do read?” He was teasing her. Almost playful.

“It’s not that you can and do. It’s not even that you were able to recall and use from what you read. It’s the fact that it’s. A. Muggle. Novel. They make school children read and analyze it. Why would you deign to read it and the acknowledge that you did?”

“Because situations change. People, Muggles especially, have changed as a society. There are decades of information that has been neglected by the wizarding world. And yes.” He held his hand up to pause her, “I know. I had been told for decades about what muggles were without ever interacting with them in any way. My world was so insulated that muggles were almost fairy tales. I knew what I had been told and no one had updated my teachers to current reality.

We fell behind and clung to the beliefs that muggles were dumb and useless and distanced ourselves until there was no overlap to prove how wrong we really were. Does it make up for anything I’ve done? No. But I still intend to absorb what I can about the reality of things. And one of those realities is that muggles … have written a lot of good books, on topics that overlap the magical world. I am not so proud any more as to not admit being wrong. I’d look more the fool were I to continue to ignore the truth to prop up a useless pride.”

He was honest. He was nonchalant. He watched her intently.

She tried to suck her lip under her teeth again in her nervous habit but the pain from having bitten herself easier made her draw a short hiss.

“May I?”

She wasn’t sure what he was asking. He leaned forward and held his hand up. Automatically she leaned forward until his fingertips touched her chin just below her bite mark. “May you what?” She was breathy, nervous but she didn’t shy away.

“This.” He was equally quiet. Without a sound, a gentle warmth spread from where he made contact up through her lip. A second later the warmth evaporated and he dropped his hand. She gingerly touched where she’d been bleeding before.

“You. You…” She was rarely so at a loss for words. Then she said in a calm low hush, “You can do that? Lucius, healing spells are notoriously difficult to perform either wordless or wandless. Yet you can do it without either? That’s incredible.”

He smiled and it wasn’t at all the cold aristocratic sneer that used to taunt her. It was a slightly lopsided pleased little smile and she thought it looked quite good on him.

“Ah and now it seems we have reached the end of our agreed upon tête-à-tête. Unless you have more you wish to discuss?”

“Oh, um. No. I suppose I don’t really. I should. Ah. Probably should let you get back to your reading or work or whatever you’re doing. Thank you for the spell Lucius.” She got up and he rose (unfairly gracefully if she was honest with herself) to see her out.

It wasn’t until she got back to her flat and started unwinding and settling in that she found a note slipped into her pocket. The note that had led to this impromptu wine evening and her reluctance to solidify her attraction by speaking it out loud.

“Hermione,

“Fit” isn’t the only thing you’ve called me lately. For some reason I can always hear you when you find me. Not all your thoughts, I assure you. But certain, sudden and emotionally charged things have been increasingly difficult to continue to ignore.

I will spare you from reading back your words in my hand.

I promise, I will never speak of what you’ve thought again. Not to you or anyone. I will leave you entirely to your own devices for the rest of my life if you wish. However, I also will not back down or leave if you bring the subject up with me.

All I ask is that next week you tell me if you choose that we do not meet ever again. Anything other than that I will leave to you. The ball is, as they say, in your court. I hope, based on the little information I have, that you wish not to end our association. But I will do as you wish.

L.M. “

Well. Fuck. Now what. He basically said he knew she was having increasingly desirous thoughts about him but he was letting her set the boundaries, rules, and pace. It was by the grace of god, the luck of the Irish, and the wind in the willows that she hadn’t had a full blown fantasy in his vicinity.

She was torn. On the one hand was the past and a seemingly irreparable divide between their very existences. There was the feeling that she’d somehow be betraying everyone and sleeping with the enemy. People might condemn her or accuse him of manipulating or outright spelling her. On the other hand, this version of Lucius wasn’t so big and scary as he was in her teens. He’d paid his dues as ordered. He’d been low profile and she’d even heard he was holding down employment though no one knew where. Was it really betrayal of anyone really? Ron wouldn’t exactly be pleased but he also didn’t give a flying dick about her anymore anyway so did it matter if he felt betrayed? And Harry wasn’t even around any more. So did it matter if he felt betrayed? She figured that he at least could be shown reason, and would have at least give Lucius a chance eventually. Hell, she figured she had a good shot of getting most people off of her back.

Not only all that but she was a grown woman. He was an adult man. They had mutual interest it seemed.

By next Saturday she had made her decision.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Chapter 1:

So here we are, back again. And whoo, am I excited. Originally, I had planned to continue the Pinkamena story directly in the chapters of the first story. I had ideas on what I wanted to do, both the big picture and the small picture. But when I tried writing... nothing was coming. It was like I was hitting a wall and I didn't know why. I was worried I was going to fall back into the long absence with this thing, especially as I was having a blast writing for my Danganronpa piece. So what happened? I got a piece featuring one of my characters: Minerva, as a gift for a Secret Santa event. And it was really, really good. It was something that fully understood Minerva as a character and made me happy to see. I get ecstatic when others do pieces for my characters. And it rejuvenated me. It wasn't just that. I've also seen so much great pieces of film and writing and art and it's not only reaffirmed my love of this kind of stuff, but also just been great inspirations and kicks in general for the kind of stories I want to write here. Seeing the trailers for things like Stranger than Heaven and going back to the PS2 and PSP Yakuza titles, Fallen Aces, and a lovely book called Harlem Shuffle made me have a real want for crime drama thrillers. Meanwhile watching stuff like the trailers for Romeo is a Deadman, Absolute Martian Manhunter, and the Chainsaw Man movie made me remember I love the weird and the fucked up and the genuine. It all just came together. If there's one thing I'll always say to any writers in fandom. Expand your taste in the art! Read a book you find at the discount store, try an old movie that's called a classic, play a game from the PS2 or like a Visual Novel. There's so much out there, and you'll find your voice and kinds of pieces you want to write more easily just by checking it out. As for the vibes of this, I can't fully say what all I'm going to do just yet, but I promise it will be indulgent. This is a black lesbian crime thriller, and I do want it to go places. I want to go freakshit on this and god I'm going to do my best. I have no idea how any of this will go down. But I can say, I'm gonna give it my all. I hope it doesn't get the beating that the last one did, though even if it does? All I'm hoping is to hear your thoughts on it. That sound good?

Chapter 2: