Author: ianthewaiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Romance, Humour, Mystery
Warnings: M/F, Oral, Violence
Summary: Hermione literally collides with trouble in an alley in Northern Italy, which will lead her through a process called 'falling in love.'
Author's Notes: The title is a quote by Giacomo Casanova. Sorry to disappoint, but Lucius, god of sex, is not too prevalent in this fic as he is in some other things I have written. Please withhold the tomatoes and other produce you might throw in my direction. This is also an attempt at humour, contrasted to my usual 'dark' scribblings, so forgive the dryness, eh? Oh, and this ficlet is once again in 1st person POV. Enjoy!

I

There were some things I would never understand, no matter how many books I read or how keenly I observed human nature. I had come to accept these mysteries as something to add 'spice' to my mental travels, however, on occasion, these mysteries turned into full-blown annoyances.

For instance, the way Lucius Malfoy reacted to seeing me again after nearly ten years. The last time I had seen him, he was bedraggled, forlorn, and clinging like a lost child to his wife and son in the Great Hall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I had not thought much of him then, and afterwards, even less. Lucius Malfoy was never high on my mental pondering priority list.

I digress. Lucius Malfoy, ten years older, looked very fit for a man who was in his fifties. Time had little changed his face, no deep wrinkles, very few wrinkles at all, in fact. His long silvery hair was still handsomely trimmed, and held back at the nape of his long, regal neck with a dark green ribbon, the ends curling slightly over his wide shoulder. He still wore midnight black velvet robes, and he still had those same condescendingly sharp grey eyes. Lucius Malfoy had somehow been preserved like a frozen casserole I had in my refrigerator in my flat.

However, as he peered down his long, sharp nose at me, his expression was one that made me glare menacingly. Lucius Malfoy's body, those exquisite robes, that patrician face was full of fear, and his body was poised to strike again.

Let me backtrack a moment, in lieu of explanation.

For two weeks, I had been on holiday from my position at the Ministry. Not long after the War, I finished my N.E.W.T.s and applied for a position in the Department of Mysteries. Now, considering all the nastiness I endured in my Fifth Year in the subterranean level, one might think I would be hesitant to return. In fact, I wanted nothing more than to return and study the mysteries of my magical world.

I do love mysteries.

I have worked as an Unspeakable for nine years. What I did in the Department of Mysteries, well, is something I cannot speak about for obvious reasons. All the same, after nine years, I was due a very long holiday.

So there I was, in a small Italian city in the height of winter, leaning into a wall of a narrow street, snow falling in my hair.

Trento was not a Wizarding city by any means, in fact, as far as I knew, I had been the only witch in the entire area of Trentino-Alto Adige and the autonomous province of Trento proper. Because of the lack of witches and wizards, I had come to Trento specifically. I loved the small city, the snow in the winter, the skiing, and the mild summers and the Alpine hiking. This was my fourth visit since the end of the War.

Again, I digress. I had been walking along the Via Giuseppe Verdi from the Trento University's musical conservatory, and turned into Viccolo Terlago to move toward the Piazza Duomo to few the lit façade of the Case Relle frescoes. It was perhaps after ten, and there were still people on the pedestrian streets, bundled up in coats and hats, making their way home or to the nearest bus stop. I was going back to my small flat I kept rented off Via Calepina near the Museo Tridentino di scienze naturali, which was not far from the piazza.

It was as I was walking down the narrow Viccolo Terlago that I collided with a figure in the darkness between the warm lights spilling down into the alley from private windows. The night was very clear and very cold with no moon, and in the shadow, the inky robes blended perfectly into darkness. I had stumbled into a figure that had been walking ahead of me, but slower than my brisk pace. I had on a long dark red wool coat over my pale gray dress suit and a pair of dress flats on my feet that I had to mind lest I stepped on a patch of ice on the cobbled streets.

I apologized quickly in Italian, but before I could say anything else, or move, I was hexed.

Now, imagine my surprise after two weeks of not encountering another magical person. Of course, that did not mean I still did not have my wand in my coat pocket, ready to draw, which I did draw when my head stopped spinning.

I was not Stunned, but I was stung unpleasantly so that my feet shuffled back and I stood in the light beneath someone's kitchen window.

I think I said something very rude in Italian, but before I could ponder, the dark figure moved, and a boot lashed out, catching my wand, snapping it, and impacting my chest to send me flying back into a wall. The collision knocked the air from my lungs and the back of my head snapped into the stonewall with a sickening crack.

My vision went dark, but I managed to stay on my feet.

It was then, as my vision cleared, that I saw who had attacked me as a pale head and face moved into the light. Lucius Malfoy stood over me, perhaps only three feet away, his face twisted into a hideous mask of fear.

He was the last person I thought I would see in a narrow street in northern Italy, and I suppose I should have mentioned this fact beforehand.

My surprise did not last long before I could breathe again and my anger seeped in.

Two things I can say about being an Unspeakable that will not break any Vows or betray any trade secrets—one, Unspeakables must be trained in physical defense, but I cannot reveal why, and two, Unspeakables always carry two wands besides their primary wand, which I had not pulled from my coat pocket. My second wand, which had been a thirteen-inch walnut with dragon heartstring, was spewing sad little sparks in my hand at my side. As for my Vinewood, it was strapped to my right inner thigh.

He stared, and I glared, and so it was for an undeterminable amount of time. No one came into the alley, but I could hear people from the Piazza nearby and Via Giuseppe Verdi before the conservatory building. I could also hear a television from one of the tiny apartments overhead, but only noise and not dialogue.

The fear in Lucius' Malfoy's face only intensified as I straightened, my chest aching from the well placed kick and my face burning with anger. I dropped the broken wand, the clatter of wood against paving stone echoing along the empty alley.

He had his wand trained on me, but did not move to cast again. For all he knew, I was unarmed, but I let my right hand move to touch my thigh in a natural posture. I knew I could easily Summon the wand into my hand.

Finally, I found the occasion to speak, in English—the first time in two weeks.

"I would appreciate if you would lower your wand, Mr. Malfoy," I snarled, though I kept the volume of my voice low.

My words had Lucius Malfoy stepping back into the shadow, but I could still see his pale face and hair.

"How do you know my name?" he hissed, but did not lower his wand, which was polished dark wood, approximately eleven or twelve inches, including the handle that was made from sinisterly carved ivory or bone.

I considered his question, wondering if he did not recognize me.

As for me, I had not changed too much from the Battle of Hogwarts. Obviously, I was older, but my hair was still an unruly mess of brown curls and the freckles on the bridge of my nose had faded only a little. I was the same short five foot six, and though I had grown into my womanly curves, I had only gone up one clothing size since I was fighting Death Eaters in Hogwarts.

Quickly, I decided what to say next.

"You are infamous, Mr. Malfoy."

His face twisted again, this time into a menacing snarl.

"Who are you?" he demanded, taking a step back into the light.

I smiled, I could not help myself, and inched my fingertips to the hem of my skirt, ready to wiggle those fingers to coax the handle of my wand down along my thigh.

"I suppose it has been a while, ten years?" I mused although I knew my words were distracting his eyes to my face wholly and not my hand.

"You are British," he said, a non-question.

I nodded, and wiggled my fingers, feeling the erotic slide of Vinewood along my sensitive inner thigh, the handle falling between my fore and middle fingers.

"I will not ask again, who are you?" he snapped, obviously impatient.

My fingers twirled my wand in the shadow and then, I was casting before Lucius Malfoy could take another step.

"Stupefy."

The quick flash of red went unnoticed by the residents of Trento. The falling body of Lucius Malfoy into my arms also went unnoticed. Trento had crime, but little. There were concerned citizens everywhere, and I concocted an explanation to the local Polizia if asked why I had an unconscious man in strange clothing leaning into me.

I sighed, he had dropped his wand, and I needed to prop him against the wall to retrieve it, then I cursed to myself. I am a witch!

I Summoned the dark wood wand and shoved it in my coat pocket with my own while Lucius Malfoy's heavy, dark form leaned into my left shoulder. He was a heavy bugger, and as I draped his right arm about my shoulders, I considered what to do next.

My flat was warded, unbeknownst to the Muggle landlady, and I could not Apparate inside. Appearing on the doorstep was not a good idea either. So, in the dark alley, I considered other options.

I ended up casting a Weigh Lightening Charm on his body, drawing my wand again, which made it easier for me to drag him to the mouth of the alley opening onto the Piazza. In the Piazza, I saw that a few people were walking below the façade of the Duomo and the Palazzo Pretorio, and as I neared the central Neo-Classical fountain with the god Neptune atop, I was stopped by a man's voice.

"Posso aiutare, Signorina?"

"Per favore," I said, not caring that I did not know the man from Adam.

The man, who I saw in the lights in the fountain, was a student, younger. He was bundled up in a red parka with rimless glasses on his handsome face.

"Ha inebriato?" he asked quite formally.

"Si," I grunted as I felt the Charm give way so the student would not think it odd that Lucius Malfoy weighed so little.

I told the student that I needed help to Via Capelina, and thanked him for his assistance. The walk took a little longer than usual with Malfoy's added weight, but as we came to the doors leading into the poky lobby of my apartment, I thanked the student again, whose name I did not catch, before he went on his way, smiling and laughing.

Luckily, there was a lift in the lobby and as I drew my wand to unlock the front doors, Malfoy groaned. He was beginning to come around and I hastened to drag him at the best of my ability into the warmer lobby and to the lift to my third floor flat.

His pale eyes were flickering when I lowered the wards and opened the door to the small studio flat, and by the time I had closed the door behind me by kicking it, Malfoy was conscious.

I thanked the gods that I had his wand still in my coat pocket as he pushed away from me violently, stumbling backward, past the kitchen, past the lavatory door and into the living slash bedroom with its large windows looking over the snowy rooftops.

His pale hands were searching for his wand, still disoriented, and then, to my amazement, tripped over an ottoman and tumbled to the wood floor in a flutter of black robes and long pale gold hair.

I let my laughter come, I could not help myself. To see someone so composed as Lucius Malfoy flounder, stumble, and fall was a memory that I knew I would cherish.

Served the git right.

I toed out of my flats, doffed my coat, and hanged it on a hook near the door, putting my wand in one hand, Malfoy's in the other. Malfoy did not move from where he fell, and I let my laughter die. Moving cautiously, I peered over the wide red upholstered ottoman to see Lucius Malfoy, a man who I had feared at one time in my young life, staring up at the ceiling, his eyes blinking.

When he rose, it was to sit on the ottoman with his head in his hands, his elbows on the knees of his trousers.

"Who are you?" he asked again, this time defeated.

I could not decide what to do with him. Bringing him to my flat was not the brightest idea, but I had Stunned the man and it was freezing outside.

I licked my lips and glanced out the large floor to ceiling windows, seeing my own vague reflection in the glass, along with Lucius Malfoy's.

"Hermione Granger."

His reaction, again, stunned me.

Lucius Malfoy howled with laughter. His head moved from his hands to throw back in a roar, his deep voice booming through the small flat, reverberating through my chest. I wished I could join in on the joke, but I could not. I stared at him, irritated. I had questions of my own.

I crossed my arms before my chest, tucking the sight of Malfoy's wand under my jacket, against the light blue tuxedo ruffled blouse I wore. No matter if he was to laugh from here to doomsday, I was not going to trust him—he would go for his wand the moment he remembered it was gone.

"It would be someone like you…" he laughed, resulting in slapping his knee in amusement.

"Pardon?" I asked icily.

He was smiling, a truly strange sight. It made his face softer; it made me see that he had laugh lines around his pale lips. I could even see that he had light coloured stubble on his jaw. In fact, in the better light of the apartment, under warm, modern, recessed lighting, Lucius Malfoy did not look so refined as I thought.

His velvet robes were fraying at the hem, the clothes underneath—a dark green doublet over a dingy white shirt—were just kept well enough that he would pass for presentable. Even his once fine dragon hide black boots were worn in the heel and scuffed.

"Of all the magical people in the world, you would be the first I would see in five years."

By this time, his voice had grown serious and his smile turning down into a frown.

I blinked at him, incredulous.

The first magical person he had seen in five years?

I sat down before him on the adjacent armchair, but kept my arms crossed, hiding his wand, but keeping mine in view. I knew I would have to secure his wand somewhere at some point, but as we stared at each other; I did something that I thought foolish at that moment, but later would find quite clever. I dropped his wand between the arm of the chair and the cushion so that is wedged into the armchair.

"Then… You know me?" I asked.

Lucius Malfoy nodded slowly. "Though, as you said, it has been ten years since…" he trailed, and I allowed his eyes to roam over me just as I put my now empty hand into my lap.

His scrutiny was unnerving, his steely grey eyes seemingly piercing beyond my surface. I could not see his thoughts, though I wish I could.

"You Stunned me," he then said, more under his breath than to me. "And you brought me here?"

I nodded. "It is my flat in Trento. You do know where you are?" I asked, with a nagging suspicion.

He hesitated to answer, his mouth opening and then shutting, those steely eyes fixing somewhere on my through above the gauzy ruffles of my blouse.

"Italy. Northern Italy…" he said, but did not sound entirely sure. "I sent out a Trace Charm to find magic, and I Apparated from Munich…"

So far?

I regarded him with a bit of confusion, and he saw it clearly. He needed to explain.

"May I have my wand?"

"Why did you attack me?" I countered.

He had reached a pale hand toward me and I saw that his hands were rough, dirty, so unlike a Malfoy… Where was his wife? Where was Draco? Why was he in Italy?

The hand fell to his knee and he looked to the window, staring at his reflection in the glass and not to the snowy rooftops and lights from the Piazza beyond.

"I thought you had come to rob me…" he trailed, his deep voice distant.

The trademark drawl was gone, and his back slumped slightly.

"Rob you?" I asked, my brow furrowing.

"I have been robbed three times in the past five years—Muggles. Once in London, once in Lyon, and again in Prague, and now I only have a few Muggle notes left… Ten Euro…"

Ten Euro was not enough to take from anyone, in truth. It would get you a decent meal, maybe an intercittà bus from Trento to Borgo Valsugana, but not much else.

"It is your clothes," I said without thinking, and as those grey eyes moved to my face again, I tried not to appear unsettled. "They are too strange, too fine," I explained shortly.

Lucius, as I began to call him in my head, seemed to consider my words thoughtfully.

"Perhaps you are correct," he muttered, his eyes falling to his hands resting on his knees.

I sighed.

I very rarely pity people. Pity is a low emotion, but I pitied Lucius Malfoy. I did not like him, I never had a reason to like him, but to see him so…so lost, elicited the pity.

I rose without a word, and I knew he watched me move to the kitchen. I opened the breadbox by the refrigerator and sat a fresh loaf of hard crusted bread on the counter nearest him, along with a knife to cut. Out of the refrigerator, I drew out a pot and set it on the small stove, lighting a fire beneath after turning the gas valve on the wall. I had made a large quantity of minestrone two days before and was still eating on it.

Soon, the scent of minestrone filled the flat, and Lucius rose as I ladled a bowl full and set it on the counter where he sat on a high stool, waiting for me to give him a spoon.

He had not eaten in some time, but how I knew this, I could not say. It was obvious by the quick way in which he ate that he was used to eating when he can, as fast as he could.

"What has happened to you?" I asked, leaning back into the counter next to the warm stove.

Lucius ignored me as his spoon scrapped the bottom of his bowl and he shoved the last morsel of bread he had pinched off the loaf into his mouth. To see Lucius Malfoy, a Pureblood aristocrat, eat like a starving street urchin, disturbed me.

When he choked on his bread, I hastened to give him a glass of water. He did not thank me; he did not look at me at all even as he pushed the bowl toward me.

"More," he growled.

I only acquiesced because I felt that if I fed him, he would tell me what he meant by not seeing another magical person in five years.

His pace slowed after the second bowl and he chewed the hard bread thoughtfully, his eyes upon the stove beside me.

"Why are you in this hellishly frigid city?"

How many minutes had passed since he had addressed me directly, I did not know, but it felt like an age.

"I think that if anyone should be asking questions, it would be me," I grumbled, pushing off the counter to turn and shut off the burner under the stove and close the gas valve.

Turning back to Lucius, I noticed that he was running his hands over his cloak, searching, I was sure, for his wand. When he did not find it, he said nothing, but I could see by the tightening of the skin between his eyebrows, he would not forget something so important very easily. He would search for it, if he had to…

"You told me why you attacked me, but you also mentioned something else?" I prompted.

Lucius' face relaxed, but he stood, finally doffing his cloak and casually tossing it over the ottoman behind him. Again, I noted how dingy his undershirt was and found he was missing the bottom silver button on his quilted doublet. Even the white neck cloth he wore was browned around the collar, doubtless from perspiration.

He began pacing suddenly, an action that startled me. His worn boots barely made a sound on the hardwood flooring, and I could see that is was an action he seemed to do out of nervous habit. His face became hard, his brows pinching, his lips moving as he began to argue—with himself.

I had always thought that a family like the Malfoy family had some sort of defect after generations of breeding within a small gene pool. Too many cousins marrying cousins had to produce a mental defect somewhere. Schizophrenia, and other sorts of madness, surely, but as far as I knew of Lucius Malfoy, or the impression I had of him, he was shrewd and intelligent.

"Five years, five fucking years, no one saw me, I saw no one, fucking curse, fucking hag…" he muttered as he passed back and forth, six steps in one direction, six in the other.

"Fucking Mudblood would be the one, fucking hell, fucking curse…"

I had had enough after this diatribe continued for several minutes. I cleared my throat and suddenly Lucius Malfoy stopped and gazed at me as if realizing that we suddenly shared the same air.

"I do have the ability to pitch you head long back out into the cold, Mr. Malfoy," I reminded him. "There is a limit to my generosity and my patience, so if you'd please explain…" I said smoothly, motioning him to sit on the ottoman again while I moved to the armchair.

I still had my wand, only setting it aside to warm up the minestrone, but keeping a close eye on the Vinewood.

He sat, not bothering to move his cloak out of the way. We faced each other, our knees only a foot apart, and I waited even as the sky began to spit snow. At some point, the clouds had rolled over the mountains, bringing heavy, fat flakes of snow that was peppering the rooftops in fresh whiteness.

"You won't believe me," he began, his posture betraying his discomfort.

I was sure that if he had had the choice, he would not be so close to me, or confiding in me. How well he knew me, or what he knew about me was unimportant, but it was clear that he found me distasteful. However, I could see the desperation in his face; see it in the way his shoulders bowed as if he had the weight of several planets on his shoulders.

Something had happened to Lucius Malfoy, something that he was loathe to tell me, but had to lest he crumple under the weight of the information and die.

"I will be the judge of that," I replied.

I think he tried to smirk, but his mouth was twitching too much to be certain.

"Five years ago, my wife, Narcissa, asked for a divorce."

This, I did not know. It had not been in the papers, then again, I did not read the papers often, and working in the bowels of the Ministry was not conducive to the usual gossip.

"It was an amicable parting," he explained, as if defending his wife whom I barely knew. "But after she moved to Canada, I had a sort of breakdown," he sighed. "Narcissa and I loved each other, love each other," he corrected, more to himself than to me. "But we were not in love. Danger had brought us closer together. Draco had brought us closer together, but Draco married and left the Manor, wanting no part of his full inheritance as Lord…"

This, I did know. Draco Malfoy's marriage to Astoria Greengrass had been quite an affair, or so I heard. Draco Malfoy was richer than ever before; he was gaining popularity in the Ministry, and all due his distancing from his father, Lucius, I imagined.

I did know that Lucius was still a pariah of sorts, or at least, he had been immediately after the War.

"I lost my handle on my senses, and I ended up drinking in a pub down Knockturn Alley one night."

I tried not to snort. It would be just like a man to try to drink away his woes…

"Much of the night is still a blur to me, but I do know that at some point during the course of the evening, I offended several wizards, and a hag. I did not know it at the time, but I had offended a hag who was a descendant of Black Annis."

I winced. Black Annis was a creature of folklore, but in the magical world, Black Annis was a famous hag who preyed on Muggle children to use their skins and blood for her arcane spells. Hags were not things you wanted to offend, thus, I could already see where Lucius' story was heading.

"She cursed me. She cursed me to be unable to see any magical being, especially humans. It went further than that… Witches and Wizards could not see me either. Narcissa, Draco, my solicitor, my house elves—I did not exist to them, as if I had never been born. And I did not see them either, as if the world was suddenly empty."

His voice became ragged, and slowly he rested his face in his hands, unable to look at me any longer. He was hiding his shame and mortification, I supposed, but he continued.

"I could not access my vault, the goblins could not see me, and I could not see them to ask for aid… I could not even get into my house; the wards did not recognize me. The only people who could see me were Muggles, and Muggles were all I saw.

This went on for a whole month before the hag appeared to me again in a copse of trees not far from the Malfoy lands. I had been staying there like a vagrant, hoping that Narcissa might return, or Draco, so I could follow them through the wards and into the Manor. But how would I be able to see them? Diagon Alley was empty to me, every magical place was devoid of witches, and wizards I had known all my life.

If I were in the Manor, I knew I could find food, I could bathe, and no one, not the elves would have any clue I was there at all…"

Lucius paused, his voice muffled through his fingers, and in the pause, he seemed to master himself and straightened to gaze at me again.

At this point, anger seeped into his voice, but it was not, for the first time in the evening, directed at me.

"The hag came to harass me, and I apologized. I groveled at her disgusting feet. Me, Lucius Malfoy, groveled!"

He expected me to laugh. I did not. I was not totally heartless, but I was not a bleeding heart either.

"She laughed at me, and she told me the conditions of the curse.

I could still use magic, but using it to draw attention to myself did not work. No one saw me, stared right through me. I had used magic to steal and to keep myself warm or cool, clean, and fed. It did not matter, however…

I tried to use magic on Muggles, but it was weak somehow, as if Muggles were resistant to my spells. I could not even use Unforgivables on them if I wanted…"

He trailed, his eyes growing distant. I allowed this, but soon, he was speaking again.

"The hag told me that for the rest of my natural life no magical being besides her and one other would ever see or hear me. As she was the one who cast the curse, she could harass me as often as she wished.

She called me an impotent lack-wit…a sad Lothario…a prince of fools. I remember I called her a putrid whore, and I remember I regretted it.

To see a hag rage is perhaps the most terrible thing I have ever seen, and I have seen much."

Again, his eyes grew distant, fixing on the platform bed on the other side of the room past me.

"She told me what I had said to offend her, and to be honest, I did not think it at all something to be taken so seriously."

I was intrigued suddenly. Why this curiosity suddenly peaked was another mystery. Of course, I wanted to know the how and why Lucius Malfoy was in his current state, but…

"What did you say?" I asked, leaning forward slightly.

"I quoted the Marquis de Sade."

I blinked.

"It was a part of a quote, actually, and when the hag told it back to me, I remember what my mind's reference had been.

'No lover, if he be of good faith, and sincere, will deny he would prefer to see his mistress dead than unfaithful.' I had been ranting about the reasons Narcissa may have wanted a divorce. Drunk and out of my mind, I had convinced myself she had left me for someone else. I ranted and raved about how women were the most terrible creatures, and that I, being wiser by experience, hated all women and would never love one.

It must have struck something in the hag, because she cursed me so profoundly that I would never again see Narcissa again. I still cannot understand what had offended the hag so much…

But it doesn't really matter now."

He looked to the window, the snow falling in heavy white curtains outside.

"I would see no witch or wizard, they would not see me. I could use my magic, but that too, did not matter so much after a while. The only ray of hope I had came when the hag finished the conditions of her curse.

There would be one witch in all the world that would see me, and I, her. This witch, the hag said, would be the one to break the curse."

"Me," I muttered, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

I have mentioned that I love mysteries, but I should say, I love mysteries where I am not involved. I like being a spectator, not a participant—a detective, not a victim or suspect, or a key to the mystery itself.

"It would appear so," he conceded none too happily.

Fairytales flew past the backs of my eyes; fairytales that made me want to laugh at the impossibility of it all.

I was on holiday for Merlin's sake! I still had another week left, and I had planned to use the week to literally relax, not read, not do paperwork, not stress over the status of projects I had in the D of M.

"And this person the hag mentioned, how is she to break the spell?"

I knew I was going to regret asking.

Lucius Malfoy's face seemed suddenly paler, his lips compressing to stop himself from curling it up in disgust.

"When I find this woman, I am to have her fall in love with me, and bed her."

My lip did curl in disgust then, an expression Lucius wanted to use before me.

I was being punished for some indiscretion. This hag, whoever she was, was going to pay!

"How do I know that this is not just some…some…" I could not think of a word to describe it. I knew Lucius Malfoy, if he were truly Lucius Malfoy, would rather perform some depraved act of bestiality on a hippogriff than ever consider 'falling in love' with me.

This was not a prank, or a ploy to get me into some compromising position. What did Lucius Malfoy have to gain by even associating with me?

"A trick? I wish it were," he sighed, his rough fingers swiping at a strand of hair that had fallen from the ribbon, which I realized was frayed, at the back of his neck.

I had a sudden thought.

"You were looking for me…"

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Not you, personally, but the one witch whom the hag said would break the curse. I used a tracking spell I had created years ago when Draco was small…he had a penchant to wander off into the gardens and hide…"

He said no more, his voice thickening.

Silence fell heavy over us both, and I felt pity rising up in me again.

Lucius Malfoy, to see him with his near ragged clothes, his face revealing his depression, was pitiable.

However, I was not completely sold on the idea or the story he had spun.

"Prove it."

He blinked, and the dark depression in his face, like a storm cloud, shifted to a stormy anger readily evident in his grey eyes.

"Prove it?" he asked, angry and incredulous.

He jumped to his feet, towering over me at over six feet in height.

"Prove it?" he asked again, and stalked a few heavy steps and began pacing maniacally again. "Prove it, she says…" he muttered to himself.

I rose from the armchair, mindful that his wand was still wedged in the seat cushion and out of sight. I smoothed my skirt down and pushed my curls over my left shoulder with my left hand while I twirled my wand, in agitation, in my right. I considered slipping the wand back into the well concealed holster on my inner thigh, Lucius had broke my second wand, but I held tight to the Vinewood, considering something else.

If no magical being could see Lucius Malfoy, and he could not see them, the most logical test was for me to bring the man near another witch or wizard. As it was, I was certain there were no witches or wizards in the province, but in the province of Veneto to the south—that was a different thing all together.

"Grab your cloak," I growled to him, and moved, bare foot to where I had slipped out of my shoes.

Lucius stopped mid stride and stared at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the confusion on his face, an expression that made him appear young—young and lost.

"We're going to Venice."