The parlour was dark, with only the fire casting its fitful light across the red leather sofas, antique tables and cherry wood bookshelves. Hermione had tried to read for much of the day, while she had been home alone, but had found herself unable to concentrate on her plan for revenge after this morning's sad news. As much as Lucius had appeared to stoically accept the news, she had a feeling that he felt the loss deeper than he would ever admit, probably to anyone. Lucius Malfoy was a closed book to most people; she herself had only been able to crack that façade a few times since she had begun her sojourn at the Manor.

She glanced over at the sofa opposite her, where Draco slumped, fast asleep. His eyes were still puffy with his tears but his breathing was deep and even; the sleep of the exhausted. She had been surprised when he had come home and began drinking, barely aware that she was there, helping himself to the crystal decanters by the window. She had remained quiet for a while, not wishing to disturb him, but when he had poured a fourth drink in quick succession she realised that she had to say something.

The pair had talked for some time, Draco surprisingly open with her—though she was sure the alcohol was helping to loosen his tongue. He had told her of his mother and the time he had spent, almost feeling smothered by her love. Things had only gotten worse after Voldemort fell. At the time, it had driven a wedge between them and they had struggled to connect again, after the war. Now, though, he wished he could have had that time back, to try again, to have his mother back at a time when she was still his mother.

Her heart had ached as he spoke and she found tears in her own eyes. She had cried to herself later, curled up in the chair after Draco had slumped and began to snore. The family had been through so much over the years, and despite the darkness and the blood on their hands, Hermione was beginning to really understand them and the powerful familial bond that guided their actions.

It had been some time, after the sun had descended and the elves had lit the fire, and Hermione began to get concerned about Lucius. He had gone to The Serenity Resort to deal with the paperwork, despite her insistence that he at least wait a little while longer. That had been nearly fourteen hours ago, and it was approaching midnight.

Hesitantly, quietly, she called for Knocky, the little elf appearing beside her in a gentle puff of white smoke. His clean, white pillowcase, his arms and head poking through neat holes, hung like a robe on his spindly frame. "Mistress called Knocky?" he asked, a helpful smile on his wide face.

"Yes Knocky, thank you, but please stop calling me 'Mistress'. I'm not your employer, I'm Hermione."

"Yes, Mistress," Knocky said, with a little bow.

Hermione shook her head and sighed. "Master Lucius, has he returned yet?"

"Master Lucius is in his study, Mistress," the little elf said, with a squeak, and then promptly head butted the table with a crash, falling to the floor for a moment.

Her hands to her mouth in surprise, Hermione knelt down and helped the little elf to stand. "He told you not to tell me, didn't he? No, no, no!" She grabbed Knocky's wrists as he nodded and then tried to punch himself in the face. "It's okay, forget I asked. I said stop it, Knocky!" This last was delivered sternly as the elf strained to bite his hand and Hermione moved it out of his way.

"Knocky was worried." The little elf looked at the floor, his lips trembling and Hermione gave him a hug.

"Look after Master Draco, Knocky. That's an order."

The authoritative tone brightened the elf's face and Hermione sighed inwardly, but left him happily fussing over the young blond wizard, plumping a summoned cushion and helping Draco to lay down more comfortably. She had another Malfoy on her mind now.

It did not take her long to reach Lucius' study, finding the door locked but not charmed in anyway. With a silent spell she unlocked the door and pushed it open. Lucius' study was similar to the parlour, but with the addition of a large writing desk in the centre, facing the window, side on to the door, and overlooking the large grounds of the house.

Lucius was sat here, leant back in his chair, a crystal decanter on his desk, glass in hand. Hermione could not see his face, partially concealed as he was by the sides of the chair, but she watched as the glass disappeared from sight, a full two fingers of whiskey inside, and came back empty. Unsteadily Lucius placed the glass on the table and lifted the decanter. His grip was wobbly and the liquid sloshed around inside.

"Like father, like son," Hermione muttered to herself, stepping in and walking swiftly up to the desk.

"Hermione!" Lucius declared, too loudly, as he caught sight of her, attempting to grab her hand and missing by a few inches.

"Lucius," she said quietly, deftly snagging the whiskey from his hand, pouring her own drink and settling on her haunches next to him. "How long have you been here, alone."

The normally reserved man blinked owlishly at her as he placed his finger and thumb against the side of the decanter, a few inches apart. "This long," he slurred. He then gave a cough and a shake, settling back in his chair, out of sight again.

Taking a sip of her drink Hermione sighed and placed the decanter on the desk, out of Lucius' reach. She gripped the edge of his chair and turned him towards her, the chair pivoting smoothly. The man looked down at her and smiled slightly, his aristocratic mask back in place.

"Do you want to talk about today?" she asked softly, touching his hand, feeling that tingle creep through her nerves and up her arm as he turned his hand to grip hers.

"Not particularly, pet," he said. "The bureaucracy of dealing with the passing of a spouse, even an ex one, is complicated enough, without having to go over the details again. I went to the Quidditch pitch today as well though. Draco has done a good job."

The young witch shook her head sadly, feeling her eyes sting at the way he was trying to change the subject but decided that this might be the best she could get from him. "It's looking good, is it?"

"Oh yes," he said, nodding sagely, "very good. The grounds are neat, the Christmas decorations are bright and cheerful. A very good job, and almost singlehandedly, really. Apart from the contractors of course."

The young woman at his feet said nothing, just nodded, holding his hand and gazing at him, attentive, caring.

"This will be a victory for him, his first real step up in our business. I let him take the helm on this one, of course. Guessed it was time for him to sink or swim." Lucius glanced at his glass, then the decanter a little wistfully. "He was ready for it of course. He has been for a long time, in truth, but I never gave him a chance to prove it to me. Caused a few fights between us, I can tell you," he laughed.

"How come?"

"Why the fights? Have you met my son?" He laughed again, his throat sounding rough, looking down at her. "Oh, why he's never been given a chance." Lucius rested his head back, staring at the ceiling. "It's been… difficult, since the war. Our name was so muddied by our actions as to be irretrievably stained. I worked so very hard to conceal our past, only admitting what I felt we could be forgiven for. Our defection before the end helped, of course, but people have long memories and even now, certain doors are closed to us.

"I never really wanted to put Draco in a position where he could cause damage. He is headstrong and impatient. He was anyway. In truth, I didn't want him to fail… at anything. I wanted to give him the world, do anything for that boy. He is my son, and my heir and the best thing I have done in this darkened life of mine."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat as she watched the tears in the blond man's eyes balance on the point of falling. He did not even seem aware of them, his voice remaining the same, his face not registering the emotion swelling in his eyes. She wondered if he realised just how much of his inner thoughts he was baring to her, drunk as he was.

"Narcissa was always protective of him: too protective in my opinion. During his teenage years, he was a spoiled little brat and it affected our relationship. But she couldn't seem to let go. In many ways that should have been my first clue of her mental state." He shook his head, tears spilling at the motion and making wet tracks down his cheeks.

"Bellatrix was obsessive over the Dark Lord and it became stronger and stronger. Cissy began to talk about Draco, after the war, in the same way that Bella had spoken of her master. It scared me, if I'm honest, and I began to withdraw from her. Not that she noticed all that much, so wrapped up in our son as she was.

"But Draco began to feel stifled too, maybe even recognising the first signs of his Aunt's madness in her. He came to work for me, preferring to spend time out of the home and away from Cissy's grasping clutches. It did nothing for her humour, of course." Lucius gazed down at Hermione, a small, wry smile gracing his lips, even as more tears appeared in his eyes.

The sad witch rubbed the back of Lucius' hand, bringing it up to lay a gentle kiss upon the smooth skin. "It must have been hard."

The handsome man sighed, resting his chin on his hand, elbow on the arm of his chair. "It is not so much the difficulty we had with Narcissa. Her mind degenerated until we were forced to institutionalise her for her own good; and for ours, really. She became violent and paranoid, her magic exploding from her at unexpected times. With her gone, life returned to normal, really. Draco and I became closer and our star continued to climb back into the heavens."

Though his voice still did not change, did not show emotion other than pride, his eyes were clear portals straight through to his soul, and Hermione's heart clenched at the sorrow and heartache she saw in their depths.

"The difficulty is my fear that Draco is going to follow his mother, his Aunt. He has the blood of the Black family in his veins and mine may not be strong enough to save him." He looked at her, free hand stroking her cheek. She unconsciously pressed herself against his palm, revelling in his touch. Tears flowed freely down his face though he did not seem to notice them. "He is likely to go mad in time and I will lose my son and the very thought of it breaks my heart in two, Hermione. My family stands upon a knife edge and is likely to join my wife's in ignominy and fade from the world. Draco and I are the last Malfoys alive now and any children that Draco has will carry the Black curse, go mad and die..."

"No, Lucius," Hermione said, kneeling up, lifting herself higher and squeezing his hand again. "There must be a cure or a way of breaking the curse. There has to be."

The wizard smiled, leaning forward and cradling her face in his hands. "You are as wise as you are lovely. I know that your next relationship will be a success and that he will never hurt you, without being able to make it up to you soon afterwards." She smiled, trying to speak but he talked over her. "I know this, because I have plans on that man being me." He said it quietly, as if trying to convey a secret and the witch flushed, her face feeling hot, the prickle racing across her chest and down her body.

"I… I had no idea you felt this way," she lied, smiling broadly, before biting her lip as he lurched towards her in his chair. She held him up as he drunkenly tried to kiss her, and she was torn; she wanted to kiss him, so very much, but he was so drunk that it wouldn't be the hair crackling, finger and toe tingling moment that it should be. "Lucius, please stop. We'll talk in the morning, when you've sobered up perhaps?"

The man rested his head on her shoulder and her skin shrank and burned up as she felt his breath on her neck. She could barely keep the sigh from her lips and her resolve trembled, shaken to its core and she struggled to resist his kisses and his…

She paused, blinking in confusion. He wasn't kissing her, she realised. Those breaths across her skin were not whispered words of desire, as she had thought.

He was asleep: that was a snore!

With a put upon sigh, the witch stood, lifting and pushing Lucius back into his chair, his head lolling to the side. His mouth hung open and he snorted slightly as Hermione stood, stepping away from his chair. She looked down at him, arms crossed, her emotions at war; she was both relieved and a little put out. She shook her head and gave a quiet laugh before summoning Knocky to help her get the great and terrible Lord of Malfoy Manor into his bed.

It was finally the day of the Festive Quidditch friendly between Bulgaria and England, a time that the entire Wizarding community in Britain had been waiting for. The match venue was decked out for the season; magical tinsel, baubles, trees and singing cards, bedecked every square inch of the ground. A magical cloud, supplied by George Weasley, provided a festive dusting of snow across the stands and the pitch, and the spectators happily threw snow balls at each other, each one exploding in festive confetti when they hit.

Hermione waited at the bottom of the stands, in the shadows of the steps as Lucius and Draco spoke with the Quidditch team captains, going over the final details of the match. Both men were happy and smiling about the upcoming match, nearly two years of planning finally coming to fruition.

The two captains shook hands with the Malfoy men then and turned, leaving to go back to their changing rooms, talking happily with each other. Lucius and Draco walked towards Hermione then, smiles still in place.

"Hermione, my dear girl!" Lucius enthused. "Today's the day, the stands are full and this match is going to be amazing, for so many reasons." He laughed and Hermione blushed at the feelings his voice evoked in her.

"Are you absolutely certain you don't mind me doing this? On such an important day?" She wrung her hands nervously, glancing between the two men.

"Not having doubts now are we, Granger?" said Draco, with a laugh. Although the paperwork had only just been filed, Hermione had wanted to drop her married name sooner, rather than later.

"Sweetheart," the older man said, taking her hands and holding them firmly, "both teams have reserves. That's all I can say." His eyes sparkled with anticipation and mirth, easing Hermione's fears.

"We'll see you in the stands!" said Draco, patting her on the shoulder and starting to climb to the top.

Lucius paused a bit longer, stepping up to her and leaning in. "Remember your anger at the critical point. It is so important, my dear."

She nodded, steeling her nerve for what she was about to do. Lucius leant closer then, brushing his lips softly over hers and all thoughts left her mind in a rush. It had been so unexpected to have him kiss her, here, now. Her mind was completely empty as she pressed herself forward, into the kiss. She felt his hands grip her sides and she moaned, opening her mouth to him and letting him take her. Her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him as close as she could, wanting to feel him consume her completely, as she felt his hands slid up her back and into her hair. The sensation of Lucius's strong fingers stroking across her scalp lifted every hair on her body, as if she was in a magnetic field. As her tongue met and caressed his, her skin tingled, her toes curled; it was everything she had wanted their first kiss to be, and more.

All too soon it was over and Lucius was pulling away, looking a little flushed himself. Hermione was certain that her face was bright red. Biting her lip she smiled up at the blond man, her eyes sparkling with desire. "That… that was worth waiting for," she whispered.

Lucius held her chin gently between finger and thumb and smiled widely. "And there will be many more after this day, that I promise you." With that he was gone, smoothly stepping past her and climbing the steps, towards his seat at the top.

Left alone, Hermione sighed happily. She straightened her fine dress robes and picked up the box that lay at her feet. She could feel it tremble, the sensation travelling through her hands via the iron handles on the sides. It was heavy, but nothing she couldn't handle. "Okay," she said, blowing out a heavy breath, "let's do this."

She stepped out from under the stands, into the chill, winter sunshine and onto the pitch, nodding to the commentary box, high above. The commentator—who had been watching for her arrival—quickly began to announce her, reeling off her list of achievements and triumphs, her distinguished history.

"I give you, our guest of honour! Heroine of the War! HERMIONE! GRANGER!"

The crowd had begun to roar as the announcement began, but this was nothing compared to the deafening bellowing that began as they saw her, striding across the pitch. Keeping her nerves in a tight grip she smiled widely, levitating the chest with her wand and waving at the rows upon rows of people. If anyone in the crowd thought it strange that she was announced using her maiden name, it didn't show in the rapturous faces she could see.

Reaching the centre of the pitch she let the chest lower to the floor and stood, hands behind her back, waiting. Her heart pounded at the number of people surrounding her and she looked upwards, eyes swiftly finding a pair of blond heads, near the top of the stands. She saw Lucius raise a hand in greeting and her smile widened even more.

"Please welcome, from Bulgaria! The Bulgarian National Team!"

The attention was finally diverted from her as the Bulgarian team burst from their dressing room, roaring into the skies on their brooms, their red and gold uniforms glowing in the sunshine. Each one was introduced by name and they took their bows in mid air, their faces being projected onto large screen set along the sides of the stands, allowing everyone to see, no matter their position. Sofija's name was called and Hermione couldn't help but glare a little at the dark-haired Chaser, as she rocketed out of the tunnel and into the sky.

"Aaaaaaand their Seeker! VIKTOR! KRUM!"

The bushy haired witch desperately kept a smile on her face, trying not to growl as the tall, dark and handsome man, soared into the sky to the adulation of the crowd. After another couple of circuits of the stadium, the crowd roaring themselves hoarse, the team alighted on the ground, to Hermione's left.

"And now! Your home-grown heroes! Please welcome! The English National Team!"

Ron was first out of the tunnel, the white and blue uniform flapping in the wind, greeted by the roar of the crowd, but his eyes flew immediately to Hermione and he made as if to swoop down towards her. After a brief moment he thought better of it and returned to the sky; they would all be together on the ground in a moment and close to each other.

It seemed an age before the teams met on the pitch, each player shaking the hands of every other player before moving towards Hermione in a line, team by team. As they reached her they exchanged a few words as they took her hand. Several of the Bulgarian team—and even some of the English team—looked a little star struck at this honour. Hermione found this a little laughable but she was polite and friendly with each of them as they passed.

As Sofija reached her, the dark-haired woman took her hand and leant forward, as if to kiss her cheek. "I vish to say I am sorry for my part in your troubles. I vish you happiness in the future, Ms. Granger."

Hermione was surprised and her mouth dropped open a little before she schooled her features into a smile once more. "Apology accepted, Sofija," she said, and, bizarrely, found that she meant it too. "I bear you no ill will and good luck today."

"Dobar," she said with a relieved curtsey. "I shall also no longer be patsy for Viktor. He vill take care of his own business from now on."

"Does he know this?"

"Not yet." The little Chaser's grin was vicious and Hermione laughed, leaning forward and kissing her cheek before letting her move on.

Then Krum was stood before her. He started to speak as Hermione took his hand but she shook her head, her grin fixed on her face. Memories of the times they had spent together; that wonderful night in her fourth year, when he had kissed her, when he had treated her like a Princess. The rest of that year he had made her feel like she was so important to him, that he truly cared. Over the years, after Hogwarts, they had kept in touch, writing to each other on occasion. Now… now it all lay in dust. She looked into his eyes. "I don't want to hear it and I suggest you move on, Viktor, before something happens that I cannot control." The man took the hint and moved on, his face setting into its usual stoic mask.

"Hermione."

"Hello Ronald," she said with a sigh, "how've you been?" She looked at the red-haired man that had, a few years ago, promised to be her partner for life. He seemed to have aged in the last few weeks but Hermione found nothing but a hollow emptiness in her stomach as she looked into his eyes.

"I wanted to talk to you but Malfoy keep interfering and preventing my messages. Please… can't we talk about this?"

Hermione pretended to think about it, looking up at the sky for a moment. "Umm, no, Ronald. No, we cannot. We are done. I've filed the paperwork with the Wizengamot and it's over in all but name."

"I'm not gay!" he said, leaning forward, his hand on his chest, a look of earnestness on his face. It looked and sounded so ridiculous that Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"That is… Merlin's beard, that is so irrelevant, Ron! I don't care, at this point, if you are gay, straight or something in between. You betrayed me and you hurt me and it is over." She felt her lower lip start to tremble and the pain in her chest start to rise and she desperately fought to stop the tears coming, telling herself again that she was done with the tears. She focused instead on her anger, letting it fill her. Reaching out she grabbed his hand, gripping it firmly and staring into his eyes. Her wand, concealed between their palms, began to heat and Ron stared at her in shock.

"Let all know of your transgression; let no other lover come to you without first hearing your crime; let there be no peace for you as the nature of your crime against me becomes known to all, no matter how far, no matter how long; let this always be your punishment, from now, till the day you die!"

The pair parted, their hands snapping apart as if shocked. Ron gaped at her staring between her and his hand. "What the… what the fuck did you just do?!"

"Get on your broom, Ronald," Hermione hissed, "and get the fuck away from me, before I kill you where you stand. The match is about to start."

As the confused man turned and walked away, still checking his hand, Hermione let out a deep breath. That spell had taken a lot out of her. It had welled from the depths of her soul and touched every part of her on its way out. Her skin was sensitive, her blood raging; even her nipples were erect! She had an inkling why Dark magic was so tempting now. It called to the soul, tempting it with feelings of pleasure. Hermione smiled watched her soon-to-be ex-husband fly up to the rings at one end of the pitch.

Stooping down, calling to mind the words she needed, Hermione opened the chest at her feet. She could hear the announcer's voice booming out into the chill air, but the words washed over her, unregistered. The Quaffle lay in its recess, mute and still; the two Bludgers quivered and shook, straining against the restraints that held them down. Then there was the Snitch, the tiny little golden orb lying in the box; so innocuous seeming and yet Hermione believed that she could see it trembling, its little wings wrapped tightly around its centre.

Carefully, using her wand to avoid touching the minute orb, she undid its strap and lifted the ball out, holding it above her head, muttering the spell under her breath as the crowd roared in delight. With a flick she sent the ball flying into the sky where it swiftly vanished. The Bludgers, released with a kick, followed swiftly afterwards, circling the pitch menacingly. Hermione scooped the Quaffle into her hands and addressed the team players, hovering above her.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen, let's have a nice clean game and entertain the crowds. Good luck!" As the commentator, joined by the crowd, shouted down from five, Hermione lifted her eyes to see Ron, at his goalposts, already starting to squirm and she grinned.

"… Three! Two! One! GAME ON!" The Quaffle rocketed into the sky and the match was on.

"So," Draco said, leaning closer to the witch at his side, her hand gripping Lucius' thigh, "are you going to let us in on the secret of what you have planned for those two?"

"Nope."

"I still don't understand why you don't just out the pair of them. Get it exposed!"

"To what end?" Hermione asked. "If they come out, declaring themselves as a couple; or even have their relationship exposed in a seedy way, through the tabloids, the scandal will last a month? A year, maybe, before the public get bored and move on to something more current. No, this is… better."

The match had been on for half an hour now and nothing untoward appeared to be happening. In truth, Hermione had started to worry that she had got the spell wrong, that nothing would happen and her revenge would fail. Both teams were playing their hardest and their fastest, blasting through the sky to the delight of the fans. Ron had already been called on to make several saves, which he did with consummate ease. His earlier discomfort seemed to have vanished and he sat his broom without fidgeting, moving swiftly to intercept any threat to his goals. Only three goals had been scored so far, though many shots had been taken. The score stood at 20-10 to England when Hermione sat up with a grin, Lucius gave a bark of laughter and Draco's jaw dropped.

Bulgaria had the Quaffle, the Chasers passing it effortlessly between them, the Beaters flying guard. They blasted towards Ron, outstripping his defenders with some fine manoeuvres.

"Kakalova passes to Petrov, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a Bludger! Easily dealt with by Ivanov, the big guy whacking it towards the English Chasers. The Quaffle is now with Dragonova and she's going to score, unless Weasley can keep it out!"

"Keep it out of his ring? Pah! That's something he has trouble with… you know, sexually!"

The Quaffle flew into the middle goal, effortlessly past Ron, and Sofija Dragonova soared into the sky to celebrate, albeit with a slightly confused expression in her face. Ron was staring in shock at his crotch. The crowd tittered slightly, wondering what had just happened and the commentator was going bright red with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry folks, I'm not sure who said that and I apologise for any offence caused. The players are ready once more and the Quaffle is released, ready for another play."

"Shame Ron can't just keep his playing on the pitch! He has to play away from home too!" The voice boomed out over the grounds, as loud as before. There was no doubt where it was coming from though: Ron was sat on his broom, desperately trying to cover his crotch. The booming voice continued to shout, barely muffled by his efforts. "It's a shame really. Did you know, when he was younger, he used to check his sister out when she was in the shower… Now you tell me, is that a little weird to anyone else!?"

The crowd was torn between laughter and gasps of horror at this. Ron, desperately trying to smother the voice, couldn't focus on the game and the Quaffle sailed past him again.

"Wow!" declared his crotch. "That was like chucking a sausage down a corridor… something you've heard before, eh Ron?" As the man flared an even deeper shade of red, the voice continued, adding to his mortification. "Mind you, I shouldn't mock him. With the size of his penis? He's more to be pitied than scolded, I can assure you. I mean, you have no idea how roomy this cup is; it's like I'm in some kind of auditorium! Echo, echoo, echooo!"

The players could barely concentrate on their game and some of the England team had completely lost the will to play on; Marcus Flint was sat on his broom, in the middle of the pitch, roaring with laughter, even as the Bulgarian Chaser, Petrov, snatched the Quaffle from his hands.

The crowd was getting hysterical, howling with laughter, and only the most serious Bulgarian players were retaining any semblance of discipline. The two English Beaters, Miles and Puckett, had joined Flint in the giggles but it was short lived as a Bludger struck Puckett in the side of the head, nearly unseating him. A sniggering Bulgarian player, unable to hold in the laughter any longer, hauled the stunned man back onto his broom and the two steadied each other, tears of laughter streaming down their face.

"Enough!" yelled Ron, desperately. "Please, no more!"

"That's what your wife said!" declared his trousers happily, to the approval of the crowd. "Hey, Sofija! Sofija!" The red-clad Chaser stopped in mid air, a confused look on her pretty face. "If you ever wanted to have sex with Ron, I'm sorry, but he'd have to disappoint you. He'd still have sex with you… but, you know…"

The laughter of the crowd was deafening, the commentator having given up trying to describe the game. The whole match had come to a total stand still and Ron desperately tried to flee from the stand. His broom failed to respond however and he was stuck, hovering in mid-air, as his groin continued to yell obscenities and insults at him and to the crowd.

"This man had a wife, well, still does, technically. But he couldn't keep me in his pants and so now she's left him! How's that for a Christmas present?" The crowd began to boo, things started to be thrown even as the commentator tried to restore order. "I know, I know, dirty cheating little bugger, ain't he… And you have no idea how accurate that phrase is for adultery boy here!"

Finally someone took action and the England captain, Jeffery, rallied around his Keeper, dragging him off his unmoving broom and carrying the sobbing man away. Even as they flew into the tunnel, his crotch had not finished with him.

"Weee!" it yelled. "Like diving into a shitty dirt pipe, much like you did a few nights ago, you cheating little cock gobbler!"

It took an hour for order to be restored, for the crowd to stop screaming with laughter and for Flint to do the same. Draco sat, high up in the stands, clutching his sides with tears streaming down his face, incoherent in his laughter. It would be days before the young man would be able to think of the match without bursting into giggles. England had substituted their back up Keeper and Ron had last been seen, flying away from the pitch as fast as he could.

As the match restarted again, the action was fast and furious, both teams getting back into the swing of the game and England taking the lead back from the Bulgarians. After another two hours of play, the score sat at 110 to 90 to England, and Krum suddenly dove, the England Seeker, Wills, hot on his tail. The slim blonde was slightly faster and began to edge ahead, both players' eyes fixed on the tiny globe that flashed away across the pitch. Hermione sat forward to watch, praying silently, and hoping the right person won the race.

Dodging between players and avoiding Bludgers, the two fought to keep up with the Snitch as it dodged and dove aside. The crowd was going insane with excitement; while the Seekers fought to capture the Snitch, the Chasers continued to score, England still maintaining the lead and desperately trying to increase it, before Krum could grab the win.

The score was 200-110 when there was a huge roar of victory from the stands, Hermione gave a shuddering sigh of relief, and the commentator's booming voice filled the air.

"THE SNITCH IS CAUGHT! Viktor Krum takes the Snitch after a hard fought battle! The final score! 200 to England and 260 to Bulgaria! Bulgaria takes the win!"

The dark haired man held the golden orb aloft, the cheers of the crowd washing over him. After a moment though he gave a curse and tried to drop it. It stuck to his palm however and began to melt, the golden liquid flowing over his skin and around his hand and wrist. The molten fluid sank through his flesh and he scratched his skin frantically at the burning heat.

"This is my gift to you, Viktor," Hermione's voice whispered in his ears and he stared around, even as he clutched his wrist in horror. Hermione was nowhere near him, however, and she sat in her chair, high up in the stands, watching intently as her second curse took effect. "You didn't think I had forgotten you, did you? You took my husband away from me, Viktor, and though I will heal and move on with my life, I have made sure that his own body will betray him. For the rest of his life, he will never find love again. As for you, and your love…"

Viktor gave a cry, as his groin and thighs began to feel like they were on fire, the skin burning with a terrible heat. Unable to maintain his balance he fell from his broom. He managed to grab the shaft, hanging on as he willed the broom lower. Even as the pain in his legs lessened, his hand began to burn and he let go, falling the short distance to the floor and landing heavily on his back. He lay, winded and gasping for breath, feeling the pain begin to fade again.

"You will never again be able to fly a broom. I have made sure that the curse upon you will cause you nothing but pain and discomfort the moment you touch a broomstick. No more games, no more fame: you will become an old has-been and fade into the background of the game you love, years before your time. This is the price for your betrayal."

The Medi-witches and wizards crowded around the stricken player, checking him for injuries. The crowd was growing still, as they waited to see what had happened to the hero of the match. They jumped back into life however as he climbed to his feet, waving to the crowd, his face set in a stoic mask. Those closest to him though could see the tears, fear and pain in his eyes.

High above the pitch, Hermione stood, fighting to hold back the tears in her own eyes and her heart filled with relief. Lucius took her hand, kissing it softly. "Let us go home, pet. It's over now."

She nodded, turning to hug the tall man, feeling his arms wrap closely about her. His presence soothed her emotions and she sighed as she felt the crush of Apparition surround them.

The room was still dark but the sun was rising on Christmas morning. Hermione could see the light, mostly blocked by the heavy drapes, brightening the edges of the window. She had already checked the weather outside and it looked set to be a beautiful day; wonder of wonders it had snowed in the night, without any magical assistance, for a change.

Knocky had woken her an hour earlier than usual and she had quickly got herself washed and dressed, struggling a little until she asked Knocky to help. The look on the little elf's face, at finally being asked to help dress her, made her sigh a little but it was necessary. She could never get the Sleekeazy potion to work by herself. It was only a small concession, she thought to herself, and just for today. An hour later and she had been dressed and ready, settling herself elsewhere in the Manor, resting on her elbow.

As she waited she thought on the events of the last few days. The events at the end of the match had been widely reported and it had taken up the front page as well as a full double page spread inside, giving a blow by blow account of the match itself. A smaller story, near the end of the double spread, had reported that Ron Weasley had left the England team in disgrace and was currently in hiding, refusing all interviews. She smiled wickedly, wondering how he had fared the first time he awoke with an erection. Funny jokes and put downs weren't the only thing he had been cursed with. Any sexual thoughts or attempts at sex would unlock something far darker and nastier; she almost wished she could see it when it happened. The front page had also carried the story that Viktor Krum, as he had collected the trophy from the Minister for Magic on behalf of the team, had announced his retirement from the sport.

What the papers hadn't reported was the visit Harry Potter had made to Malfoy Manor, the day after the match, to discuss the 'unusual events' that had occurred during the game. He had been sympathetic to what Hermione had been through, but as an Auror he had been duty bound to investigate the accusations Ron had made about her.

She had sat and answered his questions and then the two friends had sat and talked for some hours, catching up on everything that had happened. Harry had spent the last few months overseas, helping out with an international operation and hadn't been able to help. He had felt awful, apologising for not being here for her, promising to give Ron a piece of his mind when he found him. Hermione had let him fluster for a little while and then laughed, punched him lightly on the arm and told him not to worry, that she was fine. When he had left, Harry had given her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Stay strong, Hermione. I'll try and stop this going any further, if I can."

The witch didn't know yet if there would be any come back for her actions; the courts wouldn't be reviewing the files until after the Christmas holidays and so she would have to live with the tension until then.

A slight noise and motion recalled the witch back to the present. He was waking up and Hermione flicked her wand, the heavy curtains sweeping aside and letting a blaze of winter sunshine into the large bedroom. Lucius sat up in bed, a little bleary eyed as he tried to see what was happening, his eyes trying to adjust to the sudden light. As his vision cleared, a large smile lit his face and his eyes danced with mirth and appreciation.

Hermione lay, draped across the end of his bed, lips slightly pouted as she winked at the surprised man. The light from the window set off the subtly reflective threads in the lingerie that she wore; the cups of her bra were a deep red with delicate jewels sewn into the edges that caught the light and blazed with an inner fire. The matching knickers had a cheeky sprig of mistletoe, embroidered upon the waistband. Her long, satin gloves were edged with white fur that tickled her skin, just above her elbow. Her hair was straightened and smooth, pulled back over her shoulder, leaving her neck bare and exposing her sparkling, Christmas themed earrings.

"Merry Christmas, Mister Malfoy," she purred. "Want to unwrap your first present?"

Notes:

End Notes from when it was originally posted on GE, several years ago:

With thanks to the PBTT: y'all know who you are, you lovely, wonderful people you! :)
So thank you for variously petting, glomping, cheerleading, alpha reading, beta reading and just generally being there to cuddle me as I cried my way through the writing process :D

To MM, my wonderful giftee! This was an awesome prompt and I thank you for that. I hope you enjoy what I've conjured and that it's kind of what you were hoping for. I couldn't get as far as anything saucy between our leads, I'm afraid. I hope you are not too disappointed. On the plus side, they are *totes* about to! ;) Happy Christmas xx

Original Prompt (given as part of the challenge)

4. Upon finding her (what she thought to be) loyal and loving husband engaged in a rather gymnastic sex act with another man Hermione finds comfort in the one family that lives to torment her husband's. Entering into a dangerous yet exciting path of dark magic to enact a little revenge on her wayward husband and finding a little love for herself along the way.

Kinks: Unrepentant Death Eater Lucius and Draco- publically repentant but in private they are still dark unapologetic wizards. Although they adore our favourite Muggleborn they're still arses lol Ron!Bashing. Intelligent!Savvy!Bantering!Hermione. Lucius referring to Hermione as 'Pet' or 'my dear'.