(Note: I thought I had lost this part of the story forever. I couldn't find my manuscript for the longest time. It wasn't anywhere I looked. Finally, a friend ran across it at her house. Thanks to her for not throwing it away. I kept trying to rewrite, but it was all lame. After practically forever, here, finally, is Chapter 13!)

Hermione and Mia quickly scrambled to their feet as Lucius advanced on them

Hermione and Mia quickly scrambled to their feet as Lucius advanced on them. "How kind of you to join us, Miss Juvonen," he commented while staring down the two girls. "What a sacrifice to make on behalf of your friend."

"She's not my friend," Mia blurted out.

Although the two girls had only just met, Hermione cast a disbelieving glare at Mia. There's something about shared mortal fear that tends to bond people together. Perhaps Hermione was wrong.

Interpreting Hermione's glare as mutual dislike Lucius smiled. "Well then," he began, "you won't mind seeing her in, ah, discomfort, shall we say."

Mia waved her hand unconcernedly in the air. "Just leave me out of it." She glanced surreptitiously at Hermione and almost imperceptibly jerked her head towards Lucius.

Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion as she tried to decipher Mia's meaning. She glanced behind Lucius and for the first time actually looked at her surroundings. The room they were in was, as expected, made of stone. The too solid walls held them in on all sides, but on one side, the side behind Lucius, a stairway ascended. Escape, but how? Hermione's mind began churning out a jumble of ideas as to Mia's subtle meaning, but was interrupted by Lucius's response to Mia.

"Very well," Lucius assented as he flicked his wand towards a corner of the room where a large bed appeared. In an instant, Mia flew backwards and landed squarely against the headboard, her arms flinging outward as shackles appeared around her wrists. She struggled to move her arms but found they were securely chained to the bed posts.

"This is like a really bad B-movie," she said disgustedly. "'The Coward Who Had to Tie Up Little Girls.' Catchy title, isn't it?"

"Feisty girl, aren't you?" Lucius returned in a timbre of menace. "Just the way I like them. Now silence," he commanded, his wand pointing subtly towards her.

Mia continued to move her mouth, but no sound emitted. In frustration she tried to thrash about, her movement hindered greatly by the chains.

Hermione looked at Lucius whose eyes fixed solely on her. "What do you want with me?" she demanded.

"Oh, come now," he chided. "Everyone tells me how brilliant you are. Haven't you worked this one out yet?"

"I know what you want," she replied, repressing a shudder. "But why me?"

"Why you," Lucius repeated contemplatively. "Why, indeed." He moved closer to her and she firmly stood her ground. He raised his wand to her and used it to gently lift a lock of hair away from her face. "You are golden, so they say. A brilliant mind. A consummate witch. The best of the best." His eyes looked searchingly over her face. "Yet, in your blood runs the filth of thousands of years—common, un-bred, non-magic. Why I should require filthy blood seems unimaginable. Don't you think?"

Hermione stood stiffly as she kept her eyes trained on Lucius. He was very close to her, and she didn't for one minute doubt that his calm, subdued, almost gently manner could easily transform into something terrible.

"Yes," he continued at her silence, "That one point perplexed me for quite a while. But finally one phrase of the spell I shall soon use became clear. Would you like to hear it?"

Hermione was baffled. Lucius was very mild, tender, conversational, and that frightened her more than any fit of rage he could have conjured. She dared not speak, partially because she was intimidated by his pleasant manner, but mostly because of her morbid curiosity to know what he was going to say next. He didn't disappoint her.

"The phrase that finally made it all clear is, 'The blood of ages, thick with mud, from whence sprang Kings, Sovereigns, and Conquerors, drawn from strength, pure and mighty, to seal within this spell the indestructible brilliance of immortality.'"

He looked at her expectantly. "Do you understand?" he piqued. "Your blood, though dirty and impure, descends from power: kings, sovereigns, conquerors. Power. And that power, mixed with the brilliance and strength of magic, will imbibe the spell with unsurpassed potency."

Hermione backed away from Lucius as she watched the madness spread across his features. His eyes were glassy and unfocused as his imaginings took hold upon the grandeur he had painted across the canvas of his mind.

"Don't you see?" he asked, as though pleading with her to understand. "Your brilliance and strength; my purity and power: it will be indestructible. I will be indestructible."

In his fit of madness he flicked his wand and a large silver cauldron appeared in the center of the room. "It shall be mine, and forever I shall reign. You and I shall be as sovereigns, ruling and conquering together." Suddenly his eyes focused and bored directly into hers. "Oh, yes," he said nearly bursting with anticipation. "You shall rule by my side. A queen to a king. And we shall live forever in ultimate power."

Hermione desperately wanted to run away from the madman before her. Somewhere along the way, his quest for power had addled his senses. The clever, vengeful, and intimidating man she used to see had melted away and in his place now stood an unstable, disturbed, and desperate man pathetically clinging onto his vision of greatness.

"You're mad, Lucius," she stated quietly.

Lucius looked at her with a smirk. "Oh, I assure you, I am quite sane. But the mere thought of absolute power does make me rather excitable. And the thought that you, Harry Potter's friend and my son's inspiration for treachery, shall help me obtain it is almost more than I can bear. But I shall try."

Hermione blinked her eyes in astonishment. Gone was the madness to be replaced once again with normalcy.

"I'll never be your queen," she said with forced calm.

Lucius looked at her with a satisfied smirk. "Really?" he asked somewhat rhetorically. "Power. Glory. Immortality. These things don't interest you?" His smirk melted into a leer as he tapped his wand gently against his open palm. "Deep down I know a part of you wants it. Craves it. Channel that desire, and you will find the idea exhilarating."

"Never, Lucius," Hermione reaffirmed. Her eyes flickered down to his hand as he retrieved a small vial from his pocket.

"Are you sure?" he asked as his long fingers stroked the vial.

"What's that?" Hermione squinted slightly to get a better look.

"Oh, this little thing?" Lucius asked in feigned innocence. "It's just a little potion to resurrect my wife." At Hermione's expression of pure horror he continued. "It's for you. You see, all you have to do is take this"—he raised the vial towards Hermione—"and I'll have my wife back."

Hermione looked at the dark brown sludge and unfurrowed her brow as the inspiration struck. "Polyjuice," she stated flatly.

"Ah." Lucius tapped the side of his head with his finger. "Caught up, have you?"

Hermione fixed him with a disgusted look. "You're sick."

His leer melted into a glare. "It's your choice," he bristled. "You"—his eyes slid towards Mia—"or her."

"I'd rather die!" Hermione shouted.

"That can be arranged! Supplexio!"

Instantly Hermione fell to her knees. She tried to get up, but her body was held subservient by Lucius's spell. With a flick of his wand the cauldron appeared before her.

Lucius grabbed her arm and held it over the cauldron. "Very well, witch. You've made your choice."

Hermione's eyes widened in fear as Lucius raised a bright silver dagger to her wrist. "Are you ready to watch me rise to immortality?"

Hermione gulped as she felt the cold steel press against her skin. She looked straight ahead and locked stares with Lucius. His face was impassive, a blank mask of indifference. His demeanor was cold and every move calculated. She met his stare with every ounce of courage she could muster, though inside her heart pounded wildly as her brain sent off warning signals to flee.

She continued to stare at him as the dagger's edge began to warm against her skin. The seconds ticked by and Hermione wondered what he was waiting for. Her heart kept up its wild pace as she watched his face for anything, but all she saw was the same indifference. She felt trapped, like a mouse waiting for the cat to pounce. And then she realized it. She was the mouse, and he was playing a very sick waiting game with her. She wanted to rail at him and call him on his perverse game, but instead she struggled to remain courageous. Perhaps if she could maintain the status quo she could buy herself a few more moments to think of a plan.

Hermione lifted her chin in clear defiance as she continued to stare down Lucius. She would not be made to cower before this wasted excuse for a human being, regardless of what serious damage his dagger could inflict upon her. She was a strong willed, extremely stubborn individual, and, by Merlin, she would not give Lucius the satisfaction of seeing her crumble before him. Her resolve strengthened, she fixed him with the most hardened glare she could muster.

His eyes were ice. They burned with cold steel and deadened humanity. His face masked all signs of emotion, all traces of a living soul. Hermione wondered at his ability to make himself so unreadable, so untouchable to the world. What had made him that way? Had he been mistreated as a child, forced to endure the pain of error when he failed to meet the standard set for him? Had his father placed unattainable tasks for him to accomplish in order to gain a measure of parental acceptance, unrealistic goals he had passed on to his own son? Or was he just a cruel and inhuman devil who wielded power like the world was his to rule?

She continued to stare him down, determined to give him a fair run for his money. His eyes never flickered, his face never altered. He seemed to be a statue of indifference. As she watched his face for any sign of change she felt a sharp pain slide across her arm. She gasped audibly as she felt a warm trickle dance down her wrist.

Lucius's face remained stony and unchanged. She would almost have thought that nothing had happened by looking at Lucius, except for the aching throb that began to pulsate across her forearm. Her eyes went wide with shock as they stayed riveted to Lucius.

"Funny," he said quietly as his eyes finally moved to glance down at Hermione's arm. "It doesn't look like mud." He smiled predatorily as he returned his eyes to hers. "But, then again, it never does."

Hermione kept her eyes forcibly trained on Lucius. She knew that she couldn't look down to see the work that his dagger had made on her arm. She wasn't particularly weak-stomached, but she couldn't bear to lose her composure by visually confirming what her nerve endings already knew.

Just as Hermione thought she could keep her ruse of holding it together, Lucius pressed the pad of his thumb harshly against her carved flesh. She cried out and tried to pull her arm out of his grasp, but he held on tightly and continued to squeeze her wound. Between strained gasps for air she heard several small splashes against liquid in the cauldron.

"Ah, very good," Lucius backhandedly complimented as he released her arm. "Hardly a sound from you. Potter, on the other hand, screamed like a little girl when he resurrected the Dark Lord."

"You foul, disgusting, demon! You're not good enough to lick Harry's boots, let alone speak of him," Hermione seethed.

Lucius fixed her with a deprecating half smirk, half grimace. "For that I'm not going to let you watch the festivities. Oh, you would have enjoyed hearing the final incantation that will make me immortal—it's in Latin," he added tantalizingly. "And, of course, my wife's resurrection. Watching her rise again to my side should be most exciting. But you've been a naughty witch, saying such nasty things to me. For that you will be punished."

He brandished a small brass coin from his pocket and rubbed it slightly between his fingers. "Oh, don't worry," he said unconcernedly as he correctly interpreted the look on her face. "You have an anxious entourage waiting for you." He took her wounded arm in his hand and gently opened her clenched fist. "They've been waiting a very long time for you." He placed the coin in her palm and closed her fingers around it. In her other hand he placed her wand. He then dropped his hands from hers.

"Goodbye, Miss Granger," he said tenderly, almost lovingly. "Portus."