A short, sweet, smutty Valentine's treat to all the Lumione fans. Hope you enjoy!
A miasma of snowflakes escaped from the streets and scattered itself across the entrance as Hermione crossed the marble lobby of the Ministry building towards the cafeteria. Her nose felt runny. From autumn through late spring, she always felt perpetually cold, and always managed to catch what seemed like an overlapping parade of colds, each one more dreadful than the last. She wished she hadn't forgotten to take her cloak with her as she scanned the room for Harry. He was already seated at a corner booth with their colleague, Gwen Thomas from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Harry waved at her when as she made her way over to their table.
"You look like you had a hard morning," Harry said as he looked her over.
"You would too. We are revising the exchange rate between Galleons and pounds. Percy and Lucius Malfoy are once again at each other's throats. The proposal to the Trade Commission has to be sent to the European Union of Magic by noon tomorrow. We hardly have a draft ready. I'm flying over the cuckoo's nest with those two," Hermione bitterly complained. "Now I have a headache. I think I'm coming down with something again."
"Lucius Malfoy? In your Department? When did that happen?" Gwen asked. "It's way too early for April Fool's jokes."
Hermione shrugged. "He's been there since New Year. He's a special consultant on international exchange rates. Go figure. He's very knowledgeable and highly qualified though. I just hate presiding over Weasley-Malfoy battle of wills."
"Well, I know something that might cheer you up," Harry said. "Ginny's match is on Friday, so she's officially free on Saturday to go to St. Mungo's benefit with us."
"That's good," she said as she carefully unwrapped her sandwich.
Gwen rolled her eyes. "I can see how it cheers you up, but how's it supposed to make her feel better?"
"Well, I figured since they didn't get to see each other over the holidays, well … I don't know."
"Of course, I'll be happy to see Ginny, but I don't think I want to go to this do," Hermione said between bites.
"Why not?" Gwen asked.
"I've been so tired lately that the perfect Valentine weekend for me would be to have be a quiet night in," she explained.
"But you promised to be my Plus One," Gwen whined. "It's a benefit, not a Valentine's Day love fest. We promised to go all go together. Now that Ginny can make it, you are my only option. Hermione, please, don't make me go alone. Two single witches showing up looks like happily unattached ladies sacrificing a date night for a worthwhile cause. One witch in a sea of couples looks sad and pathetic. Please, don't let me be the pitiful girl everyone stares at and wonders why she's still single."
Hermione laughed at her friend's theatrics. "Don't exaggerate. No one would really think that. People make too much of Valentine's this time of year. It's just another day."
"Yeah," Harry absentmindedly agreed. "It's not even a real holiday. If it didn't fall on the weekend, we wouldn't even get a day off."
"Exactly!"
"I know, but after being single for the second Valentine's in a row, I just want to experience the whole nine yards of Valentine extravaganza," Gwen said, staring off into space.
"Except in real life, it's not so extravagant," Hermione pointed out. "It's always cold. Traffic is terrible. Some kind of weather horror always happens on that day. If it doesn't then, something else will. My last Valentine's Day date was six years ago, and the fancy overpriced restaurant we went to was a complete disappointment. The fish was tasteless and dessert was bland. The love and seduction didn't happen because Ron got called away on an assignment at the last minute. And I don't even get the whole roses and diamonds thing. We cut out beautiful flowers and watch them die in vases. And why are people spending tons of money on jewelry that they will only wear on handful of occasions as though it's some kind of barometer of feelings?"
"Sounds like sour grapes," Gwen teased her, while Harry showed more interest in his plate than in their conversation.
"Yes, that's me," she agreed with Gwen. "But what do you expect when you've been starved of romance and seduction?"
Gwen grunted with disgust. "What do men nowadays know about that stuff? One day puts pressure on them, but back in my grandmother's day that sort of thing was expected throughout courtship."
"I've come to accept by now that some of us are not meant to experience that sort of thing, so there's no use lamenting it," Hermione conceded, getting up from the table. "Back to the grindstone for me. If you won't hear of any unfortunate accidents in the International Magical Cooperation Department then it means I had a good Monday."
She said her goodbyes and walked back to her office. A small package with red ribbon and a rose awaited her on the desk. Hermione picked it up and looked it over, thinking it must have been delivered to her on accident.
For Miss Hermione Granger, announced the elegant script on the top of the package. The handwriting didn't look familiar at all. As she traced the even, elegantly penned letters of her name, she felt a twinge of warmth glaze over her. Shaking off the strange feeling, she unwrapped the package. A silver bookmark fell onto her desk. Hermione looked it over, fingering the decorated orb at the top made of green vintage glass. Inside the glass a small phrase was inscribed, 'My weekend is all booked!'
What a thoughtful gift! Hermione thought and opened the note that fell besides it. She frowned as she stared at the cryptic message.
The blunder of bigotry and delusion must demand compensation. Please accept this small token of contrition.
No signature. No initials. Nothing to give any hint as to who the giver might be. The note itself didn't make any sense to her either. Contrition? She couldn't think of anyone who had wronged her. Certainly not enough to send a gift. And why do it so close to Valentine's Day? It didn't seem to be driven by romantic intentions … except the rose part, but that's just because it's so easily available this time of season, so then … why now? Odd way to apologize for … whatever it was.
Then it dawned on Hermione and she laughed at herself for taking this so seriously. It was obviously one of those Secret Cupid raffle that department did every year. Someone randomly draws the name of one of the colleagues and leaves them a secret gift on the week of Valentine's Day. If a person didn't guess who it was by the time the Valentine's Day arrived, then the Secret Cupid had to reveal him or herself.
Placing the rose in the vase, Hermione went on with her day. It was only when she was leaving that she realized something peculiar: she never placed her name in Secret Cupid draw.
"Come on, Harry," Hermione cajoled her friend as she caught up with him in the lobby as they were leaving for the day, "admit it: it was either you or Gwen."
He shook his head. "Seriously, it wasn't us." He handed her back the note. "I don't even know whose handwriting that is. Nobody in Auror office writes like that."
Hermione folded the note back into the pocket of her cloak. "Don't focus on the handwriting, that can be easily changed."
"Then your guess is as good as mine."
"But Harry, if it wasn't either one of you, then somebody put my name into the Secret Cupid raffle when I specifically said I didn't want to do it," Hermione persisted.
"It wasn't me. If somebody did put your name in it, you'll find out by Sunday," Harry explained, looking unconcerned.
Now she felt guilty. "But if it's a Secret Cupid thing, then somebody got passed over when my name got mixed in with others'. Should I let someone know?"
Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't worry too much about it, Hermione. I'm sure whoever didn't get picked will survive the disappointment."
She looked over the note again. "I'm confused about something though. The flower is typical Secret Cupid stuff, but what about the note and the bookmark? The bookmark is too nice to give it away to some random co-worker. And the note lacks all the typical Valentine sentiments. The more I try to figure this out, the more confused I get."
Harry reached to his neck to adjust the scarf around his neck. "Hermione, you have to learn to just accept a gift for what it is. Don't analyze it so much. If they'll want you to know, they'll eventually tell you." He winked at her. "Maybe you have a secret admirer. Just enjoy it. As long as they don't give you a journal."
Gobsmacked, Hermione's curls nearly smacked her in the nose as she rapidly shook her head. "Girls like me don't get secret admirers."
"Yes, you do." He patted her on the arm. "You're an attractive and intelligent witch, Hermione. You don't need me to tell you that, and you always had plenty of admirers; you just don't notice them."
"But the note is an apology of sorts. I'm no expert in secret admirers, but isn't it usually more customary to talk about feelings than apologies?" she queried.
"I suppose so. At least they gave you something you like and can use. Or maybe it has nothing to do with Valentine's or Secret Cupid. Maybe they feel like they offended you somehow in the past and just now started to feel bad about it. Anyhow, I have to go to George's for supper or I'll be late."
"Go, go. Don't let me hold you up."
"Don't analyze it so much, Hermione. Just … see what happens. I can always test the bookmark to see if it has any traces of Dark Arts on it," he offered.
"No, no. It's okay. I'll take care of it," Hermione said before bidding him a good night.
The next day there was no gifts on her desk. But there was another red rose. With the short message in the same script: True beauty is not measured in something that reflects, but rather it is measured in the way it affects.
Again no signature, but her heart started racing as she read the words over and over again. She added the rose to the vase next to the first one. The vivid crimson added a feminine touch to her office, and she was starting to see the appeal of what Gwen was talking about yesterday.
Who could be sending her these? It almost sounded as though somebody kept eavesdropping on her conversations but … who would want to do that?
Hermione didn't have time to dwell on it much longer because Percy Weasley's head soon popped in the door.
"I need about ten minutes of your time," he said.
"You have it," she told him and motioned for him to sit down.
Before she could ask him what his visited was regarding, he started speaking, "As a head of employee relations board, I'm obligated to let you know that I'm experiencing a problem with a certain new special consultant in our department."
Lucius Malfoy, no doubt.
Hermione suddenly cursed the fact that she volunteered for that leadership position. Usually, conflict resolutions in the work place were straight forward, but something told her that this wasn't going to be one of those cases.
"If you want to file a complaint, Percy, there are procedures that need to be followed, you know that," she said, reaching into her drawer to dig up an appropriate parchment.
"I tried to resolve it informally and it is no longer an option, so I'd like to file a complaint," he said.
"Can you tell me what's it about?" she asked, dipping her quill into the ink pot and posing it over the blank sheet.
"It involves corrective actions taken by Mr. Lucius Malfoy against a member of my staff."
Hermione had to force herself to suppress a groan of frustration. She just knew it involved him! Damn that wizard!
"What has he done now?" she wearily asked.
"Angelica made a minor error yesterday when she was translating our exchange rate proposal for the EUM's Trade Commission. She has made proper corrections and is taking a full responsibility for her actions," Percy hurriedly added.
There was no such thing as a minor error when it came to such documents, but Hermione didn't want to point out the obvious. What done is done.
"Go on," she prompted, hoping to get this over with quickly.
"Like I said, the error was caught almost immediately and Angelica sent out the corrected version right away last night," Percy continued to impatiently explain.
She frowned, tapping the feather of the quill impatiently against her desk. "Then I fail to see the problem. How is Mr. Malfoy involved?"
"He found out about it this morning and his behavior was very offensive. He was belligerent and threatened termination. As the deputy head of the department, it falls under my jurisdiction, not his. He is only here as a special consultant, not a permanent employee. He has no right to discipline my staff, especially not in public. It is against the Code of Conduct and I cannot allow such unprofessional behavior go unreported."
"I agree," Hermione said, carefully writing down his grievances before having him date and sign the document.
"You are aware that according to the procedures, I will need to speak to him as well," Hermione said, even though it was the last thing she wanted. Up to now, she managed to avoid direct contact with the Pure-blood wizard, which wasn't terribly difficult.
Percy nodded and left, freeing Hermione to sent out an office memo to Mr. Malfoy asking him to stop by her office at his earliest convenience. Swamped with paperwork, she continued with her day. As it got closer to noon, she decided to eat her sandwich at her desk, only to discover that she had forgotten her lunch. She'd have to go down to the cafeteria after all. Just as she was ready to leave, Lucius Malfoy appeared at her door.
Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared at him in fascination and fear. He was shockingly, violently good-looking. And his eyes! His eyes!
They were glacial gray — the coldest, deepest eyes she had ever seen. Their intensity was so potent that she shivered from their arctic blast. He froze her; she was a brittle and spent blade of summer grass caught up in winter's first frost. It was the first time he looked at her in a long time. For the first time in years his gaze was directed only at her, and Hermione shuddered under their predatory scrutiny. A primordial part of her brain was yelling at her to run, but she remained in the room.
"You wanted to talk to me?" he asked, wearing his trademark wry smirk as he strolled casually into her office.
"Yes, please, have a seat," she managed to squeak out, her teeth almost chattering under his austere gaze.
"Is this regarding that airhead that works for Weasley?"
Her expression carefully neutral, Hermione said, "Angelica, yes. And please, let's refrain from name-calling for the duration of our conversation."
"Did Weasley file a complaint? If so, you'll see that the ding-bat deserved to be reprimanded. If there's one thing I won't tolerate with anything associated with my name, it's incompetence."
Hermione held up her hand. "Mr. Weasley did file a report, which means I need to get your statement of the situation at hand. He feels that you breached the Code of Conduct and crossed certain professional lines with Angelica. No matter what mistakes are made, Mr. Malfoy, in the Ministry of Magic, we do not threaten people and certainly don't berate them in public. This is a professional environment where everyone is treated with respect, no matter what errors were made or how incompetent you may find them."
He briefly glanced at the roses on her desk, then disdainfully sneered as he responded again, "The Minister of Magic wanted my input on this proposal and everything that's associated with my name has to meet certain standards. Sloppy translating and record-keeping isn't one of them. Her carelessness reflects badly on us all. If the Minister has a problem with me or my methods, then he wouldn't have entrusted me with this endeavor."
"Mr. Malfoy, no one is saying that your criticism wasn't warranted—"
"Of course not, because I was right. If I wasn't, Weasley would have gone straight to his superior and not bothered some lowly bureaucrat with this task." He noted her offended expression and snidely added, "No offense."
"Right. But since you have no authority to terminate an employee, you have breeched Code of Conduct using such threats."
He pursed his lips. "While I don't have the official authority to terminate incompetent idiots, I do have certain influence to make that happen. The statements I've made are not threats, but promises that may become a reality any time at my choosing."
Her stomach chose that moment to let out a loud growl.
Lucius Malfoy pulled out his watch fob and checked the time. "You must have missed lunch, Miss Granger. It is getting closer to two."
She turned back to her stack of papers. "I forgot my lunch." She handed him a sheet of parchment. "I'll need you to write down your statement, then sign and date it at the end."
He ignored her statement. "Let's continue this discussion in the cafeteria then. It would be most unfortunate if you were to faint from hunger."
There was no arguing with his tone and Hermione reluctantly reached for her purse, and stood up. He tilted his head, indicating for her to exit the room first.
The cafeteria was nearly empty as the busy lunch wave had thinned out. Hermione picked up the tray, sliding it along the steel rails as she studied the limited lunch options. She selected a sandwich and a brownie. Lucius Malfoy stepped up next to her and slid his tray alongside hers.
"High fat. Empty calories," he said as he studied her choice of dessert before selecting a danish pastry for his own tray.
Hypocrisy alert!
She ignored him and turned to pay for her food. As Hermione rummaged through her purse, she realized that in addition to her lunch, she had also forgotten her wallet.
"Damn it," she cursed under her breath.
Mr. Malfoy reached over and handed over a few coins to the cashier.
"I'll pay you back," she promised, hating that she wasn't in a position to turn down his offer.
"I think I'll manage to survive without a few Sickles," he remarked.
Hermione chose one of the seats near the window. Mr. Malfoy paid for his lunch and positioned himself at a table directly across from her.
She sighed. "Honestly, Mr. Malfoy, you can sit with me, if you want."
He quickly moved to her table. His cocky grin told her he was pleased by her invitation.
Now she felt obligated to engage in small talk. Bringing up work seemed rude, so she mentally crossed out a list of work related topics.
"Did you have a nice Christmas holiday?" she finally asked.
Stupid question, Hermione! she silently chided herself. Might as well ask him what his favorite color is.
"Tolerable enough," came his terse reply.
A tense silence settled between them.
His gaze leveled at her. "And what about you, Miss Granger? Any plans for Valentine's Day?"
She felt her skin grow warm in silent alarm and shook her head. "I'm going to the benefit on Saturday, but have no specific plans for the following day."
"How can that be? You're a young woman with an ardent admirer, if the roses on your desk are any indication."
"Well, I'm very much single, so obviously I don't have any romantic plans. And the roses are just this Secret Cupid thing the Department does every year," she explained. "They're not from any real admirer. What about you?"
He drew in a long, low breath. "No, no definite plans yet."
Since his divorce, she had never given his private life much thought. Now she wondered if he was seeing someone. Of course, he was. Wizards like him didn't stay single long. Hermione felt an unexpected pang of jealousy and became quite cross with herself. What a wasted emotion! As if she was ever a contender for his attentions!
"Tell me, Miss Granger," his tone dripped with skepticism, "how is it that the most celebrated witch of our time happens to find herself unattached?"
She slowly chewed as she pondered how to answer. Her first instinct was to tell him that it was none of his business, but decided against it. She didn't want to be rude to a man who bought her lunch, even if he was Lucius Malfoy.
"I guess I haven't found the right person yet. But I'm too busy focusing on my career right now. I don't really have time to be involved with anyone," Hermione finally admitted. "And Valentine's Day is overrated anyway."
Mr. Malfoy leaned closer to her and she visibly shivered.
"Are you cold, Miss Granger?"
She gave him a rueful smile. "I'm always cold this time of year. I hate winter. I wish I could just move to Madeira or something."
A spark flashed in his eyes. "You should find a better way to stay warm then," he stated with a teasing lilt in his voice.
"I'm doing my best."
He looked at his watch again. "I'm afraid I have an important appointment. I must be off."
Gracefully rising from his seat, he extended his hand. Hermione placed her palm unsteadily in his. His grip was firm and his skin warm and smooth. It surprised her. Was she expecting it to be as cold as his eyes?
She though they were going to shake, but instead she watched in amazement as he bowed his head, raised her hand to his lips, and softly kissed her knuckles.
"It was a pleasure, Miss Granger." His voice was strict but smooth and tender, like a low draw of a cello. Why had she never noticed how pleasant it was before?
"Likewise, Mr. Malfoy," she breathed out, feeling all the traces of lingering coldness leave her body.
He swept out of the room. Once he was out of sight, Hermione remembered that he still had to submit his statement. She groaned at her uncharacteristic lapse in priorities and rushed off to the office to send him another message. Before she could, however, she noticed another beribboned note on her desk.
All work and no play makes for a dull Valentine's Day.
This is no time for solitude. If you desire it, you will find an interesting companion in conference room #5.
Her heart palpitated in her chest with excitement and fear. Should she go? Was she finally going to find out who the mystery sender was? Dying of curiosity, she headed toward the room. When she arrived, the room was dark and empty. She walked towards the long mahogany table and looked and waited.
The familiar purple paper of interdepartmental memo breezed into her hands. She unwrapped it and a piece of red silk fell into her hands.
Put this on.
Another game. This mystery man was starting to tire her. What was with this wizard? Still, she obliged him and put it on. As soon as she did, a pair of hands reached out to grip her shoulders and turn her around.
She could feel the stranger's breath on her face, could feel his eyes looking her over. She could smell a faint hint of aftershave that smelt somewhat familiar, but she couldn't quite place it with the face.
Her face was slightly tilted up by the chin and Hermione felt light brush of lips against her own. He pulled back, but she wanted more. Grasping at his robes, she pulled him in for another kiss. He was taken aback. His lips not moving under hers until he relaxed and his arms tightened around her shoulders. His tongue swept in, deepening the slow, passionate kiss. He was an excellent kisser. The best she ever had. She writhed against him, wanting him to devour her, to touch her all over. This was a blissful torture and she needed more of … whoever he was. She writhed against him, rubbing her chest against his. He was taller than her, but she couldn't discern much else. One of his hands brushed over her breasts, then along her hips, tickling down her thighs before coming up again to her waist.
"Please," she whispered against his lips when their kiss ended. She brought his hand back to her breast. His mouth moved down to her neck and she happily bared it for him. A lungful of his aroma filled her nostrils. Whoever he was he smelled so good. She definitely didn't know any wizard who was this enticing.
He pulled back again.
"Don't," Hermione whimpered again. She wasn't ready for this to end. She felt his finger trace the buttons of her blouse. He seemed to be waiting for her permission.
"Yes," she firmly said without prevarication.
Gently, he pushed her blouse open. His touch was soft, yet powerful. She knew she should get back to work, to stop wasting time with some wizard who won't even let her see him, but it felt so alien to be seduced like this that she gave in, wanting to surrender to this mysterious stranger. It was by far the most exciting thing that happened to her in ages and she wanted to just live in the moment. There will be plenty of time to mull over the consequences later.
His fingers feathered across her neck and chest. Turning her again, he brushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing her back to him. He unclipped her bra and pulled it off. Hermione trembled when she felt the cool air hit her exposed nipples. She leaned closer to his body, sinking into the heat that radiated from him.
His warm hands traced her clothed hips before moving up to cup her breasts. Something about his touch was just so familiar. It's as though she had already felt it today.
Hermione gasped, appalled by the the momentary thought that it might be… It couldn't be… Her mind was playing tricks on her.
All thoughts, however, were lost at his touch. She was transported to a place of pure pleasure. Her enjoyment was cut short when he turned her around again. He raised her skirt to her hips and trailed his hands along her thick stockings before pulling them down along with her knickers, tangling the garments at her feet. Hermione considered stepping out of them, but was afraid to move for fear that she might lose her balance.
Her breath hitched when she felt his face come level with her quivering sex. He guided her back until she lay back on the conference table. The cold wood bit at her back, but she didn't care. He grasped her thighs, nudging her legs apart. His grip was firm and strong. When his lips touched her bared thighs, Hermione moaned in happiness. It's been so long since she felt lips on her skin. She was in wonderland, her world spiraling in a million directions as her pleasure build.
When his mouth touched her labia, a cry burst from Hermione. Her body bucked when his tongue glided smoothly between her soaked lips. As his mouth ravished her, she ground into him, wishing she could see him. His tongue slithered inside her, pushing into her depths as far as he could, then pulling slowly out, bringing Hermione closer and closer to the edge, but not letting her fall. When he finally withdrew his tongue, he replaced it with two fingers, clasping his lips around her swollen clit. Hermione felt her body tense, arching off the table. He hooked his fingers inside, dragging them along her sensitive walls, right over her g-spot. He hummed against her clit and the vibrations, in combination with his fingers, sent her soaring. She felt her orgasm exploding over her body, scorching every nerve. Her body shook uncontrollably. She struggled to breathe, the air pushed out of her body as the aftershocks still ripped their way through her body.
Hermione never felt anything like it. She felt like laughing and crying at the same time. He pulled his fingers out of her, but she continued to lay back on the table, no longer cold but hot, relaxed and at peace with the world. She didn't feel him move, but he must have. He softly kissed her and Hermione could taste herself on his lips.
She opened her mouth to thank him, but he raised a finger to her lips to stop her. He remained completely silent throughout the entire encounter. Why didn't he say anything? Was he afraid she'd recognize his voice? So then … they were acquainted after all?
He pulled her stockings back up and helped her with the blouse. Hermione touched her blindfold, but he pulled her hands away. She lowered her hands and for several moments nothing happened, then she heard the door open and close. Yanking off her blindfold, she ran out into the hall, hoping to catch a glimpse of him but was already empty. He left.
She walked back to her office in a daze. When she arrived she saw a package wrapped in tissue paper with a red ribbon around it. Her fingers itched to open it, but it was too overwhelming. There was a stranger out there who had invaded her life but didn't reveal anything about himself. Should she be worried?
Toying with the ribbon on the package, she pulled it open. Inside was a neatly folded cream cashmere wrap. A note lay on top in the same handwriting that she was so familiar with by now.
Something to keep you warm so you won't have to run off to Portugal.
Hermione yelped and slipped off her chair, falling hard on her bum. The realization hit her like a lightening bolt.
It all fit. The gifts, the roses, the notes … everything that's happened in the last two days … it all fit.
It couldn't be, but it had to be.
The stranger, her so-called secret admirer, was none other than Lucius Malfoy!
Now that Hermione has discovered the identity of her mystery man, what will she do with that knowledge?
