Hermione
She had anticipated the evening of the Ministry's New Year Ball with both dread and glee. Did she want to enter the soiree at Lucius Malfoy's side, out in the open, for all the Ministry to see? She asked herself the same question again and again, and her answer changed with every nervous look into the mirror.
Yes, she wanted them to know she had conquered him. Yes, they should see he was hers, and hers alone. Yes, she would rejoice in their envious looks, realizing she had claimed that gorgeous (and not to forget disgustingly rich and positively influential) no-longer-bachelor for herself.
But how would she like their unbelieving stares, doubting her sanity? Would they believe that she was able to forgive this ex-Death Eater extraordinaire, this personification of all she had fought against during the Second Wizarding War? With their whispered gossiping in her ears, wondering what powerful curse had subdued the Golden war heroine into adoring this Pureblood supremacist – would she begin to wonder, too?
Doubt engulfed her once again. Unzipping her dress, she had already begun to slip out of it when the door opened behind her.
Lucius
He stepped into the room.
Dear Merlin, what have I done to deserve this perfection?
His eyes roamed over the beautiful witch standing in the largest guest bedroom of his Manor, drinking in her long slim legs, the soft skin at the small of her back, that delicious spot right between her shoulder blades, her wild tumbling locks. They stopped at her face, reflecting in the mirror. His eyes met hers, staring at him with uncertain expectation.
„I was just…"
Her voice trailed off. Only then did he notice her state of undress.
He instantly felt a stirring in his groin, but dismissed it for now. He knew there was no time. His face betrayed his surprise at seeing her half out of her dress only with a second of a confused expression, then fell back into a mask of polite interest.
„You know I appreciate it when you take matters into your own hands sometimes, my beauty," he drawled with a smirk, „but however much I would like to take that delightful bed to use right here, right now, I actually thought you were getting dressed?"
She stared at him for a moment, chewing her lower lip, visibly contemplating what to say.
„I know, Lucius. I'm sorry, I just… I don't…"
„You don't want to go to the Ball?"
His mask fell. His disappointment was clearly etched into his face.
„No, that's not it. Lucius, I just…"
Her head dropped.
„You just don't want to go with me."
It was not a question.
„I'm not sure this is the right time."
Her voice quavered. He could hear the subdued sobs, could see the tears held back in her eyes when she raised them to look for his reaction.
He inhaled deeply, then let all air leave his body in an exhausted sigh.
„Let me see you", he said.
Hesitantly, she turned around. It was her turn to take in the sight of him, glorious in every sense of the word. He had chosen a Muggle suit, probably to please her. He pleased her in every clothing, and every state of undress certainly as well, but his gesture touched her deeply. His crisp white shirt only showed enough to highlight his shining cufflinks bearing the Malfoy sigil as she knew. Over it, he wore a black west, silver thread drawing delicate ornaments all over the rich velvet. His suit was of a colour darker than any black she had ever seen, the trousers ending perfectly aligned with his boots, polished to the gleaming likeness of a pool's surface in the night of a new moon. The boots' heels let him appear even taller than he was, his elegant stature and posture only adding to the impression.
She swallowed visibly. Usually so bold even in her naked body when with him, she felt suddenly self-conscious compared to this magnificent man opposite her. Shyly, she dropped her gaze, thus missing the hungry look of appreciation on Lucius's face when he drank in the sight of the beautiful woman.
„Hermione."
His voice rang with wonder, with his love for her. She looked up at him. He stepped up to her, and circling her in his arms, he reached around to zip up her gown. He did not let go right away, but rather planted a gentle and loving kiss on her lips. Before they both got lost in their rising lust, he took several steps back and motioned for her to turn around.
She did as he asked. When she stopped again, she looked at him questioningly.
„Beautiful," he said.
A frown crossed his face.
„What?" she asked, panic rising inside. „If you don't like it, I'll take it off and find something –"
„It's not that I don't like it," he cut her off. „It's just that this isn't you."
Hermione
Hermione darted around, facing the body-length mirror behind her again.
Not me?
She had searched long and far to find the perfect dress for this evening, for this man she involuntarily longed to please, and she had been certain to have found it. At floor-length, the midnight-blue gown clung to the curves of her hips, but generously pooled around her feet. It would flow around her legs when taking long strides, and would draw a beautiful train onto the steps upon her descend. She knew because she had secretly tried it out when Lucius was at a meeting. The dress pronounced her ample cleavage without showing any of it, as it sat high at her throat at the front, but dipped very low at the back.
Before disappointment could take her, she let anger rise.
„It is not me – why? Because it is beautiful and I am not?"
Lucius sighed.
„That is not what I meant and you know that."
„Then what, Lucius?"
She knew she sounded desperate, but she could do nothing against it because that was exactly how she felt.
„Let me explain, please, Hermione."
His face mirrored her despair, but she was not willing to give in yet. She needed an answer.
Crossing over to a chair, she sat, looking at him in visible expectation.
He did the same, slumping into a nearby chair. His head fell into his hands, hiding his face. Hermione waited.
„Hermione," he started after several deep breaths, „you are the most beautiful woman in the world to me. I cannot tell you this often enough for my likes, and seemingly not often enough for you to believe me. But that is not all that you are to me.
"To me, you are everything. You are loving, when I feel alone. You are strong, when I am reminded of my own weakness. You are fierce, when I cannot be. You are perfect, when my faults seem to weigh me down too much to continue this life.
"Narcissa was beautiful. She was the perfect trophy wife, smiling at the right people, laughing at the right comments, disappearing at the right moments. But that is not what I want from you. I desire you not as a pretty puppet to grace my side, but as the independent, wilful, and gorgeous woman that you are. And what's more, I don't want all that to myself, but I want you to show the world that you are more than Potter's pretty sidekick and poster girl of the wizarding society."
He had come closer to her with every revelation. Her face was drenched in tears at his honesty. He kissed them away softly, and dropped his head to shower her body with kisses. She rested her hand gently on his silky hair and let it follow his head as Lucius kissed his way from the dip where her shoulder met her neck across her left breast and down to her left hip.
Hermione's eyes shone brightly when Lucius finally raised his head to meet her eyes. But then her gaze fell upon the mirror and she gasped audibly.
„Lucius, what…!"
He made way when she quickly stood and strode to stand in front of the mirror. He raised himself and strode to stand behind her, albeit at a slightly slower pace.
Shining lights adorned the front of her dress, in exactly the same spots he had kissed her. Her eyes wide and alive with wonderful revelation at the lovely magic, he reached out to take her right hand into his. Lucius raised both their hands to the mirror and drew a few quick lines, then gently dropped their combined arms again and stepped to the side, so that he would not obscure her view in the mirror.
Although their fingers had not touched the surface of the mirror, there the lines remained. They shone, connecting several of the shimmering points Lucius's kisses had drawn onto her gown.
Lucius spoke.
„To them, you may be no more than the brightest witch of your age, the shining star of the Second Wizarding War. And that they will see: a starry midnight sky, set on blue. They will admire you, but they will not know you.
"Some may look more closely and they will see you for what you are."
She could not take her eyes from the sight the mirror presented to her. Although the lines were slowly disappearing, she could still see clearly what they had drawn, what Lucius had drawn onto her dress and maybe even etched into her mind.
Her face broke into a broad smile, staggering in its genuineness. She understood.
„A lioness."