SIX –
Hermione woke up in the Muggle hospital surrounded by police. She recounted her story, the best she could, telling them that 'a friend' pushed her out of the way. They didn't even ask the name of her friend. They said they interviewed all the witnesses. She found it odd that they did not ask her where the man who saved her was. Surely, one of the witnesses had seen Mr. Malfoy save her. Very odd. The doctor ordered x-rays, and then said that besides bruises and lacerations, she was fine and could go home.
That meant two things. Lucius saved her life, and someone still wanted to kill her. Right as she was ready to be discharged, Harry Potter walked in the room, with his partner Jill.
"Harry, what are you doing here?"
"Well, gee, Hermione, don't you think some of the guests at the wedding would notify your best friend?" he asked.
"Are you here as best friend or Auror?" she asked.
"Both," he said.
Hermione knew she should tell Harry about the threat to her life, but she felt she owed Lucius something, even though he didn't stay with her after the accident, but before she could even say a thing he asked, "Why were you at the wedding with Lucius Malfoy?"
"He got permission to come," she started.
"Is that what I asked?" he asked. Hermione looked at his partner, and so did Harry. He said, "Jill, could you leave Hermione and me alone for a moment?" Jill nodded and left. "Now, start talking. Why did he answer your phone the other night? Why did he go to the wedding with you? Is there something going on between you two?"
She stayed quiet. Apparently, for too long because Harry said, "I know about the death teller. I know he stayed the night with you"
"How?" she asked.
Lucius walked in right on cue, and said, "I told him."
She was confused. Why was he here? She said, "I thought you left me." That statement made him upset for some reason. He was going to leave her, he really was, especially as she seemed so understanding, but he promised to protect her, and as she stated before, he was still a man of honor and a man of his word.
"What type of protector would I be if I left you?" he asked. "Besides, according to the little Muggle police, I am some sort of hero."
Harry cleared his throat and said, "I told Mr. Malfoy that now that the Aurors know what's going on, we'll protect you."
"And I told your little friend, Mr. Potter, that one thing had nothing to do with the other. I told him that I told you not to play around with the dangerous death teller, but you just would not listen to me, and you forced me to tell you the incantation, and that against my better judgment, I revealed the incantation to you. You practically forced me to at wand point. I told him that you used it even though I told you not to, and that since it once belonged to me, I felt somewhat responsible. I shall continue to stay with you, if you wish," he said, raising one eyebrow.
Hermione and Harry both stared at him incredulously.
Ah, Hermione understood. He told Harry HIS version of the truth. He told Harry it was she that played around the death teller. Oh well, at least Harry was aware of the threat.
"What he said," she said to Harry.
"You see, Potter. I was shocked, appalled, and dismayed by her lack of judgment, but there you have it. What do you expect from a Muggle-born?" he said.
Harry growled. Hermione actually laughed. She didn't believe he felt that way, but even if he did, she wasn't sure she cared.
"I still think you should have told me. We are still going to protect you, and watch your house, whether you want us to or not," Harry said. He bent down and kissed her head.
"Really, Harry, Lucius is able to protect me. I was so upset last night, after I saw the vicious way I was going to die, and he really helped me," she said. She then looked at Lucius and said, "What I don't understand is how it could have been wrong?"
"It wasn't wrong," Lucius said.
"Well, I wasn't stabbed at the warehouse, I was almost run over by a van, so yes, it was wrong," she said. "At least the threat is over, right?"
Harry looked at her sadly and said, "You don't really believe that do you?"
Then Lucius added, "Something we did last night changed the way the murderer was going to kill you, that's all. That doesn't mean the threat is over. Actually, I looked at it again this morning, and you were due to be hit by the van at the church. That's why I made sure we were late, by making you change your dress."
"How can you see my death? I thought a person could only see their own death?" she asked.
"The death teller already has knowledge of your death. Now, I can see it also. Not just anyone can. It was made with a certain safeguard, that only someone in my family can yield its power."
Again, Harry and Hermione looked at him in shock.
"You stole the death teller from the warehouse?" Harry asked.
"One cannot really steal something that was stolen from them, can they?" he asked.
"You are admitting to theft in front of an Auror, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. He sighed and said, "Hermione, go home, alone." He looked at Lucius and said, "And I will set up a team of Aurors to watch you both around the clock." He stood to leave, but turned back to Lucius. He held out his hand, "the death teller, please."
"It's back at the warehouse. You don't think I would walk around with it in my pocket, do you?" he asked.
Harry sighed one last time and left.
Lucius took the death teller out of his pocket, threw it in the air, caught it, and placed it back in his pocket.
"Do you ever tell the truth?" Hermione asked.
"I lie so often it's hard to tell the truth," he said, "and that is the truth."
"Should we look at it again?" she asked, slightly afraid. "It might show someone killing me between Hospital and home."
"No, you will be safe for the time being," he said. He added, "Get your clothes on and I will take you home." He walked out in the hall, and felt in his pocket for the small red sphere. He had already looked at it again. She would be safe, for now, but not for long. Lucius thought that Potter had better find out who wanted to kill her and why, because protecting Hermione Granger was proving to be a full-time job, but one he found not too terrible after all.
They arrived back at her house and she walked slowly up the front steps to the porch. She said, "Every bone and muscle in my body aches. I need a hot bath." She unlocked her door, and unarmed her wards. He walked in the house first. He told her to stay by the door while he searched the place. When he found it to be clear, he helped her upstairs.
Lucius went to the bathroom to draw her a bath. He felt an odd stirring in his lower abdomen, which had nothing to do with desire. No, he refused to believe it was anything else. Yet, seeing her so beautiful, but broken, produced a feeling in which he was unsure of its meaning. He refused to think it was anything resembling, dare he think it…love. He merely enjoyed her company. He liked her body. He adored her mind. He was fond of the way she bit her bottom lip when she was thinking hard about something. He loved the way her eyes lit up when she discovered something new. Wait, love? He loved something about her. Could this stirring be the beginnings of love? No, of course not. Lucius Malfoy did not now, nor would he ever, love a Mudblood named Hermione Granger.
He dipped his fingers in the hot water. It was ready. He turned off the taps, and went to find her. She was sitting in the exact same position on the end of her bed. "Your bath is ready."
"Okay, thank you," she said in almost a whisper.
He started out the bedroom door, but turned back. He felt he was forever turning back to her. He said, "Do you need help?"
"No."
"The water will get cold if you don't hurry," he said. He felt stupid saying that. The water would not get cold that quickly. He walked back in the room, and in an act that seemed to surprise them both, he pulled her to a standing position, and placed his arms tightly around her. He said, "Would you like a massage before your bath?"
"I don't want to have sex right now. Please understand," she said. She leaned her cheek against his chest, her hands resting on either side. He stroked her back up and down.
"Did I say sex? I said massage. You have a dirty mind. A massage might relax you, and you said every muscle and bone in your body hurt. I promise, it will help," he said.
She looked up in his grey eyes and said, "When did you learn to give a massage?"
"In prison," he said with a smile, so she would know he was joking.
She had to laugh. "I don't think I want to hear that."
"Come on, in the bathroom with you. Get out of those clothes, and come back in here in with nothing on but a robe or a towel. I will have everything set up," he said.
"How? With wandless magic?" she inquired with a raise of an eyebrow.
"Fine, you might as well know that I do have a wand. The Ministry, however, is not aware of this fact," he said.
"You told me you didn't!" she said.
"Once again, I have to remind you, I lie," he said with a shrug.
"You are so underhanded. I swear, I don't trust you one bit," she said, heading toward the bathroom. He thought her words were empty. He knew she trusted him.
He said, "Being underhanded is an art form, which I have perfected. I should not be penalized for that."
She came out to the bedroom, wrapped in her robe. She said, "When will your servitude to me end?"
"When I look back in the death teller, and find that you die a 90 year old virgin," he said.
"I thought we established I was not a virgin. I had sex with you last night, well, this morning, didn't I?" she asked.
"I thought I imagined that," he said with a laugh. "We might have to do it again to refresh my memory." He pointed to the massage table he had just transfigured. He had placed towels on it and had even lit candles. He had massage oils on a chair next to the table.
"Why the candles? Do you expect the electricity to go off or something?" she asked. She was nervous. He could tell. He thought that was endearing, considering he had already seen her completely naked, and had in fact, touched most of her body with either his hands or mouth. He patted the table again.
"I'm not getting any younger," he said.
"I know that for sure," she said.
"That is not funny," he said back. "Your biting wit is no match with mine, so unless you want me to make fun of something about you, I would suggest you shut your mouth, open your robe, and hop up on the table." She opened her robe, but kept it over her body. He said, "Off with the robe and lie on your front."
She obeyed, albeit slowly. She opened the robe, but kept it on while she lied down. Then she slipped it off her shoulders. He took the robe and slipped it down to cover her dimpled backside. He skimmed her back with his fingertips until he reached her hair. He pushed all her hair to one side. He couldn't resist, so he leaned down and kissed her shoulder. He rubbed his hands down her arms, and then brought them up next to her head. She felt more exposed that way. Her nipples started to tingle as his fingers ran up and down her back, skimming the sides of her breasts. He leaned down again and said in her ear, "I will take care of everything."
He took off his jacket and his tie. He pushed the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows. Vanilla scented oil soon coated her skin. His touch was both erotic and forbidden, and her shivers were laced with want. His palms were rough, yet somehow gentle along her skin. Sweeping strokes scanned her back and shoulders. It felt divine. He leaned down and kneaded her legs, one at a time. His chest was pressed against her bum. He removed the robe and then his shirt, so it could be skin on skin.
He was luring her into a false sense of security, she was sure, but she shut her eyes anyway. He smiled when she shut her eyes. Now he would have some fun.
He narrowed his attention to her supple bum. He thought it was a very nice backside, all things considering. He let one hand massage down her back, and then cup one side of her buttocks. The same hand went to her thigh, and then with the upstroke, he let his hand slightly part her legs. He let it slip between her legs.
She gasped. "I don't have pain there."
He chuckled, and said, "Are you sure it doesn't ache, just a bit."
"Maybe a bit," she agreed. His hands came back and with smooth, even, pressure, he rubbed her shoulders and back again. He shifted his weight so he was leaning over her. He brought both hands down once more, on her sides, touching her breasts, her waist, her hips. He turned her over.
She felt terribly exposed, and totally aroused. What was he doing to her? His hands went up her stomach, between her breasts, to her shoulders and then down her arms. He let go of her for a moment, to remove his pants. His erection was an impressive sight. She smiled and said, "Are you going to use that to massage me?"
"If you'd like," he said. He wanted her so badly. Repeatedly, his hands continued to roam her body, legs, arms, breasts, ribs, thighs, and feet. No part was left untouched. His left hand went between her legs, parted her, and two fingers entered her. She arched her back. He varied his strokes inside her, as his other hand stroked outside. She felt aroused, but at ease. The pleasure was palpable. She felt as if her body was weightless. A tingling sensation wafted through each limb, her torso, and even her head. She was on the very edge of the precipice, starting to quake and shiver, and then he stopped.
He leaned over, his hands barely moving, and kissed the nape of her neck. She felt his penis on her leg. He started the massage again. She was about to protest. She was so close! However, this felt nice as well. The oil was now spread evenly over her body, as he twirled his fingers on the peaks of her breast. He leaned down and took one nipple in his mouth, his tongue doing a mini massage, his hand moving between her legs once more. Bliss. It was pure bliss.
She drifted closed to an overwhelming edge, when he stopped again. His own need, still pressed against her side, amplified her want. She opened her eyes and said, "Don't stop again."
"I like it when you plead," he said with a smirk.
"It is an order, not a request," she said back. He threw his head back and laughed.
"The day I take an order from you is the day I stop using magic," he said. However, he would obey, but not because SHE ORDERED, but because it was what he wanted.
He climbed on the table. Hermione was shocked it held both of their weight, but knowing Lucius, he probably used magic to reinforce it. He stroked his chest up her body, to lie fully on top of her. She reached down for his turgid member, caressing it gently. As his need pressed against her, she thought she would die if she lost contact even one more time. He rubbed the outside of his shaft against her, but did not yet enter her. Why was he such a tease? Did he expect her to plead, because she would not do that, no more than he would.
She turned her head to the side and pushed on his chest with her hands. "Enough," she said. "I want to wash this oil off me."
"I say when it is enough," he said.
"Is this about power? Is it?" she asked. She wanted to cry. He tried to kiss her lips, but her head fell to the side again. "Please, let me take my bath."
"I want you, Hermione, is that what you want to hear?" he asked.
She decided to be truthful. "Yes," she said. He kissed her long and full on the mouth. He started to enter her, rocking his hips against hers, taking her to a place she had never been, whispering words she never thought she would hear from him.
He whispered, "I want you." He said, "I need you." He said, "You're so beautiful." He even said, "I'll take care of you." The thing he said that meant the most was, "I won't let anyone take you from me."
Slowly, tenderly, he showed her how much he wanted her. He reached down and lifted her left leg at the knee, so he could position himself deeper. She gasped at the fullness of him, and how much he made her feel cherished, and dare she say, loved.
She started her assent, he came inside her, and it was more than she ever thought it would be, so she cried out, in anguish that was laced with passion that was bound by need. She felt his release and hers was close to follow. She felt total repletion. He pulled out of her, and placed his body by her side on the narrow table. He pulled her closer, if that was possible, and placed his arm and leg over her possessively. He said, "I don't think I will ever let you go, what do you say about that, Hermione?"
"I say you can have me, on one condition," she mewed.
He kissed her again, drowsily, lingering his lips upon hers before he asked, "And what would that condition be?"
"You have to wash all of this oil off of me. I feel squishy."
He thought, 'What the hell?' Then he said, "I'm not sure what you mean, but come, your bath is waiting, and I might be persuaded to wash off the oil, if you are nice to me." He climbed off the table, and helped her to sit. It was then that he saw the damage that was done earlier. She had the makings of a large bruise on her hip. She had small scrapes, and concrete burns, on her shoulder and arm. She had a small laceration on her forehead. He had tried hard not to notice them earlier, because he was afraid if he concentrated on them, he would feel guilty, and that was one emotion Lucius Malfoy had never felt even once in his life.
Until now.
He actually picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. Fine, he loved her. No one had to know. It could be their secret. In fact, he might not even tell her.