:-:-: Chapter 7 :-:-:
Some people believe the world is made of Good and Evil; Black and White; Light and Dark. For many years Hermione had been living on the Light side, the good side and Lucius on the Dark side. She fought to protect the world and to save it and he fought to destroy it. But now they were on neither. Black and White had come together by mistake and had formed Grey. Two opposites joined by the remnants of the Darkness that sought to destroy the world.
Upon awaking, Hermione was not met with the twisted, blood red eyes of which she had dreamed, but of a greying darkness that settled over the little cottage and would soon disappear with the growing light of dawn. Daylight would approach soon, and give Hermione's heart a fragment more hope. It wasn't that she hated the darkness and she was most certainly not scared of it, it was just that it made everything more convoluted. And she hated complications.
Turning her stiff neck to Lucius, she was relieved to see soft puffs of clouded air quietly emitting from where his lips were positioned. Letting her heavily concerned heart sink back into her chest, she sighed; a deep breath of relief. Had she expected Lucius to die? Yes, she had. Not from the result of his Splinching injury, but because of what happened in the Dark Lords chambers.
Hermione's body became plagued with a fleet of fearful shivers. He said that he had heard Voldemort's voice! Did that mean Voldemort was still alive? It seemed to be a possibility, what with everything else that had happened. Who the hell knew what would come next?
No. She shook her head. I witnessed Harry kill him! There is no way he can still be alive.
And with no Horcruxes to fall back on, his soul was trapped in Limbo for all eternity, without any way for him to return; not as a ghost, a human or anything. He was gone.
But then why could Lucius hear him? And why had she not heard him?
Those were questions best left without answers for now; or so she thought.
With the beautiful and invigorating sunlight now pouring in heavily through the crooked windows, Hermione crept into the kitchen in no less than six steps. The kitchen was chaos; heaving with what looked like the aftermath of a deranged food fight. The floor was an ocean of pots, pans, defective china and rusted cutlery.
Who would live somewhere like this?
Hermione gagged and struggled to keep the bile down. Good job she hadn't eaten anything for a long time, otherwise there would be no hope. Although, if she had of been sick you would probably never be able to tell. The walls were littered with the splattered remains of rotting food, giving the room an overall scent of festering sick anyway.
When her sick to the stomach urge had diminished, she got to work on tidying the kitchen. First with magic, then with Muggle supplies and once again with magic for good measure. If they were going to be spending their time here from now on – and that was more than likely – then she may as well make the most of what little space they had and if that meant literally bathing the house in Muggle cleaning products, then so be it.
Lucius slept for almost the entire day.
He awoke not once – not even when Hermione managed to spill the entire contents of one kitchen cupboard onto the hard flagstone tiles, almost shaking the flimsy foundations of the cottage to total destruction. Her ears were left ringing with less than incentive aftershocks and upon checking to see if Lucius had been woken up by the havoc, she soon found out that he had slept through the blaring explosion of pots and pans. Snoring lightly, his face was soft and calm in his still sleeping form. Not that she minded though, if that noise wasn't enough to wake Lucius in the adjoining room, then it would hardly attract the attention of any unwanted cannibalistic visitors.
God, he could sleep through a nuclear bomb! She thought. Speaking of bombs…
Hermione couldn't remember hearing anything following the assumed explosion of Malfoy Manor. That is what Lucius had called it, wasn't it? A Magical Bomb? Then surely she would have been able to hear some sort of explosion? Or maybe they were too far away to hear the impact? Who knew?
It became apparent that she had never even heard of 'A Magical Bomb' and her Know-It-All tendencies were faltered.
Distracted by a muffled groan, she quickened her pace towards Lucius on the couch, only for disappointment to drown her hopes of him waking up when he tossed and turned in his unconscious state.
Dreaming? She wondered. Or maybe nightmares? Yes, nightmares seem more likely.
Her nightmares consisted of the dreadful beings that lurked somewhere outside; the ones that had chased her in Diagon Alley. Did Lucius dream of the same? Hermione expected so.
She turned her attention on his features, leaning ever so slightly to sweep a path of hair away from his temple. She admired his slightly dishevelled state, her fingers sweeping over the dusting of stubble. Although she would never admit to anyone, she rather liked having Lucius at her mercy. It was the cherry on top of their situation.
She could do anything she liked to him and there was not a thing he could do.
Her mind began conjuring up thoughts of the thousands various things she could do to him.
Kill him? Don't be ridiculous, I could never kill him…
Strip him? She laughed into the quietness. His shirt was already half open but the idea of Lucius waking up in his birthday suit, completely oblivious to how it happened did sound rather amusing.
Cut his hair? Dye his hair? He'd kill me if I did that! Lucius Malfoy plus bright pink hair? As funny as it would be, wasn't the best combination…
Kiss him?
She froze in horror at the thought that randomly made itself known in her mind.
Her hands were ripped off him in a nanosecond as she ran into the kitchen to resume cleaning, all the time knowing her face might burn away with the rising heat.
No, no, no, no, no!
Having those sort of thoughts about Lucius Malfoy were off the agenda!
But she couldn't deny that he was… well, gorgeous. Even caked in dried blood and mud, with a day's worth of stubble and his long blonde hair hanging straggly over the sofa; he was a rather fine looking man. And especially when he had begged to her in only his towel, dripping wet from his shower…
So? She replied in her mind. Lots of boys at Hogwarts were good looking and that didn't mean that I wanted to… you know...
Ah, but they had been just boys, and what do boys know about pleasing women?
"Oh God!" Hermione squeaked, as she bent down to the floor and carried on scrubbing at the stained tiles. She needed something to take her mind off the man in the next room.
Hermione was wrong for once in her life, for Lucius was not dreaming of the demons that wreaked havoc in the world, but of something worse. Well, he would consider it worse.
Fresh out of Azkaban, he sat in his former dining room, hands gripping his cane tightly and trying to stop his shivers from becoming visible to others. With Draco seated one side and Narcissa to the other, the Malfoy's sat at the huge table accommodating numerous Death Eaters and even the Dark Lord himself.
"Lucius," His entire body stiffened at the sound of his name passing his masters barely-there lips. "What a precious situation to find yourself in."
There was an uproar of snickering from amongst the followers and he was half tempted to join in. The situation was anything but precious!
"You have greatly disappointed me, Lucius. Not only were you unsuccessful at gaining the Prophecy, you also got yourself captured because you couldn't handle Potter and his pathetic excuse of an army." The tension was so thick it could be cut by a knife. "All of whom were nothing more than pimply adolescences."
He was certain he heard a shrill giggle belonging to Bellatrix Lestrange, but his mind was buzzing so much he wasn't even sure. To his left, Draco sucked in a fearful breath, catching the Dark Lords unwanted attention.
"Ahh, young Malfoy, whatever shall we do with your father?" Voldemort remained seated at the head of the table, his condescending eyes boring into Draco's from the other side of the room. "I cannot let his failings fade away without punishment. Somehow, I don't think Azkaban was enough."
Lucius could hear his son take another shaky breath, making it difficult to keep his own intakes to a steady pace. But he cared not for his own probable demise, but for his family's safety.
"Narcissa," The Dark Lord now turned upon Lucius' blonde wife. "I feel as if I cannot hold you responsible and being that you are sister to the loyal Bellatrix Lestrange, I believe it is only fair that you should be left out of this punishment."
Narcissa, seemingly calm and collected, managed to let out an almost inaudible; "Thank you, my Lord."
"Lucius, Draco. Step forward to receive your punishment."
Lucius almost blanked out, the pressure and realisation of the situation dawned on him like a deathly plague. What has Draco done?
As if reading Lucius' mind, the Dark Lord answered. "Let's not forget little Draco's failings as well. Perhaps not succeeding in killing Dumbledore rings a bell?"
Draco turned paler than snow.
"My Lord, please," He stammered his words. "H-he is just a boy. I can take his punishment. I beg of you to reconsider?"
"Just a boy, you say?" Voldemort hissed. "Your son bears my mark, Lucius. He has tortured his fair amount of traitors and Muggles, a feat unworthy of any boy. He will take his punishment like the man he has become."
There was nothing Lucius or anyone could do to bargain with Voldemort. The snake-like man had made up his mind and everyone knew that what he had decided is what would be. It was a waste of effort and breath to say anything else.
Gripping his hands into tight white fists, Lucius forced himself to stand up and walk towards his 'master'. He left his cane and wand at the table; it wasn't like he would actually need it now.
Draco followed his father solemnly, face turned downwards so as not to see the amusement that was undoubtedly plastered on the rest of the Death Eaters faces. He tried to drown out the hushed sobs of his mother and the delighted squeals of his deranged aunt. He willed his eyes to become unseeing, but he still saw the hem of the Dark Lords robes as he reached his fate.
"Look at me, boy."
The crimson of his Lords eyes were only visible for meagre seconds before his entire mind was painted over with the sickening red embers of pain.
Lucius watched as his son collapsed to the floor with a piercing cry of agony.
"Draco…" He twisted his voice into a barely spoken whisper.
"Crucio!"
And his mind, body and entire world became plagued with the onslaught of pain. Every fibre, tissue and organ gave the illusion that they were tearing apart, burning and dissolving away into nothingness.
The room was drowned with the pained screams of him and his son, but all Lucius could hear was his silent whispers of, "Draco…" Over and over in his head.
Lucius awoke to psychedelic whirlwind of pain, a perfect reflection of his dream. His bones and stiff joints were plagued with an ache that seemed to begin in his heart and extend to the tips of his fingers. A deep groan sounded in his throat as he tried to move his throbbing body into a sitting position. He tried again, only to wince in gruesome pain and promptly lay his head back onto the couch.
He was dead tired, still. He'd slept for fifteen hours straight, yet he still felt as though he'd been run over by the Hogwarts Express and simultaneously been trampled on by that oaf Hagrid.
Where the hell am I?
Grey, inquisitive eyes raked the shabby interior of the little cottage.
Muggles. He thought, disgusted. No witch or wizard would keep their home as filthy as where he was. Or actually, He thought again with a slight smirk. I can think of many that might…
But he knew this place undoubtedly belonged to Muggles – or had done once. The peculiar, box-like objects with wires and allsorts sticking out from nooks and crannies were obviously of Muggle manufacture.
Disgusted, he looked away from the hideous contraptions and onto himself. His shirt was carelessly hanging open, ripped at the seams and exposing his rather fine chest and… was that blood?
Good God, has the girl ravished me in my sleep?
He stifled a laugh. Of course not, she's far too prudish.
And then he remembered.
The Dark Lord's room. The Dark Lord's voice in his head. The bomb. And finally, the Splinching. Everything was black and forgotten after that.
Oh Merlin…
This was bad. Really, really bad.
His home was gone, obliterated into nothingness, along with his family.
He wanted to bury his head into the pillow and weep. Yes, Lucius Malfoy wanted to cry, despite everything. His upbringing had taught him that men who cry were weak and pathetic, Purebloods especially, but how was one supposed to keep calm and composed at every moment? Weren't you supposed to cry at times of hopelessness?
He swallowed his sorrow and breathed in deeply. He couldn't lose himself in front of the girl. Speaking of which, where was she?
He could her rattling away in another room, or he hoped it was her, but his unfocused eyes could not fall upon her.
"Miss Granger?" He asked groggily, his voice hoarse with the tendrils of sleep.
On hearing a wearisome voice call out for her, Hermione dropped all she was doing and speedily ran into the living room, dropping to her knees at Lucius' side.
"Do you feel alright?" She gasped, aiding him in sitting up and propping a pillow behind his back. "Is your arm hurting? Do you feel faint, sick, dizzy-"
Lucius silenced her with one long fingertip against her lips, freezing Hermione mid-sentence. She reacted by pulling away violently, without saying anything and willing her cheeks not to flush.
"Miss Granger, I am fine." He lied in a soft voice. "A little shaken as can be expected but please do us both a favour and stop your incessant worrying." He flashed a toothy smile before saying, "You won't be able to get rid of me that easily."
Feeling relief wash over her body, she eased herself onto the nearest sofa, sitting opposite Lucius.
They sat in silence for several moments, allowing their ears to fill with the calming pattering of raindrops against the cottage.
"Do you know where we are?" Asked the ever-inquisitive Hermione.
"You'll forgive me if I told you I don't know where we are either. My head was… all over the place." He told her truthfully, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa.
"That's okay. Probably why you Splinched yourself."
"Never in my forty-five years have I Splinched myself."
She smiled. "Always the arrogant one, aren't you?" Lucius Malfoy was Lucius Malfoy again.
Of course he was. He may have been reduced to living like a filthy, disgusting Muggle, but that didn't mean he was obliged to act like one. His haughty ways would never cease.
"A Malfoy never loses their arrogance." He repeated just the way his father had told him so many years before. But maybe he had lost his arrogant streak? Here he was, surviving with a Muggle-born! That meant something, surely?
"Says the man who begged to a Mudblood." She countered, mimicking his smirk and completely ignoring that she had just called herself the filthy 'M' word.
Well if that's how she wants to play… A gruff voice mumbled in his head as he straightened himself as much as physically possible without exploding in pain. "Be careful Miss Granger, or you might just find that your memories of that particular event disappear."
Hermione's mouth formed a small 'o'. "You wouldn't?"
"With being bedridden and in pain, who knows what I'm capable of." Not to mention that I was a Death Eater and I did once despise Mudbloods…
Hermione felt her heart dance nervously. He was joking, right?
Of course he is! I think…
"Well," she muttered, quickly changing the subject. "I've found some clothes, if you want some. It's just you've been wearing those for almost two days, so I thought you'd like to change."
"I appreciate your efforts but you seem to forget that I am a wizard and can easily transfigure my own." He then added. "Besides, I've been longer without fresh clothes." And Muggle isn't really my style…
That made Hermione almost gasp in shock. Lucius Malfoy; Slytherin, rich bastard, aristocrat… Call him what you want, someone as privileged as he surely wouldn't have gone longer than a day without changing his attire?
"I don't believe you." She said with a cocky grin. "Name me one time you went longer than one week without changing."
"Azkaban." He answered simply and casually. Truth be told, his time in that God awful place had not been simple and casual, it had been… Awful, detestable, horrific, abominable… Words could not describe what he truly thought of it. But, his time there had been spent and was a thing of the past, albeit a very dark part of the past.
Hermione was too polite to ask what it was like inside that place, plus she had heard numerous detailed accounts from the late Sirius Black and from the images her mind had concocted, she knew it to be simply horrific. Perhaps the people inside didn't deserve to be treated as bad as they were…
No, no, no! What am I thinking? Having sympathy for prisoners; Death Eaters!
But Lucius was a Death Eater – had been – and, given the circumstances, she no longer wished that he was rotting in Azkaban. Just think, if he had been banished to Azkaban, she would most likely be dead right now.
Changing the subject again, she asked; "Would you mind, umm, telling me more about the Magical Bomb?
"You're wondering why you've never heard about it before and therefore know nothing of it, aren't you?"
She gave a small, bashful cough. "Yes…"
"Perhaps you're not the Know-It-All everyone believed you to be?" His tone was hard and serious but when he smiled, Hermione knew there was nothing harmful in it.
"The Magical Bomb was created by the Dark Lord. I have absolutely no idea how it works, only that whatever it is placed upon will be destroyed. And not in the same way as other bombs. It obliterates an object or place completely, without the use of explosions. I suppose a good way to describe it would be that everything appears to dissolve rapidly. Anything in its presence will be destroyed."
Hermione was speechless. Everything Lucius had ever owned was gone, without a trace. He was left with nothing, save for what he had on him; his wand and clothes. All family heirlooms, items of personal interests were gone and he could never get them back.
"The late Bellatrix Lestrange told me all about the Dark Lord's great inventions. There was the Sanguis Adficio which would drain you of all bodily fluids until you were nothing more than dry bones. And there was another that would cause you to fester away into a corpse." He looked down at his hands that were covered with small patches of dried blood and dirt. "The Dark Lord would test out his inventions on captured Muggles and often he would make me… dispose of them if something was unsuccessful."
He closed his eyes to drown out the images of some of the things he had seen. In particular he remembered a small boy, no older than seven or eight, with blonde hair and grey eyes – or what were the remains of blonde hair and grey eyes. He'd been sent to clean up after the Dark Lords attempt at creating a new curse and had been met with one of the most gruesome and saddening sights he'd ever seen.
He'd been so disturbed that he had cried and cried until he had made himself sick. Perhaps it was the notion that this boy had had such a striking resemblance to his own son, or maybe it was his age? No child should have to meet a fate like that. Ever.
"Lucius?"
He opened his eyes.
Hermione's worried face was inches from his own.
"Are you okay?" She said quietly, stretching her hand out to his but not actually touching.
He took a long, deep breath of calm air. "Yes, I'm fine."
"Would you like anything?"
"Would a bath and then some food be too much trouble?"
She smiled. "No that's fine. I'll go prepare something for both of us to eat. By the way; there were loads of spiders in the bathroom before I cleaned it so they may have gotten back in."
He chuckled. "You think I'm scared of spiders? Believe me Miss Granger; I have bigger things to fear than spiders."
"Shut up and have a bath you arrogant man."
He stood up with a groan and a stretch and said; "But aren't you going to help me? I might be too weak and end up drowning. Surely you know never to let a weak man bathe on his own?"
How he loved teasing her…
"You just managed to stand up on your own, I'm sure you don't need me to help you in and out the bath."
In a playful and mocking tone, he said; "But how on Earth am I supposed to wash my back?"
Hermione took his wand out of her pocket – which she'd taken off him when he'd been unconscious – and threw it at him from across the room. His sharp reflexes meant that he caught it perfectly, but with the negative effect that it felt as if his arm may snap off.
Hermione simply replied. "You're a wizard. You can do it yourself." And with that she turned into the kitchen, leaving a somewhat impressed and confound Lucius to his own musings.
A week had passed and, curse wise, no progress had been made whatsoever. They both thought it best to get to know their new surroundings and 'home', and Hermione had spent her time thoroughly cleaning it – with both magic and Muggle cleaning products.
Lucius had spent his time doing nothing much. His wound had healed with not one blemish to his pale skin and his headaches had dulled to a light ache, as well as the rest of his body. But, of course, Hermione kept fussing over him. It was in her kind nature to help out anyone in need and it was a little like hunting for the Horcruxes again – with the major difference of having Lucius Malfoy with her and not her two best friends.
So, with Hermione being the new Patron saint of healing, Lucius had been ordered (and in his opinion; rudely) to rest because he would need his energy reserves. And so he had done as she asked, even though in any other circumstances he would have Hexed the bitch who dared to order him around.
Lazing around was a blessing and a curse for Lucius, but probably more of a curse. The good thing was that it meant he wasn't obliged to help Hermione out. Yes, he had changed his ways but there was no way he was going to clean, especially not with Muggle cleaning products and in a house that wasn't his. It was a curse, however, because he was bored. So, so, so, so, so bored!
He detested being bored, to the point that he had nearly gone and asked to help with the cleaning but his Malfoy pride and arrogance had stopped him from doing so.
He had to admire the girls work though. Aesthetically the cottage (or shack) looked no different. The vibrant oranges and yellows were almost too bright to see past. By God, wizards were so much more sophisticated. He could hate Muggles for their foul decorating alone. However, on closer inspection you could clearly see that the blankets of dust had been swept away and every room seemed to have the faint aroma of lemon. A smell that, despite Muggle-made, he didn't mind.
After finishing reading the chapter on the 'Genus Hominum Extremitas' for what felt like the hundredth time, Lucius found himself in need of company.
The sort of company he wasn't sure Hermione Granger would give him, but he hoped with a bit of coercion, she may be willing to satisfy his body's needs.
Along with regaining his strength, he also found that so did his ever-increasing sexual appetite. Sex with a Muggle-born was something he had never fulfilled and the idea excited him as much as Christmas Day would to a child. His past-beliefs taught him that any feelings of a sexual nature towards a Mudblood were sick and looked down upon. He would have been referred to as a Blood traitor for doing such a thing mere years ago.
But now he could care less about that. He wanted Hermione Granger and he was going to have her. I think I'm entitled to such comforts.
With sex on his mind, he rose from the couch and descended to the kitchen; where Hermione seemed to spend most of her time cooking or cleaning.
Hearing Lucius' footsteps into the kitchen, she nervously let out; "I'm just making dinner."
"I can see that." Lucius replied sardonically, moving closer to Hermione who was now bent over slightly, straining generous amounts of pasta, giving the blonde wizard a spectacular view of her jean covered rear. He had to give some credibility to Muggles for their clothing. Wizard's robes could never give such a nice view to someone's backside.
His devious thoughts were interrupted by Hermione asking if he was feeling any better.
He watched the girl obsessing over their supper; making sure that every scraping of pasta sauce was added to the steaming pasta. She certainly didn't want to waste anything and therefore wasn't paying enough attention to notice that Lucius had closed the gap between them and was now very much invading her personal space.
"A little." He eventually answered. Obviously, he was feeling much better but he liked it when she fussed over him. Oh he liked that a lot.
"I can give you some more potions or even a Muggle alternative, if you'd like?" She asked nonchalantly.
"That will not be necessary. I can think of something better…" He murmured huskily into her ear and then let his lips descend upon the exposed and vulnerable skin of her neck. Softly at first, they soon became more urgent and desperate against her flesh that was now coated in a fresh sheet of goose bumps.
He had to admit that, although Muggle-born, Hermione Granger was a beautiful woman. When he'd first come across her in Diagon Alley, she had been nothing more than an irritating little chit, but during their time together he'd truly been able to appreciate her womanly charms. And that had only been one month ago.
Merlin, one month and already I want to fuck her. That really made him feel like an infernal and hormonal school boy.
Hermione froze solid in the surreal atmosphere that had somehow presented itself to her, her skin had prickled the moment his lips collided and she felt a deep shudder ripple inside her, leaving her tummy on fire with butterflies.
What was he doing?
She may be a prude, but it was all too obvious what was going on. Lucius Malfoy was kissing her! Okay, so he his lips were on her neck and not her lips but it was kissing nonetheless!
And worst was that with every nip and caress of his lips, she found herself immensely enjoying his ministrations and wanting – dare she think it? – more!
Their situation was messed up to the point of disaster but could this be any more surreal? Her head was dizzying, she felt hot all over and within the confusion she found herself asking; "What are you doing?"
He withdrew and murmured; "Thanking you." Immediately pressing another kiss to the Hermione's neck, massaging the soft skin with his lips as his arms wound around her midsection, pulling her tight and flush against him and giving her a startling taster of his nether regions; pressed hard and hot against her bottom.
She gasped; overwhelmed with the tight knot that was beginning to form in her stomach. His masculine scent – uniquely Lucius – was wafting so luxuriously into her nostrils but she didn't know if she could do this.
"No," She whispered. "I can't-"
"Don't try to fool yourself, Hermione." He buried his hand under the layers of her bulky clothing, and raised it upwards, letting it glide across the flat planes of her stomach before it met the barrier that was her bra. With one swift manoeuvre, his fingers deftly pushed themselves underneath the metal wiring and trailed higher, until at long last, he was cupping the soft mound of her breast.
Ignoring the tightness in her chest, Hermione felt her nipples peak at the contact and let out one deep, breathy sigh. She shivered against his touch, but gone was the nervousness she had always assumed she would feel when being touched so intimately for the first time; and instead it had been replaced with a sensual desire to feel more.
Lucius let out a lusty groan and couldn't help but think how perfectly she fit in his hand. Soft, supple and warm; oh so warm.
He leaned further forwards, his nose skimming the flushed skin belonging to the crux of her neck and he inhaled deeply. He was rewarded with the sharp, captivating aroma of Hermione; unlike any other woman, she smelled sweet and zesty. Perfect.
She wanted this; he could smell it on her. But the question was; would she let him? He'd already made a pact with himself that he wouldn't force himself upon her. He was above such ruthlessness as sexual assault, in fact, he couldn't think of a less satisfying way to take her. He liked his women willing; and willing she would be.
He couldn't even begin to worry that their blood was not of the same type. All he cared about was achieving the completion his mind and body was so desperately crying out for.
But as usual, something got in the way.
Suddenly, as if the switch to the sensible and logical part of her mind had been switched on, common sense reappeared.
Are you mad? He's Lucius Malfoy! He hates your kind and is only using you! You can't let him do this!
Common sense indeed. What the hell was she doing? This was Lucius Malfoy she was pressed against, with his hand up her top. It was wrong! Sick!
She felt disgusted with herself that she would willingly let him do this to her. He was old enough to be her father, he was her enemy's father and whether he was the last man on Earth or not, she wouldn't let him.
To think that for one minute she actually started to enjoy it…
But it had felt good. Really good and all he'd done was touch one breast and kiss her neck. Think how good it would feel if he'd-
No! She could not and would not think about such things ever again.
Now she felt embarrassed at the current situation she was in and her heart beat sped up, rapidly smashing against her chest. No doubt he could feel it.
With his hand still at her left breast, she pulled away from him far as she could without walking into the kitchen counters. Lucius let go of her abruptly and she turned around to face him, awkwardly pulling her top down as far as it would go.
She felt her eyes fill with tears and wiped at them with her sleeve, feeling ashamed, pathetic, stupid, gullible… The list went on and on.
Lucius supressed a roll of his eyes. Now she's going to sulk and cry and blame me for taking advantage. Well this is just fucking brilliant. He thought.
"Miss Granger?"
She looked up into his grey eyes, expecting to see them glitter with mock but instead she found that they were unreadable.
What do you want? She wanted to snap at him but found that her lips couldn't move and that her tears had progressed to fat sobs and hysterical shudders.
"Just…" She sniffed heavily. "Leave me alone."
"Don't go."
He wasn't surprised to hear that there was no answer and Hermione pushed past him, storming out of the kitchen and slamming the door behind her without as much as a backward glance.
Lucius shut his eyes, wondering just where they might be if things hadn't taken a turn for the worse.
A/N: So I don't really like where this ends but I just cba to write anymore for this chapter. I hope you liked it because that groping scene was kinda hard for me to write!
I'd also like to apologise at how bloody long this has taken to get to you! Summer holidays have been over for 2 weeks and I'm now starting my A-levels and they are SOOOO hard and time consuming! I also got my GCSE results. I was so pleased with them! So anyway, updates might not be as regular anymore because I really have so much work to do! :(
As always, I'd like to thank all who have reviewed and given this story so much attention! I really love writing it and from what I hear most of you like reading it to, so that's always good ;)
xxx
