I had the oddest of dreams. I dreamed about some of my reviewers! Ginsitsune Wings was a seagull and had a walrus as a friend; Mercury Grey sang the contrary of Queen's song "Bicycle" (thus giving something like this: I believe Peter Pan, Frankeinstein and Superman! I don't wanna ride my biiiiiiiicyyyycle, biiiiiiiicycle.)

I have such a sense of deja vu ! It feels like I wrote this chapter before; but its not so! Wiiiierd.

All you guys freaked out by girls having their periods, skip the middle part.

Oh- I had to put myself in this chapter. If you hate me, no worries, I impersonate a cadaver.

My Dirty Little Secret

Everything became slowly routine. Everything was strangely timeless, because the only thing that designated time was the date of the newspapers and the weather outside. It was if she was in a dream, or in a movie, or in a chapter of a book that didn't have an end.

All the days were strictly the same: Hermione woke up, Lucius already there. He nursed her legs, carried her to the bathroom so she could pee. He deposited her back in bed; she brushed her hair under Lucius's hungry gaze. The only things they had said to each other so far was 'Good morning'.

Lucius took Hermione to the bath, passing his hand between her legs and carrying her whilst touching her in the most perverse way possible. She always looked outside the window when he did so.

The water was always ready, Lucius put Hermione in the bathtub and she washed herself with her night gown on. They talked then, exchanging knowledge. Hermione would stay in the water until her fingers became wrinkled. She washed her hair every day; she shampooed it, conditioned it and rinsed it thoroughly. There were always all kinds of vials around her, each of them made in beautiful glass.

They contained wonderful perfumes. They were heavy yet made one's head light. Each and every scent possible in each and every colour of the rainbow were imprisoned in spun glass. The scents were so attractive they scared Hermione. She always bathed in lavender water, sometimes adding grapefruit; these scents were calming. If she bathed in those perfumes, Lucius might take an even more perverse obsession into her. She felt, almost saw, what he wanted to do her; those scents might just trigger the thing that would made him do those things.

Lucius would take her off the bath and bring her back to her room, make her sit near the vanity and they would brush her hair. Hermione would close her eyes and pretend to be elsewhere as he rubbed himself against her. Hermione tried comfort herself as he grunted in her by telling herself that he had at least his cloths on; he didn't pounce on her in other ways.

After they brushed her hair, Lucius left Hermione to get her breakfast. During that time, Hermione dried herself and rubbed lotions on her skin and passed on a dress that was in the cupboard (she knew Lucius chose one for her to wear). Lucius would arrive with fruits and bread and tea, carry her on her bed, give her newspapers to read and then he would nurse her legs.

Hermione would read all the wizarding newspapers first. Then it was usually time for lunch; Lucius carried her to the bathroom, sat her down on the armchair he used to be in when she woke up. Her lunches were light food, which tasted good, but was very typical 'girl food': salads, vegetables, white meat. Lucius sat at her feet then, caressing her bare little feet, massaging them.

After lunch Hermione was brought to the bathroom again. Then she took a light nap. Usually when she woke up, Lucius was nowhere to be seen. He surely ate somewhere else, or had some business to attend. During those times, Hermione massaged her calves and feet, made gymnastics and trained her body as good as she could. Her legs still felt sensations; they weren't 'dead'. She had to keep the blood circulation going.

After her gymnastics, she mediated, analyzing her possibilities of an escape. So far, no ideas had occurred to her. When Lucius came back, he brought her to the bathroom again. He read the Daily Prophet and she read the muggle newspapers until dinner.

Lucius ate with her then, bringing her to a sumptuous room crammed with insanely beautiful things. Hermione barely ate then, too busy studying her surroundings. It always seemed to change around her. The 'Dinner Room' was her favourite room so far: Lucius didn't touch her there.

After dinner, if the weather was good, he brought her out on a balcony where he set her on his lap and whispered huskily her name many times in a row. Hermione liked being outdoors, but she could never enjoy the fresh air because Lucius always sat down on the banister of the balcony, pulling her in his lap and let their legs hang in the air. This frightened Hermione a lot, and she always felt iced in fear.

The end of the day was passed in her room, re-reading news, eventually discuss them. They talked, well Lucius mostly talked, about the articles covering her disappearance. It was hot news for one week, almost always on the cover; yet after some time, the articles of her disappearance became shorter and shorter. The only one writing regularly about her was The Quibbler. Hermione felt her heart dwell as she read those articles, short, quite meaningless, but written with concealed love. She recognized Harry's, Ron's, Luna's, Ginny's –even Lavender's and Parvati's (she really hadn't known they could write journal articles like that) writing styles in the missives. To read the Quibbler was her greatest joy.

Lucius noticed it and often described how happy she looked when she read those articles. Hermione often blushed then, and felt the urge of justifying herself.

"- It's just so pleasant to know people care so much about me."

Lucius nodded then, often joining her on the bed, caressing her hair. Hermione got use to his caresses fairly quickly; she just pretended to be a cat someone petted. She often wondered what was going on in Lucius's mind. He was one of the most intriguing people she ever met; and frankly, she would have preferred to have him as a side track mystery. But she couldn't afford herself to ignore him now; the more she about him, the better.

"-The planet is filled with murderers; true murderers are people who dare forget those they loved once."

Hermione wanted to contradict him and say it was rich coming out from the mouth of a murderer. But then, he had experience. And she bore the name of a beautiful murderer.

Hermione was confronted with one very strange thing with Lucius: the power of words. She meant the actual amount of words; not their meaning. Lucius talked a lot; Hermione felt strangely strangled by his words. She was Lucius's words prisoner.

Hermione had lived fourteen days of an identical life as she felt the monthly pains at the end of her back: her period would be coming the next day. This scared Hermione. Now only she understood how exactly vulnerable she was. Maybe he would get rid of her as he would see the blood. If she was lucky, he would kick her out; if unlucky, he might kill her. Or give her back to Voldemort. Or get turned on by it and do something worse.

She tried to block out these scaring possibilities. She forced herself to read her newspapers and magazines, getting very white in her face the word 'period', 'flux' or 'menstruation' was mentioned. Lucius noticed how restless she was, but had no idea why.

The following morning, Hermione felt the liquid between her legs, and a quick check under her covers assured her that it hadn't spilled out yet. Hermione tried to move as inauspiciously as possible, reaching out for the little towel she had left on purpose under her pillow.

But as soon as she moved, Lucius wished her a good morning and pushed the covers off Hermione. She couldn't but keep her legs tightly together, clenching all her muscles so hard it hurt. Lucius tried to pass his hand between her legs, frowning when he didn't manage to pass his hand.

Lucius had no idea what was going on. Narcissa and he had slept in the same room in different beds, having each their own bathroom. The upbringing of young men in the old, traditional wizarding society could be compared to the education men received at the end 17th century in the muggle world. The first woman Lucius had seen naked had been a young witch who had been found dead in the tiny lake (or big pond) there was in the back of their yard.

Her name had been Mary; more often called "Maid Mary"; she was the witch who did the laundry. House Elves couldn't wash cloths, but they could iron it. Mary was very nice, a plump little witch with pretty laughing eyes. She had been found in the lake, pale figure floating on the water by a young Lucius.

His father had decided it was time for him to learn the precise anatomy of a woman. They used Mary's dead body for this. This was a common thing to do really. Mary's body was brought to the kitchen, and she was deposited on the main cutting table. This cutting table was very special because it had special slits in it for knifes various sizes.

Lucius's eyes couldn't directly look at Mary's naked body. It was slightly tanned, a construction made out of round, plump flesh, somehow lively, yet blue and cold. He had watched her breasts in awe and his father had given him permission to watch her between the legs. Her sex intrigued him, and he asked if he could touch; Kaïn Malfoy had laughed and told him to go ahead.

The first experience with the female sex had been cold, morbid and terribly exciting. When Lucius married Narcissa, he admired her because she was as dead as Mary in bed. She didn't moan, or scream, or whimper when he went into her. Sex was always something rather embarrassing to Lucius. It was supposed to be exciting and real, but it was just cold. It was like masturbating by pouncing into another body instead in one's hand.

Therefore Lucius had no idea about the female sex; he had even less idea about such things as the menstrual cycle. As he finally forced his hand between Hermione's leg, he was surprised to feel a wet fabric.

He panicked as he felt a liquid ran down his hand; Hermione was crimson red, hiding her face in her hands. But the true moment of horror was when he saw the red spot forming just underneath her pubis on the nightgown. Hermione was bleeding.

"- You're…. wounded. You're…. er…. Bleeding. You know, down there."

"- Yes, em, I'm menstruating."

"- No, you're bleeding."

"- I know! It's totally normal."

Hermione removed her hands from her face and saw Lucius's puzzled face. His eyes were questioning her, showing his surprise. Hermione knitted her eyebrows and bit her under lip. At that moment, they both understood from just how different societies they came from.

"- This happens every month. As long as a woman menstruates, she can become pregnant. And when a woman is pregnant, she doesn't menstruate until she gives birth to the baby."

Lucius watched her crestfallen. What? What was she talking about?

"- How can it be you don't know about it? You were married! It happened to your wife each month! Didn't you notice?"

Lucius shook his head.

"- Didn't you sleep in the same bed?"

Lucius shook his head again.

Hermione couldn't believe this. Where did she land? There is no way this man could ever rape her! (Or then again he might just want to live out his repressed fantasizes with her.) Where was she? Did she go through ages? What year was it, what century?

She relaxed a bit her legs. They stared to ache quite badly now; she didn't want cramps. Bad mistake- Lucius took the opportunity to pass his hand completely under her, twisting and pulling at her panties, slipping in his hand. He felt the sticky substance around his fingers, and it sent a heat wave although him.

Hermione, scandalized to feel his finger inside of her, punched him in the face with her trustworthy right hook. Lucius was so surprised that he took out promptly his hand. His cheek hurt, his tongue was bleeding, his head and groin throbbed and his head felt as if it was consumed by flames.

They went to the bathroom and Hermione glided to the water all by herself and washed herself between the legs straight away. She was very angry and felt humiliated. She closed her eyes and sank her head in the water and scream out her frustration.

Hermione was definitely not a girl who often swore or used cursing words for the fun of it. But now she felt definitely the urge to scream out in anger.

"- Fuck, fuck, fuck the FUCKING Order. Fuck Dumbledore, fuck Snape, fuck plans, fuck schemes, fuck, fuck schemes. And fuck Dumbledore some more."

Lucius heard an odd bubbling sound and strong plasking sounds. Hermione was obviously hitting the water with her hands and screaming. Lucius stayed where he was, docile as an old guarding dog.