Ok - here goes!

Thank you all, registered and anonymous, for your fandabydozy reviews. Although most of this story is already safely stored on my PC, reading them still makes me double my efforts to update frequently - life can be hectic! And I could always change things based on your comments - nothing is set in stone!

I have invented an ickle bit of backstory for Lucius here which just gets Hermione thinking, as you will see ... it does not change who he essentially is or was ...

Warning - things are starting to heat up ... !

Ten - Revelations

Hermione shuffled the papers nervously in front of her and cleared her throat. Now that there was sufficient distance between Lucius Malfoy and herself, her breathing steadied and she found herself able to refocus on the task at hand. She suddenly became acutely aware of the man's past and that he had been present, complicit, in her torture at his own home. The reality had not entered her head since that first moment of meeting him in the bookshop and the mystery of why she had somehow suppressed it was something she needed to address. She felt no fear looking at him, but her mind and body recalled the agony of the curses Bellatrix Lestrange had hurled at her over and over again, and she wondered why her body now reacted in such a delirious way when it came near her torturer's brother-in-law. She shook off the memory, but determined with renewed vigour to sort out the mess in her head and body this man was causing.

She glanced up at him. He was sitting quite calmly and looking at her with mild curiosity. When her eyes met his, he raised his eyebrows in expectation and she at last found her voice.

"Mr Malfoy, I know that my purpose here is to "educate" you in the Muggle world, but I think it would be foolish to throw ourselves headlong into it. I need to know the sort of things you're interested in first. I need to ascertain just how strongly you feel about certain customs and beliefs, before exposing you to things you may react adversely to. So I intend to question you a little on your youth and your likes and dislikes in the wizarding world, and from that I will plan the next stage of our programme."

She almost dared not look at him, fearing his reaction, but when she did glance up, his face remained as impassive as ever, although she thought she could detect a slight smile briefly play round the corners of his mouth. Receiving no negative reply, she felt emboldened and took out the sheet she had prepared the night Kingsley had given her the task.

Clearing her throat, she spoke as confidently as possible.

"Tell me about when you first went to Hogwarts." She couldn't bear to look up, and silence hung about the room for what seemed to be an age, but then, just as she feared her lungs would implode, his honeyed voice poured across to her.

"My father was on the Board of Governors, and I had visited several times when younger. I had a personal tutor prior to going to Hogwarts and had minimal influence from the Muggle world, unlike so many other witches and wizards who invariably spent their first year "undoing" the damage done by Muggle junior schools. It was hardly an adjustment, and I only wish I could have gone sooner." He spoke clearly and without his usual sardonic bite.

"You presumably knew several of your fellow first years very well when you first arrived?"

"Naturally. Many pure-blood families had children of my age due to attend Hogwarts at that time. We were all ready to move on. The transition could not come soon enough. There were very few Muggle-borns or even half-bloods at that time."

He had done it again; referred to her kind as Muggle-borns. She could not resist commenting on it.

"Muggle-borns?"

"Yes," he replied tersely. "I believe you know what they are."

"Why not use your usual term of endearment? You called me a Muggle-born the other day at the opera as well," she blushed slightly on remembering the intensity of their encounter at that time.

Looking directly at him, she waited for a reply. None was forthcoming. She spoke again.

"Why not say mudblood?" The word was alien and dirty on her tongue, and turned her stomach, but she spoke it with such venomous spite for the term, that it sounded as vicious as when used as an insult.

He finally responded, fixing her with his eyes and using measured tones. "That term is forbidden, Miss Granger."

"That didn't bother you before, Mr Malfoy."

"Aah ... 'before'... I fear that is a word I will be hearing a lot of during the course of these encounters."

She held his gaze for as long as she dared, but feeling it was futile to pursue a satisfactory answer, she reverted to her previous line of questioning, but surprised herself with the personal nature of her next query.

"Was your wife a student at Hogwarts during your time?" She asked it with eyes lowered and was met with silence. After an age it was broken.

"Yes."

She felt her heartbeat quicken, but she could not resist. "And how does she feel about you receiving instruction in the ways of Muggles?"

Further silence. She dared not look up.

"My wife is unaware of our little arrangement, Miss Granger. She no longer lives at the Manor. We only see each other when there is a matter regarding Draco to discuss."

His candour staggered her and she looked up, meeting his eyes, which were hard and empty. His eyebrows raised slightly to punctuate what he had just said but he then lowered his gaze.

Despite receiving the confirmation of their separation she wanted, Hermione felt a genuine pang of remorse. It had always seemed, despite the Malfoys' twisted natures, that they were an exceptionally close and dependent family. She spoke sincerely. "I'm sorry."

He inhaled slowly and replied, "I'm sure you are, in your warped little Gryffindor way; so typical to be apologetic for the distress of others." He paused. "But not sorry for my wife's elimination from the equation ... hmm?" His eyebrows raised in query and a slight smirk ghosted across his face.

She flushed at his perceptiveness and quickly dropped her head again. Her questioning returned to familiar territory.

"How did you get on with Professor Dumbledore?"

She was relieved when he answered immediately and freely. "I was an exceptional student. Regrettably, Professor Dumbledore always had a soft spot for the non-academic clowns, Potter being a prime example, but he could not fail to respect my intellect. I also impressed with my ability to enforce good order and discipline. I was an exceptional prefect in my final year."

His arrogance was staggering, and she smiled to herself at the predictability of it. But, emboldened by his relative verbosity, Hermione continued, "How did you feel when you were sorted into Slytherin?"

He scoffed at her question. "There was never any doubt I would be in Slytherin. My family has been in Slytherin for ten generations. It could have been no other way."

"You didn't answer my question."

He looked at her sharply, as if to say, 'and neither do I intend to' and Hermione started to regret her line of questioning. But just as she contemplated her next move, he spoke again.

"I was naturally delighted, but hardly surprised. It was, as I have said, a foregone conclusion."

"Was it?" She surprised herself with her bravado, not sure what had led her to ask it.

Again, he looked at her, this time with mild surprise written on his face. He paused before answering, but then seemed almost to reward her boldness by humouring her.

"As you know, Miss Granger, the Sorting Hat can ... mull things over before making a final judgement. This is quite normal, as I'm sure you recall. It has no bearing on the final outcome."

Hermione was amazed by what she was hearing and pressed further.

"Did the Sorting Hat consider putting you in another house?" she could hardly believe she was saying it.

"Nooooo," he hissed bitterly. "The final decision would never have altered. It was simply part of the process."

"But it did think about it." Her mind buzzed with realisation and excitement. "It did, didn't it?" There was a long pause.

"I vaguely recall it mentioning another House momentarily." He stopped. Hermione only just managed to suppress an audible gasp escaping her. Then he spoke again, slowly.

"Miss Granger, I think we have discussed this long enough. Let us move on now." His voice had developed a coldness all too familiar to her from previous encounters. But Hermione could sense a breakthrough and carried on.

"Which house, Mr Malfoy?" He looked straight at her, his eyes icy. She felt a chill run through her, reminding her of their meeting in the bookshop, but her emotions simply spurred her on. "Which house?"

Their eyes remained locked and Hermione knew he could, and may well, take out his wand and curse her, such fury burned behind his pupils. But still, she held his gaze, her own confidence staggering her. Again she spoke, feeling a surge of power well up in her. It was intoxicating. "I need you to answer my question."

His eyes flashed and then narrowed. She could see his chest rising and falling more rapidly than normal. Not a sound. She thought she'd lost him.

But then his voice spoke, quite calmly and measured.

"The house closest to your own heart, Miss Granger."

The revelation hit her like lightning.

"Gryffindor?" she whispered, barely audibly. "You were nearly put in Gryffindor?"

Silence hung in the air as the full impact of his disclosure sank in. Hermione stared disbelievingly at her desk, amazed not only at the nature of his confession, but also the fact that she had succeeded in getting him to reveal it. At length, the silence was broken by his voice, which had returned to its laconic drawl.

"My my ... Quite the little inquisitor, aren't we? Are all our sessions going to be like this?"

She looked up at him, suddenly fearful that he might back out of the programme. She was relieved to see that he was still in his seat and did not seem as if about to leave.

She almost felt like leaving her questions there for the day and stood up, uncertain of her next move. But not wanting to appear weak or regretful of her questioning she spoke boldly, "It was you who chose to answer, Mr Malfoy. Anyway, as you say, I doubt very much that the final outcome would have been any different."

He too raised himself slowly from his chair and took a step towards her. A cold chill once again tinged the air. "Oh, but I know what you're thinking, Miss Granger," he drawled, locking his eyes into hers. "You're thinking, 'What would he have been like if it had?' ... Hmm?"

Once again she felt herself rising to his challenge, and this time stepped out from behind her desk and moved deliberately towards him. She stopped only a foot away and looked boldly up as he towered above her, her eyes flashing into his. His scent threatened to overwhelm her, but she spoke calmly and deliberately, almost mimicking his sardonic tone. "Yes, but the question is, Mr Malfoy, did you ever think about what you would have been like? Did you ever consider ... all those years, all those decisions ... were they ever actually the right ones?"

He was at her. Before she knew it, he had grabbed her violently with both hands, his breathing fast and heavy, nostrils flaring. He pushed her roughly back until she collided hard with her desk. She gasped, although somehow managed to retain her control. She knew she had gone too far and should have anticipated his reaction. Her heart raced and she gasped for air. Yet somehow, despite his obvious anger, it was not fear flooding her senses, but that now familiar thrill, which radiated from deep within her core. Even in this vulnerable position, she felt an ecstatic triumph over him, which pumped through her veins.

He leaned into her, pinning her against her own desk. Pushing her hands behind her back, he encircled both her wrists with one hand, while the other came up to rest on her throat. He reached around it and pressed his large hand into her neck, the pressure threatening, yet delicious. She allowed a pang of anxiety to twinge her, but then noticed that his grip had relaxed slightly and his thumb was moving over her skin, just below her jaw. His touch sent a jolt of fire straight between her legs and she felt a rush of wetness flood out.

His eyes burned into her own, fury still igniting them. He searched her face, his breath hot on her. They remained like this for what seemed an eternity, but Hermione found herself unable, or unwilling, to even attempt to escape his grasp. Finally, he spoke.

"What are you, Miss Granger? What are you ... that within a few minutes of our conversing you elicit ... thoughts ... from me that are better left buried in the deepest recesses of the mind?" His face was only inches from hers now and his breath came fast upon her. It smelt vaguely of cinnamon.

He continued, his eyes penetrating her mind, "You intrigue me, Miss Granger ... what lies beneath you, I wonder ... that too, will be equally remarkable, will it not ...?"

Hermione remained locked between the desk and him. His legs were pushed firmly up against hers and she noted how long and hard they felt on her. His lower torso was pinning her down, and with every breath, pushed her body further into him, each time stoking the fire blazing ever more inside her. And between his legs and his abdomen she could feel something else, harder than anything, straining against her. She could not move due to his strength over her, but desperately willed herself towards that iron hardness. He did not relinquish his hold on her neck, but his thumb continued to stroke, sending darts of pleasure through every nerve in her body. Her eyes closed, unable to burden the heat from his anymore, and her head fell back, guided by his hand. She could bear it no longer.

"Please ..." a soft moan escaped her lips, barely audible.

"What was that?" he crooned in mock surprise.

All she could do was pant, she did not think she had the ability to formulate another word again.

"Please..." she finally managed, a supreme effort of concentration fuelled by her desire.

He pulled her arms, still held tight in his large, powerful hand, in towards her back, causing a cry to escape her. She fell further backwards across her desk.

He leaned down over her. "Please ... what?" he hissed in her ear.

Hermione could only moan in response, a low guttural moan, originating in a place so deep inside that she didn't recognise it as coming from her. She immediately felt an increased push from the iron-hard apex of his thighs against her pelvis and rose to meet it, eliciting a groan from him. It was such a deeply erotic sound that she thought she would come right then, but controlled herself, desperate for his touch. God, she needed release. Her skin burned and her insides were liquid fire.

She forced the words out. "Please ... touch me ... Lucius ... touch me ..."

"Good. Girl." He whispered straight against her ear.

She couldn't open her eyes, she had lost the ability to think, but was aware of his right hand relinquishing the hold on her neck. It dropped down, then she felt it again at the side of her leg, just above the knee. His fingers seared into her flesh, causing her to jerk up. Slowly, his hand worked up her thigh, stroking, prodding slightly at her, pushing her skirt up until he reached the top of her stocking. When he got there, he tucked his finger in behind the lace and ran it along towards the inner part of her leg, exerting just the right amount of pressure. She thought she would die. All her being was focused on his finger as it made its tantalising way to the spot she so craved it reaching.

She let out a sob of longing, thrusting her hips towards him urgently, desperately trying to bring his hand to her core. She felt once again a hardening against her and knew he was just as desirous of her. His self-control amazed and thrilled her, but she quickly focused back solely on his hand and what it was doing to her. It was now edging its way up her inner thigh, moving her knickers aside and when at last his finger found her inner folds she inhaled sharply. God, she knew she would not last long, her lust had been building up for so long now, she knew it would only take an instant touch of the taut bud of nerves at her centre to send her over the edge.

Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, he inserted a finger deep up inside her. It was quickly joined by a second finger and the shock of it made her fling her head back up with a gasp, her eyes darting open with pleasure and immediately meeting his. He let out a low hiss and in his eyes she read lust to match only hers. But apart from the increasingly engorged throbbing pinning her onto the desk, he was able to entirely restrain his body.

His fingers quested and coaxed inside her, causing her walls to clench around him. Her moaning and groans now the only sound in the room. She was so close now and her body sought that final release. She pressed down on his fingers, urging them to give her what she so desperately needed. The ache inside her was almost painful and just when she thought she could bear it no longer he slipped his fingers out, swept them slowly and deliciously up her inner folds and skilfully found the nub he knew she so needed him to.

It took only a firm but momentary rub from his fingertips and she was at last tipped over the edge. Her head fell back and her mouth opened in incoherent ecstasy. The ball of tension that she had felt inside for what seemed like forever finally broke and her body convulsed as exquisite pleasure swept over her in wave upon wave. She cried out loudly, his name torn from her lips, "LUCIUS!"

After what seemed an age, he slowly removed his hand from her core and backed away from her. She was grateful to have the desk behind her as she would have collapsed onto the floor otherwise. She gradually became aware of her surroundings and raised her head to look at him.

He met her eyes and although she could still not distinguish a clear meaning in them, there was a glow within which had not been there before.

There was nothing to say. They stayed staring at each other for a long while, then he inhaled deeply through his nose, adjusted his robes about him, turned and left the room.

*thud*

Will update tomorrow - same time, same place! Promise, especially if you let me know what you think! ;) x