A/N:

A little more head-hopping in this chapter. I wanted to write the entire fic without ever showing Hermione's thoughts except through dialogue but then a mini-scene would not get out of my head and even though it made the chapter super long… well… you'll see.

Also, fair warning, there is a lemon at the end of this chapter. I tried to toe the line between funny and smutty, which wasn't easy (for me), so I hope you enjoy!

-AL

PS: please excuse typos, should you find any. My vision is very bad my glasses have gone missing, and I have to type directly into the document manager, which means I can't read what I've written. If you find any, please PM me. :)

CHAPTER TEN

"I beg..."

-Adele

Lucius gave Draco advice.

Draco gave Lucius advice.

Neither gave the other a name.

"My lady friend," Lucius said. Several times.

"This witch I fancy," Draco said. Several times.

Still, it was quite probably the best father/son chat the two had ever had, and when they parted ways, both felt loads better than they had just a couple of hours earlier.

Meanwhile, in Hogsmeade, Severus Snape was chatting up Hermione Granger. Or, at least, it felt like she was being chatted up.

"So, Miss Granger," he said, leaning too-casually against the bookshop wall between the MYSTERY and MYTHOLOGY sections. "Any significant wizards in your life at the present?"

"Er... no?" She had been happy to run into him and say hello, as she respected the man for what he'd done during the war and since, but this was weird.

"No?" His eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. "You haven't developed an interest in…say... older men… since the demise of your relationship with Mr. Weasley?"

"I... Uh..." Why was he asking? They were cordial but they certainly weren't friends, and besides, this wasn't even a topic she broached with most of her friends as of late. Hermione inhaled sharply. He'd asked about her interest in 'older men.' Could he know about Lucius – or, worse, was he asking for himself?

"I realize you are a woman now," he said smoothly, one elbow propped atop a short bookcase under a sign labeling the contents TOP READS OF THE MONTH. (Somehow, by trying to appear nonchalant, he instead gave the impression he was not a man but an alien wearing human clothing for the first time, trying desperately to fit in… and failing.) "And being a woman comes with certain... perks..."

"A woman, sir?"

"Yes. You've grown into… an attractive… woman…" It looked as though it was difficult for him to say it. "And I realize you may be looking to shed your 'Miss Perfect' persona, perhaps branching out into… riskier territory? Seeking an older wizard for… nefarious reasons? Attracted to the dark and dangerous, all you so carefully avoided in your youth…?"

She crinkled her nose. "What do you mean?"

"I believe you know what I mean, Miss Granger." He dropped the elbow, leaning close, staring intensely down at her, imposing. "Have you developed a sudden and questionable interest in older men? Are you currently seeking one… romantically?"

Her cheeks went pink. Should she tell him she was flattered but not interested?

"Sir, I'm sorry, but..."

Their eyes met and his widened. She got the distinct impression he'd just seen into her mind via unintentional Legilimency, and he didn't like what he found.

"Sir, I-"

"I am merely curious, Miss Granger!" he snapped, and she flinched.

"Yes, sir, of course, I didn't think... I only thought... I didn't... I only... You're not my type, sir, but if..."

"I have absolutely no romantic interest in you at all, Granger. Of this I can assure you!"

His eyes flashed. Her blush deepened.

Merlin's pants, now she'd insulted the poor man.

"Absolutely zero interest, and it would be unwise for you to think otherwise!"

He was clearly backtracking to save face, and she felt simply awful about it.

"I am so sorry. You're a fine person, Professor Snape, but I'm currently seeing-"

"A mental health healer, I hope!"

"What? No! I..."

"You should proceed with caution, Miss Granger." He took a long, slow breath, steadying himself. "I do not think you are prepared for what lies ahead, in regards to the wizard you are 'currently seeing.' Use that impressive brain of yours to mull over the repercussions of your actions and ask yourself whether this is something you truly want to do."

"Turning you down, you mean?"

"Turning me... No!" His face went purple again. "As I've already unequivocally stated, I have no romantic interest in you. I am merely looking out for your emotional well-being, as one who is older and wiser and with more life experience. War has addled greater minds than yours, and-"

"With all due respect, I do not believe my mind is addled, sir." She chewed her lip, wondering whether her next words would be met with a huff, a hex, or a hug. Well, maybe not a hug. But gratitude... "I have a friend, though, who might be perfect for you, if you're interested. She's a lovely woman who works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office..."

"I AM NOT TROLLING FOR A DATE, MISS GRANGER!" Severus' eyes swept the room. Hermione's gaze followed. They could see only four other customers in the book shop, plus one proprietor, and they all had their attention on the potions master and his former student. "And if I were, you would not be the token of my affections, I assure you!"

"I... sir, I..." Goodness, she must have really hurt his feelings, for him to fly off the broom handle like this. "I'm sorry, Professor."

"This conversation was a mistake. I insist you forget it post-haste and never mention it to anyone." He turned, sweeping his traveling cloak dramatically over his shoulder. "Good afternoon."

And, without awaiting her goodbye, he stalked out of the shop.

Hermione stared after him, stunned.

The book shop proprietor, a squat, friendly-faced woman with long gray hair, hurried over to Hermione. She put her hand on her arm and handed her a book: How to Land a Wizard: A Thinking Witch's Guide.

"He's not the one for you, my dear," said the woman, giving her a comforting squeeze. "Trust me, you'll find someone."

"I... no, I don't need..." Hermione tried to give the book back.

"It's a gift," said the old woman insistently, smiling with kind eyes. "You'll be alright. There are other Grindylows in the sea."

"Thank you," said Hermione weakly, feeling ridiculous. She hoped the Prophet wouldn't hear about this. If they reported she'd been dumped by Severus Snape in a Hogsmeade book shop she'd simply die of embarrassment... and she could only imagine what Harry or Ron or Draco or Ginny would say. Or, worse still, Lucius.

"Severus has always been a surly man." A woman stepped from between the stacks, one neither Hermione nor the potions master had seen during their little... discussion. She was tall and slender and blonde and beautiful and Hermione immediately felt both intimidated and uncomfortable... and she wished she knew Occlumency, because this particular woman could read minds like no other, at least according to her son.

"I didn't mean to upset him," said Hermione. She hugged the Witch's Guide to her chest. "I think I'll write a letter to apologize."

"It was a misunderstanding, I'm sure." Narcissa looked her over discerningly, which made the hairs on Hermione's arms stand on end. "You're friends with my son."

"Yes."

"You hated each other in school."

"School feels like a very long time ago." Hermione forced a smile. "It's nice to see you, Mrs. Malfoy, but I'm afraid I have to be going..."

"Let's go for tea." Narcissa wrapped her hand around Hermione's bicep, her talons ever-so-slightly digging into the soft flesh. "I'll be up-front. I'm concerned about Draco, and I seek to pump you for information. Come along. We'll go to Madam Puddifoot's. I'll treat."

Hermione inhaled sharply. She wanted absolutely nothing less than to have tea with the mother of her friend, the wife - wife! - of the man she was seriously considering going to bed with, but she was not quick enough with an excuse and before she managed to come up with one, they were standing outside the tearoom.

"Are you afraid of me, Miss Granger?" Narcissa side-eyed her smoothly. They couldn't be more different, standing side by side. Hermione glanced at their reflections in the tearoom windows.

She was still wearing what she'd worn to work, an off-white blouse with a small mustard stain on the right cuff, a pleated gray skirt, sensible black shoes with a low heel. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun in which she'd stuck her wand, a quill, and a pencil, and her makeup was simple - concealer, mascara, untinted Chapstick.

Narcissa, on the other hand, was the personification of dignity and class, in a form-fitting but flowy mauve fashionable witch's robe fastened over her abdomen with a silver clasp, under which she wore a pale pink floor-length dress, heels, makeup expertly applied to look like she wasn't wearing makeup, and jewelry that probably cost more than Hermione made in a year.

Luckily, life was not a fashion contest, or Hermione would be losing. Narcissa guided the younger witch into the tearoom, where they were immediately seated, while Hermione contemplated her reply.

She puffed up her chest, reminding herself while she may not be a fashion plate, she was Hermione bloody Granger, a brilliant witch who'd been instrumental in taking down Lord Voldemort, top of her year all through Hogwarts, and an incredible inspiration for younger Muggleborn witches... according to the Prophet, anyway. She therefore answered the question with a bit of ice in her voice, her back straight and chin jutted out.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I wasn't afraid of you two and a half years ago when you were watching your sister torture me on the floor of your drawing room, and I'm not afraid of you today."

"Now, now, none of that." Narcissa forced a smile and patted Hermione's forearm in a placating way. Hermione placed her hands in her lap, folded, and regarded the older woman coolly.

"None of what? It's the truth."

"But why bring up that… that little incident? We're simply having tea and a friendly chat, a girls' afternoon. Let's not dwell on the bad times." Narcissa pat her arm once more and sat back on her poofy seat, smiling more warmly now. When the witch working the tearoom came over, Narcissa ordered for both of them; she was like her husband in that way, commanding and commandeering, not bothering to ask her companion's preferences before making a decision.

"Why did you want to speak with me?"

"Miss Granger, Hermione - if I may call you Hermione?" (She did not wait for permission.) "My Draco is a good boy. I hope you do not hold the past against him as you do me."

"I know he's a good person," said Hermione defensively. "He's my friend."

"I'm glad he's your friend." Narcissa leaned forward, reaching for her hand. "Genuinely."

"Thanks?"

"Are you seeing someone?"

"I…" Hermione inwardly panicked. Why was everyone so interested in her love life all of a sudden? Did Narcissa know what was going on? Had Lucius told her? Not that much was even going on, so what was there to tell? They'd never even kissed, unless one counted his chaste pecks on her cheek, temple, and back of her hand. Hermione tried to both think quickly and keep her mind closed, just in case.

"Is this about Professor Snape? Because I wasn't trying to-"

"Oh, dear, no!" Narcissa chuckled. "It was clear you weren't interested in Severus, nor was he interested in you. That was merely a misunderstanding, as I said. A rather amusing one for me, as an outsider. But I believe he may think someone we both know is interested in you…"

Merlin. She must know. This couldn't be good.

"We're friends and that's all!" Hermione jumped up. "I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, but I've just remembered an engagement and if I don't leave now, I'll be late. Perhaps we could have tea another day? I'm so sorry to rush off…"

"Another engagement?" Narcissa looked… disappointed? "I wouldn't want to make you late…"

"Thank you for understanding. Give my regards to... to Draco. Good afternoon."

She swept from the tearoom faster than Severus Snape had the bookshop, and she left behind How to Land a Wizard: A Thinking Witch's Guide. Narcissa picked it up and ran her fingertips over the cover. Perhaps a little light reading was in her future... and she could call upon the girl again to return the tome, that would make for a marvelous excuse to drop by. If only she knew where Hermione lived.

"What happened there?" asked the waitressing witch, as she set a pot down on Narcissa's table. Narcissa sighed, set down the book, and gestured for her to sit. The witch glanced around. None of her customers seemed to need her at the moment, and she'd known the Black sisters since they attended school together, they'd all been friends, so she figured there was no harm in taking a moment. Once she was seated, Narcissa explained.

"I am certain my son fancies her, but for some odd reason he's being cagey about it, not coming clean with me, and not making a move. I think he's afraid of rejection – it's not something he's exactly used to – which breaks my heart for him. I was hoping to gauge whether she feels the same so I could better figure out how to advise him, but she rushed off so quickly…" Narcissa reached for her teacup. "She doesn't seem to like me much, Mildred. Not that she should, we have a difficult history. But all I want is for my darling Draco to be happy, and if she's what will make him happy…" Narcissa reached into her small handbag for a pack of cigarettes.

"Oh that is complicated," said Mildred, tutting. "Speaking of complications, last time you were here you told me you were afraid it might be over with Lucius?"

Narcissa nodded, now looking quite miserable, as she brought a cigarette up to her lips. "I think he's seeing someone. I've no idea who she might be, but he's looking better, getting out of the Manor… smiling… I don't know. He couldn't manage to clean himself up and smile for me, but…" She lit the end, breathed in, and let out a little puff of smoke. "Marriages aren't meant to last forever, are they?"

"Aren't they?"

Narcissa shrugged one shoulder. Her lower lip trembled, as did the hand holding the cigarette, but her voice was steady when she spoke again.

"I told him I couldn't spend the rest of my life waiting to start the rest of my life. I truly thought going out, meeting other wizards, showing him… showing Lucius, giving him… I thought a reminder of what we once had, what he could lose, I thought..." She took a long drag and let the smoke out slowly. "I thought what I was doing would propel him to action. Make him jealous, make him feel… anything. You can't know how frustrating it was, cooped up in that Manor with him for all that time, watching him pout and whine and waste away. He didn't care about me, he didn't care about himself..." Another drag. "I was going mad, I had to get out. And it was fun, at first, the freedom. But now…"

"Now that he might have found someone else?"

Narcissa nodded. "Now it just hurts."

"I'm sure she's nothing special." Mildred squeezed her old friend's hand. "A placeholder. A poor substitution for you. He'll come to his senses. They always do."

"But I've waited so long," whispered Narcissa, clasping Mildred's hand between her own. "And what if he doesn't?"

Hours later, Draco and Hermione were curled up on her couch watching the week's black and white classic romance, Bringing Up Baby.

"Muggles are mad," he said, pointing at the pet leopard on the screen. "I'd rather try to tame a blast-ended skrewt. Did all the actors escape unscathed?"

"I'm sure it's a trained leopard." Hermione giggled. "Can you imagine a leopard at Hogwarts? Good thing Hagrid doesn't watch movies. They might give him ideas."

They ate popcorn and drank butterbeer, as usual, and all through the picture Draco contemplated how he was going to come right out and tell Hermione how he was feeling, even though his father's advice had been to make her come to him (and he'd told his son exactly how to do so). In the dark, on her couch, under an afghan, it no longer seemed like the sound advice he'd thought it was that afternoon after the pool.

The movie ended and they cleaned up, bringing their dishes to the kitchen.

"Thanks Draco." Hermione hugged him. "I… I hope this isn't uncomfortable, but I'd really like us to go to dinner sometime…"

His heart leapt.

"On a double date. I want to meet Mary Sue. She sounds perfect. And I want you to meet my… the man I'm seeing… but I'm afraid you won't approve, and I don't want to jeopardize our friendship in any way. It really means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me. What do you think?"

"Mary Sue?" He sighed. "I'll ask her. But…" His father had suggested sowing the seeds of discontent there with the hope of gaining sympathy, but doing so carefully so as not to look like he was about to get dumped. "I don't know that we'll be together much longer. She and I see the world differently, and I feel she might be happier with someone she can better relate to. I don't want to play the martyr by breaking it off with her for her own good, but at the same time, it may be the best for everyone. Especially as I think I may be falling for someone else."

"Oh, no!" Hermione seemed wounded by this revelation. "Poor sweet Mary Sue! Are you sure? You can't work it out? Maybe you're selling yourself short, if you think she'd be happier with someone else. I mean, you're wonderful and she's wonderful – don't give up now! I really do want to meet her!"

It was as if she hadn't even heard the bit about falling for someone else.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"We're going out of the country tomorrow, she and I, to France for the weekend. There, we'll have a long talk." (He could break up with the nonexistent Canadian then, but by giving them a place to be he could avoid her suggesting the foursome meet up tomorrow night.) "Could we get a bite after work Monday? I'd like to get a woman's perspective afterward."

"Of course!" She hugged him again. "I just want you to be happy, Draco. Like your mother said."

"My mother said what?"

Hermione froze. "I… your mother wants you to be happy, doesn't she? Hasn't she said that?"

"I suppose."

"All mothers say that." She beamed. "Well… I'll see you Monday, then?"

"Monday. At work, and then, after. Right." He left without another hug, without telling her the truth, and without making her chase him. Another failed night.

At least the movie had been good.

The following evening, while Draco and "Mary Sue" were having their "long talk," Hermione was out to dinner with Lucius Malfoy.

"Your wife doesn't know about us at all? Not a thing?"

"Not a thing!" he insisted. "She and I hardly speak and when we do, it's hardly in the form of heart-to-heart chats. Besides…" He placed his hand over hers atop the table. "My heart is elsewhere, as of late."

This was Draco's advice. When dealing with younger women, women of his generation, be direct. Witches in their twenties don't like to play games as Lucius' generation did. They appreciate honesty, directness, a true connection… all of the things Draco himself was not yet able to bring to the table as far as Hermione was concerned.

"Do you fancy me then?" Hermione asked.

His thumb traced circles in the space between her thumb and forefinger. Slate eyes met cinnamon brown.

"The first time I took you to brunch, I was merely looking for absolution and to lessen the loss of your book. But now…"

"Why?"

"You're…" He was going to say, 'Not like other witches,' but then remember Draco saying young women hate that line. He went, therefore, with more specificity and hoped it wouldn't backfire. "You're quite unlike my wife. I hope you won't find this off-putting, but after decades with one woman, it's refreshing to get to know someone who is her polar opposite. You read and discuss ideas, you have a brilliant mind, I can talk to you. You're beautiful, but in a natural way, not because you spend hours carefully crafting a mask, cultivating an image… You're… real."

She smiled, a smiled that went from her lips to her eyes and coursed through her entire body; he felt it when she turned over her hand to hold his.

"I find both your mind and body inexplicably attractive, and please reprimand me if necessary, but I would like to get to know both better."

Her cheeks went pink in a sweet, delighted sort of way, and he fought the urge to smirk. Damn, he was good.

Not that it was all lies. He did find both her mind and body attractive… but it wasn't her mind he was hoping to get into bed.

She was a tad tipsy by the end of dinner, but not obnoxiously so. She stumbled a little on her heels, so he offered to walk her home from the apparition point.

"I'd rather not stay at my home tonight," she said, blinking up at him, her eyes darkening.

"Then where shall I put you to bed? You've been drinking."

"You could take me to bed rather than putting me to it," she said.

He felt a tug in his lower abdomen… but nothing further below, where an interest should have been awakening.

"But Draco-"

"Is away for the weekend, in Paris with his girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" He nodded approvingly, surprised but impressed. It seemed his advice to the boy must have worked, then, if yesterday his intended paramour was seeing someone else but today she was his girlfriend and they were away together. "In that case…" He wrapped his arm securely around her waist, bringing her to his chest. Her eyes closed and he apparated them to Malfoy Manor.

They weren't even through the door when she was on him like a starving cheetah on an antelope. Her mouth met his and he kissed back just as hungrily, one hand on her arse, the other trying to close and ward-lock the door. (Where was a fucking house-elf when he needed one?)

He apparated them from the hall to his bedroom, just in case Draco's plans for Paris had fallen through, and as soon as she was steady on her feet she was making quick work of the buttons on the front of his Muggle dress shirt. Her hair was wild, her eyes wilder, and though he did momentarily consider that perhaps the alcohol was more responsible for this sudden change than he wanted to believe, he wasted no time hiking up her dress to palm her arse over silk knickers.

That tightening in his lower abdomen happened again, but, still, nothing stirred in his pants. Merlin's bloody ball sack, why?! He had an attractive, much younger, clearly ready to fuck woman attempting to unfasten his belt, and… nothing?

It didn't seem fair.

He grabbed her wrist.

"Miss Granger – Hermione – you've been drinking. I do not make it a habit of taking advantage of women when they're pissed."

(Good job Lucius, he mentally congratulated himself. You can get out of this by being a gentleman, impressing her with your level of respect rather disappointing her with your lack of erection.)

"I only had three glasses of wine. I'm a little…" She fell off her heel again, then kicked off her shoes altogether. "I'm not drunk by any stretch of the imagination. I've been thinking about this for weeks now. I've never in my life had decent sex, not the kind my girlfriends talk about, and I think, if anyone can provide, it will be you." Her hands again went to his belt buckle. "Sir."

This could not possibly get any worse for him.

"Very well," he said. He lifted her and carried her to the bed, depositing her in the center. "But I do not leap into bed with just anyone, nor am I one to devour my pudding before I've enjoyed the main course." He moved midway down the bed, parted her legs, and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. "And what sort of man would I be if I started a meal without first sampling the appetizer?"

If he could get her off and leave her sated and exhausted by other means, she might not even notice his failure to follow-through, especially as, at that point, he could play if off like a favor – "My intention tonight was to bring you as much pleasure as possible, while denying myself, as, contrary to public opinion, I am not a selfish man…" – Yes, it was a good plan.

She inhaled, one hand on her abdomen, the other clutching the pristine white blanket under her, as he moved up her body with all the stealth and suavity of a panther… or a leopard.

"It occurs to me I've never even properly kissed you, Hermione Granger."

"Prop-?"

His lips silenced her word.

The kiss was tender, gentle, not at all what she thought he'd be capable of. Though both their lips were slightly parted, he made no immediate attempt to deepen it. She sighed against his mouth, a sigh of pleasure, and he took that as his cue to draw her lower lip between his own. He ran his tongue along it, eliciting another quiet gasp from her, and then his tongue was slipping in against hers, exploring…

She arched her back as she returned the kiss. His tongue tasted of chocolate soufflé, hers of the red wine. She moaned when his hand went to her breast, caressing over the sheer fabric of her dress, under which she'd forgone a bra.

"Perfection," he murmured against her mouth as the pad of his thumb found her hardening nipple.

Her hands threaded up into his hair, which was loose tonight, soft and silky and smelling like sandalwood shampoo. She guided him into another kiss.

"You've never had decent sex?" he asked. The hand on her breast squeezed and she moaned in response. With his other hand he gently caressed her face, cupping her cheek, running his thumb along her puffy, moistened bottom lip.

"Never."

"We mustn't rush things, then. Decent sex, Miss Granger, is about far more than intercourse. Some of the best sex I've had hasn't involved penetration at all, as a matter of fact."

"N-no?" She'd shivered when he'd called her Miss Granger. She ran her hands up his bare chest, pushing the shirt off his shoulders. His pecs were firm and smooth. She longed to press her lips to them.

"No." He moved onto his side, beside her, and ran his fingertips up and down her arm. "Decent sex is as much about what's happening in your head as it is what's happening between your legs. Perhaps more mental than physical. If the men you've been with haven't managed to satisfy you accordingly, it is likely because they are focusing here…" He squeezed her breast again. "Or here…" He moved his hand to her arse. "Or here…" He slipped one hand between her legs over her knickers. She was already wet, and he cursed the gods of every religion that even this failed to make him hard. He massaged her pussy through the fabric with his palm as he continued. "A man can kiss you, lick you, suck your tits and fuck your quim and slap your arse, but if he hasn't first excited you here…" He moved his hand to her forehead, drawing a little X with the pad of his thumb. "You'll not fully appreciate the experience any place else."

"I need this," she whimpered, her pelvis tilting up involuntarily. She felt like a schoolgirl acting out a naughty fantasy, and she also felt slightly pathetic for her willingness to beg, but already he was making a greater impression upon her entire body than Krum or Ollie or Ron ever had.

"One step at a time, Miss Granger. Hermione."

He kissed her briefly, tenderly, on the lips. She pressed back, seeking more, but he pulled away.

"I'm going to undress you now," he said. "And I am going to look at you. And I want you to be looking, too." He gestured at the ceiling. She looked past his shoulder and gasped. A mirror was above them, a mirror that showed everything. Had he just made it appear using wandless magic, or had it always been there?

"Keep your eyes on your reflection and keep your attention focused on my voice," he said, and she got literal chills. He kissed one corner of her mouth, then the other. She maintained eye contact with herself as he reached under her body to unzip the dress, which he slowly pulled off over her head. "You need an intellectual equal, Hermione. You need someone who will indulge you your fantasies, no matter how dark or depraved…" She shivered again. His hands went to the front clasp of her bra. When it popped open, he removed it as she had his shirt, by running his hands over her chest pushing it off to the sides. Once completely divested of it, he dropped it to the floor beside the bed on top of her dress.

"Kiss me," he ordered. Her mouth met his. He nipped at her lower lip before pulling away to give another order.

"Arch your back."

She obeyed, but closed her eyes.

"Look at yourself."

She opened her eyes.

"These breasts…" He ran his hand from her hip up to rest under the left one. "Are beautiful, and deserving of attention." He laved his tongue over her nipple, then sucked it into his mouth. "There one of your favorite features, aren't they? You like the way they look, the size, the color of your areolas, this lovely dark pink…" He flicked his tongue over the hardened pebble in the center. "You like to touch them when you touch yourself, don't you?"

"I… yes," she confessed. "I like them."

"Show me how you touch them, Hermione." He jerked his head toward the ceiling mirror. "Show yourself."

She took one in each hand and squeezed, then rubbed her palms over her nippled, feeling awkward.

"No, no, no." He took her hands in his and pressed a kiss to each palm. "Don't do what you think I want to see. Show me what feels good."

This time she licked her thumbs and rubbed them over the pebbles before plucking one hard between her thumb and forefinger. She had to turn her head to avoid watching herself, but at the same time a flush of warmth pooled between her legs.

"Show me." His hand rested on her lower abdomen, caressing her there above the band of her knickers. "Show me what feels good."

"This feels good," she said, doing it again.

"Yes?" He leaned down to again flick his tongue over her nipple, then draw it into his mouth, sucking harder than anyone ever had before. She let out a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and one of her hands went to the back of his head, encouraging him to continue. He moved from one to the other, doing the same, as she scratched at the back of his neck. Her body thrust against him of its own accord, and when she opened her eyes again she could see in her reflection flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

"Tell me…" He placed slow, sweet kissed along her shoulders, to her neck, and stopped to suck the skin there. His tongue ran along the shell of her ear, and he spoke again in a low, husky voice. "Tell me what you need."

"I need you to touch me."

"I am touching you." He applied pressure to her abdomen. She groaned.

"Touch me… lower…"

"Here?" He moved his entire body midway down the bed, taking hold of her ankles. He ran his hands up and down her smooth, hairless thighs. "Touch you here?"

"No, higher, please, higher!" she cried out, wriggling and squirming. He kept himself from grinning, keeping it cool, but damn – this was easier than expected. He was going to have her orgasming before he'd even removed her knickers.

"Let me move higher. You watch the mirror."

She forced her eyes open.

He kissed her ankle bone, first one, then the other. He went up her right left first, leaving a trail of kisses all the way to her inner thigh. He pushed her legs further apart and sucked at the tender skin, not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough that she called out begging her to bite him.

"Hard, there, please!"

He chuckled.

"My teeth are not what you need right now, Hermione Granger. There will be plenty of time to take the fangs out later, if you so desire."

He breathed deeply when passing her center, but ultimately neither touched nor kissed her there, choosing instead to move back down the other leg. He let his teeth scrape briefly against her calf.

"Please, please, touch me…"

"I am touching you."

She moved one hand down between her legs and began massaging her clit through the silk fabric. He caught her wrist and returned her hand to her breast.

"No, not yet. Tell me what you like, Miss Granger."

His lips moved again to her inner thigh. He grasped the sides of her knickers and began to pull them slowly, slowly down over her arse….

"Do you want to be dominated, spanked, tied down, fucked hard? Do you want to grind your pussy against the mattress while I take you from behind, riding you until your limbs give out? Should I bite the back of your shoulder and pull your hair and make you scream my name?"

"Oh, fuck…"

The knickers reached her ankles. He removed them, tossing them to the floor, and moved up over her body, not making physical contact, though she could feel his breath on her skin.

"Or would you rather be pampered? Held in my arms, covered in soft kisses accented by a gentle caress? Should I lick you until you're crying to be filled? Should I be on top, claiming you for my own, sucking on your breasts and touching you with just my fingertips, making you shiver?"

"Oh… fuck… fuck!"

"What shall I whisper in your ear?" He brushed against her mons with the back of his pointer finger, carefully avoiding the place she wanted him to touch most. "Do you want me to tell you how beautiful you are, how brilliant, how enviable you are for your talent, how impressed I am by your intellect…"

She stared up at herself with wide, glassy eyes, parted her thighs even more, and prayed he would slip that sharp-and-tender tongue of his between her folds.

He continued to touch her with one hand, to touch her everywhere down there but there.

"Or would you rather I groan out your name as I thrust into you, taking from you what I need and giving to you what you've never had, pulling out of your hot core then plunging in again, fucking you over and over and over until my name is the only word that brilliant mind of yours can remember?"

"Please… Lucius… please…"

He ran his thumb up one of her pussy lips and down the other, then slipped deeper to circle her clit, but still he refused to touch it directly. Her hips titled and she bit down hard on her lip.

"Or, perhaps, you could like to ride me. Sit in my lap, jump up and down, have all the control, let those lovely tits bounce teasingly in my face while I leave fingerprint bruises along your arse and hips and outer thighs. Would you like for me to kiss you?"

Finally, finally his mouth made contact with her sex.

She hissed and twerked up against his mouth. His lips parted, his tongue darted in, fucking her, as his thumb went to her clit.

"Ohhh…."

His fingers and tongue traded places. He licked and sucked and flicked his tongue against her clit while first one, then two fingers worked inside her, fucking her, making her hips buck. Just when her breathing became so erratic her words were coming out as indiscriminate sounds, just when he knew she was right there on the brink, he abruptly stopped licking her and, still fucking her with his fingers, moved up to kiss her on the mouth.

She could taste herself on his tongue, could see her naked, thrusting body in the mirror, could feel him pressing against that spongy spot inside she had difficulty finding for herself, and that was all her brilliant brain could take.

She exploded against him, a veritable volcano, hot and pulsating and dangerous.

She cried out several times and then she just cried.

"That was… that was…"

"I know." He kissed her cheek tenderly, feeling all-too pleased with himself. "You rest now."

"But I… but I…" She turned to him with tear-stained cheeks. "I didn't do anything for you."

"Enjoying you was quite enough for me for one night."

She was exhausted and sated and didn't even question why he wasn't now fucking her into oblivion – mission accomplished! – as her eyelids drooped.

He moved the blanket and top sheet from under them to over them, removed his belt, trousers, socks, and shoes, and curled up behind her. It had been far too long since he last fell asleep spooned behind a woman, and he'd missed it. He kissed her shoulder and then the back of her neck and whispered goodnight, but she was already out.

"Nice work, old man," he complimented himself, trying not to dwell on the fact that finding a young woman willing to fuck him into tomorrow hadn't cured his little 'excitement problem.' Maybe Narcissa was right. Maybe he needed to see a Healer.

But not now. For now, he could close his eyes and sleep peacefully.

He only hoped Draco was faring so well in Paris with his paramour.