TEN –
She smiled up at him, patted his chest, and said, "I can assure you, I am never marrying anyone."
"Never say never, my love," he said, kissing her cheek. She laid her head back on his chest and shut her eyes. He traced her cheek with his finger and said, "I never thought I would be sitting on a front porch in a Muggle neighbourhood, before dawn, in a chaise lounge, with the most famous Mudblood of them all by my side, but here I am, and there you go."
She opened her eyes and glared at him. She should be angry at him after such a comment, but there was a certain look in his eye that told her that he meant no offense. Oh, she had no doubt he meant what he said, but he didn't mean to hurt her. She knew that for certain. She had more important things to worry about besides the word Mudblood, like someone trying to kill her.
She stared off into the sky, the sun was just starting to come over the housetops, and she contemplated that very thing.
"What are you thinking about so intently? Ten different ways to castrate me for calling you Mudblood?" he asked.
She stood up from the chair. He grabbed for her arm, but she was already out of his reach. "No," she said, distracted, "I hardly care about something like that." She sat down on the front steps. He sat upright in the chair. He had only placed the concealment charm over the porch, but the wards he set went well beyond the house. Still, he wished she would not venture any farther. He stood from the chair and joined her on the steps.
She placed her head on his shoulder, and he placed his arm around hers. It felt so natural, so real, that he could barely believe she was really his, and no matter how much she might deny it, she was. She really was. He kissed the top of her head and said, "What is weighing on your mind?"
She said, "I was wondering why someone would want to kill me. Moreover, why do you and Harry both think that it has something to do with you?" She turned to look at him.
He did not want to have this discussion right now. "I am sure I have no clue why someone would want to kill such a delightful person."
"That's not what I asked," she said.
"What did you ask?" he asked, trying to sound vague, though he knew his ruse fooled no one, especially her.
"Why do you think it has something to do with you and me?" she asked. He stood up, went in the house, and never answered her question. He left her feeling somewhat lonely out on the porch by herself. When she went back in the house, he was upstairs showering. She decided to fix some breakfast. When she heard the shower finish, she went to find him. He was on her bed, in only a towel, the blinds closed so the room was dark.
She walked up to the bed, and leaned down to look at him, her knee on the bed beside his body.
"Don't talk," he instructed, before she could speak. "I need a couple of hours sleep, and then, and only then, will I answer your questions."
"Will you make love to me first?" she asked.
He turned to look at her. "You never need to ask that."
His chest hurt, from the love that he felt for her, and the knowledge of the troubles that he was bringing to her. She sat beside him, caressing his chest and shoulders. He reached up and stroked her hair. He knew he would have to tell her the truth eventually, but not right now. Right now, he wanted to love her again. She made him feel needed. She made him feel young, and more importantly, she made him feel necessary. He pulled her down to him, and kissed her lips with a hunger and want he had not felt in such a long time.
She pulled away and said, "Are you going to be truthful with me?"
"Believe me, when I make love to you, I am never anything but truthful." He rolled slightly, so she was under him. He felt her tight nipples against his chest. He was in only a towel, since it was a warm morning, and he had hoped she would come and make love with him so he could sleep soundly for a while. She moved to her side, and then pushed him back to his back. She tore her shirt off her body, and then reached down for her sleeping shorts. She started to kiss his chest and nipples. She kissed his ribs. She said, "You are too thin."
"Fatten me up," he said, with a smile.
She kissed down his stomach, looked up at him and said, "Right now?"
"Okay, later," he said with another smile. As she continued to kiss his waist and stomach, he reached up for her face. "Tell me what to do," he urged. He had never once in his entire life asked someone to tell him what to do. Lucius Malfoy always knew what to do, and never needed anyone's advice about anything. He was always self-assured. It was different now and not a totally unwelcome feeling.
She smiled, climbed up his body, and said, "Just enjoy the moment." His heart temporarily stopped as the realization of what she was about to do unfolded. Her hand went to the knot in his towel, and she loosened it, and let it fall to each side of his hips. She licked her lips once, and he had to shut his eyes, because that innocent enough gesture brought him to the brink of desire.
She was totally focused on him, as she took him in her hands. Her touch almost seemed innocent, explorative. He opened his eyes again, just in time to see her lower her head. His heart exploded. When she took him in her mouth, he had to close his eyes again in sheer ecstasy, but was quick to open them once more. He didn't want to miss this, not for a moment.
She placed one hand at the base of his shaft, and then as if tasting him, she let her tongue come out and lick the small slit at the top. That small action made him grow harder than he could ever remember being his entire life. His wife had rarely ever done this for him. She wasn't usually willing to do anything new or different. Because he loved her so, and knew he could have such desires fulfilled by other willing witches, he kept his wife up on a pedestal, revered her, and gave into her wants and wishes.
With this young witch, he felt like he could be himself. He could be open and honest, because she was. He would treat her with as much love and respect as he had his wife, but there would be no pedestal for Hermione Granger. By all that was evil and by all that was holy, he would keep her forever by his side.
She began to suck harder, taking him deeper, but still, her touch seemed hesitant, and her mouth wavered. He put his hand lightly on her head, and begged her not to stop. She didn't. He was almost to the edge, and he said her name, and came. She pushed herself away from him. She seemed almost as if she didn't know what to do next. He took her hand and pulled her to him.
"Was that okay?" she asked.
"Why would you ask that? That was wonderful," he said.
"It's been a while," she laughed. She nuzzled next to him, her nose skimming his neck and face. He turned her to her back and propped himself up on his side. His hand skimmed down her arm, to her hip, and slipped between her legs.
He said, "My wife was always so guarded with me. We didn't share much in the bedroom or out of it. I will try to be truthful to you." He slipped a finger inside her, and pressed her opening with his thumb. She spread her legs slightly, and then said the magic word. She said his name, just as he had said hers.
He rose up on his knees, and put his mouth on her opening, and continued to tease her with wide strokes of his tongue. His practiced fingers plunged into her, matching the rhythm of his tongue and lips. Soon, she came in a rush, and in a flood of emotion, she threw back her head, and actually screamed.
He pulled her to his arms, and she continued to shudder. When the orgasm subsided, she stroked his face and said, "You get some sleep now. I have to go get my shower." There she was, telling him what to do again, and he liked that, very, very much. He rolled to his side and was soon asleep.
When he woke up, he decided to take another quick shower. He knew it was almost noon. He went to try to find something to transfigure into clothing. He remembered that the first night he was here the closet in the extra bedroom was filled with Allen's clothing. He didn't want to walk down the hall to that room, however, and have her discover him rummaging through her dead lover's things. He also didn't want to go back to Draco's house even for a moment, not even to get clean clothing. He went to the other small closet in her room, just by chance, and opened the door.
It too was still filled with Allen's clothing. He took a second to consider things. First, he took out several basic articles of clothes. A couple pairs of slacks, some shoes, and some shirts. He opened up some drawers in the bureau next to that closet. Sure enough, Allen's things were still there, as well. He took a few more things. He laid them all on the bed, transfigured them to fit him, and to his style; then he took his wand and vanished the rest of the items. He didn't get rid of them permanently. He merely vanished them to her garage.
He dressed in the now dark blue shirt and slacks, and went to find her. He could sense she was close. He could always sense his wife's presence, too. He wondered why he was thinking so much about her today. It had to do with Hermione, he was sure. He didn't feel the guilt and sorrow he usually felt when he was thinking of her. He just was remembered her, and it was nice.
He went to the third bedroom, which was converted to an office, and found her right away. She was looking through a file. She didn't even look up at him. She had on a summer dress, red, and she looked beautiful. He stood in front of the desk and looked at the file she was reading, and saw that it was about Allen. It was the Ministry file on his death.
"How did you get that?" he asked.
She looked up at him and said, "Harry gave it to me, just a few minutes ago."
"Potter is here?" he asked with apparent disgust, as if he tasted something nasty. She laughed at his expression.
"No, he was here. He left again. I asked him to bring me this, so he did."
"What are you hoping to find?" he asked.
"I'm not even sure," she admitted. She went back to examining the file. He sat on the edge of the desk, inches from her chair. Without looking at him she said, "They never solved his murder, and I never got closure. He was here one moment and gone the next." She looked up at Lucius, but she didn't seem sad, just thoughtful. She said, "He went to work one morning, kissed me on the cheek, told me he would see me later, and I never saw or spoke to him again."
Lucius said, "And they never knew who killed him, or why he was killed?"
"They never did. They didn't even find his body, just trace evidence that he was killed," she said. She closed the file and started to stand up. He pulled her between his legs. She placed her head on his shoulder, as his arms went around her waist. She continued, "They said his body was completely destroyed, and there were no remains left. I miss him so much sometimes. I thought I would feel guilty, like I was betraying him, if I ever loved someone again." She looked at him. She said, "I don't. I don't feel guilty, and I think I feel guilty because I don't feel guilty."
He smiled a crooked smile and said, "You make a hell of a lot of sense." He pushed her from him, stood up from the desk, and led them to a large comfortable chair in the corner of the room. He sat down and placed her on his lap. He said, "Tell me about him. I want to know about you two together." He wanted to feel more than physical closeness with her. He wanted to be close to every part of her life.
"You don't want to hear about us," she said.
"I wouldn't ask if I didn't," he said truthfully.
"Maybe I don't want to talk about him," she said back. "It hurts too much. Sometimes, I wonder if my mourning for him is all in vain, because I think he didn't love me as much as I loved him."
He took her face in his hands and said, "Ah, that is where you are wrong, my little friend, he loved you very much."
"How would you know?" she asked. Her hands went to cover his. She brought his hands down and held them in hers. "Just because I let you look in my mind, and you saw how much I loved him, doesn't mean you know anything about what he felt for me. How would you know?" she repeated.
He said, "Because I knew him. I knew him well. I was working on a project with him when he died."