Author's Note: Wow, guys, that was a lot of reviews! Thanks for representing and being so well-spoken and considerate. Keep up the good work - I will if you will. ;)
Chibi06: Thank you. To me that's the trademark of a good story, if you can just blister through it, unable to move away. :) So thanks for the compliment.
Swytla: Sorry you missed your breakfast. It seems like it was worth it. :) 'Dissecting the human mind' - I like that. Thank you for the compliments, they're greatly appreciated. Hope you continue to enjoy the story and everything it brings.
Kagome093: Hey there! Yup, I have a few things up here that aren't on GE, so feel free to read away. :) This was the first place I posted fanfic so my penname is different. Good to see you and thanks for the review!
rhilindia: No, don't die, then you'll never know what happens! Here's some more to tide you over.
BelhavenOnTap: Thank you. Yes, I always felt that Lucius was one of several characters that was woefully underdeveloped, and every villain has a reason for becoming what he or she is. I'm just glad I can play with such an interesting and complicated character and people like what I do. :) And regarding Lucius's mother, I wasn't attempting to make her an awful person, just a flawed one. You seem to understand that. I hope others do, as well. The blame doesn't rest entirely on her; Abraxas wasn't very useful, either, and it can be said that the other adults in his life failed him, as well. Where was Dumbledore (ever wonder why Lucius really hated him so much?)? Slughorn? Any teacher or friend? I don't want it to be a classic 'blame the mother/woman' situation because there is so much more to it than just his mother's betrayal. Thanks for the thoughtful reviews. :)
cwtigerlily: Thank you so much. I'm working on the original books; I just need to finish school and have a stable career before I venture there. In a few years maybe you can pick up one of my stories from the shelf at Barnes and Noble (I hope and wish I have that level of success!). Sorry about the sleep deprivation. You say you're going to college soon? Get used to sleep deprivation, then (if you aren't already). ;)
Marble Meadow: Thank you. That's such high praise and I hope that reading what I write will help to inspire you.
Redone: Hi there! No, Amphitrite is not abandoned...just...incubating. I am halfway through the next chapter, but my muse has been ambushing me with plot bunnies that gnaw until I write them. Blame the muse. points at her Thank you, I do love writing Lucius, he's just so...intriguing. This seems to be a theme here, me keeping people awake...sorry... :)
agnessa9: Thank you. I'm working on posting at some other archives. I just don't want to stretch myself too thin and this site holds a special value to me, since it was where I first got into reading and writing fanfiction. Want to write my story summaries for me? What you said in your review is an excellent blurb. ;)
AcidPop101: Thank you!
Lady Verity: Thanks for continuing to read and review. I can't imagine Mrs. Malfoy was all that happy, herself...as I said to Belhaven, I don't want her to be completely vilified, because she, too, had her demons. I do think that Lucius will never quite forgive her and that sometimes it is easier to deal with what a person's done to you once they're gone and you know they are at last facing some kind of retribution.
iamtherealmaverick: Yes, we are indeed moving! And I'm glad you like Jo-Jo. She's a darling and may be just the elf to reverse Lucius's innate hatred of her kind.
Mendelbra: I hope your muse was resurrected and will refrain from any cliffdiving in the future. :) Thanks. I do love Smythe...I need to figure out something to reward him with at the end of the fic. Any suggestions?
allycat1186: It can get more erotic. smirk Thanks and enjoy!
SpaceyMoonFlower: I like to think that all (or most) of my chapters are worth waiting for, but here you go!
RegrettingCrimson: New name? Yes, I know I'm evil. I've come to terms with it. :)
Clearheart: Yes, I know I have Lucius and Hermione in a big isolated bubble right now. That's going to continue for a while but all your questions WILL be addressed at some point. Our protagonists are smart people but some secrets just can't be kept. ;)
Pookiepantsmcpoo: No problem. And thanks!
Alchemelia: Gone for a few weeks? Then you haven't missed anything. Hope this satisfies the craving. :) Thanks for reading & reviewing.
GurloftheNight: Thanks!
AcademicDragon: Nope, not the last chapter. Too many loose ends yet to tie up, and too much fun to be had. Thanks, I'm glad I could make a more unusual pairing land that high on the list.
EarwenTelrunya: Well, this chapter is quite long, so perhaps that will satisfy you? :)
Blue Willow S: Thank you. Ah, Natalie Merchant. I haven't heard much of Natalie or 10,000 Maniacs. I shall add them to the list. I listen to very moody, complex music when I write this fic. Do people care what I listen to? Cause this fic definitely has a pseudo-soundtrack.
littlevampirebaby: Thanks, here's some more.
MissCreant: Your penname is such a roller derby name. If I ever join a team, do you mind if I steal it? Thanks for the compliments, hope you enjoy the rest. :)
darklady5289: Thankfully, the house is probably flame-retardant. ;)
lucas'mom: Quick? I don't know, hehe. The thing with Hermione is she's caught between the muggle and magical world, and condoms aren't in wide use in the magical world. Ron, being an inhabitant of said magical world, doesn't use them - he and Hermione don't need them because of spells and charms that serve the same purpose. Otherwise I'd agree with you that Hermione, as a smart, modern woman, would have her own stash. Oh, and I know all about family dramas...and YOU'RE FROM NEAR SCRANTON? I totally went to the University of Scranton for undergrad!! It's hotter in Philly. Absorb the heat while you can up in NEPA...soon it will be October and it will start snowing or just being miserably cold and cloudy. I don't miss that. You hit the family planning aisle girl and make that AC work double time. ;)
Robyn Hawkes: Yes, one can't help but love a repentant Lucius.
SlytherinDragoon: Get ready for another cold shower.
GiggleGinny: I say with relatively little shame that I'd love to get an eyeful of Lucius or the lovely Mr. Isaacs. Our lovers are proceeding with caution...
Azrulai: Thank you, they will only heat up from here! The albatross pendant/metaphor was not of my own creation; actually it's a reference to Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. It's one of my favorite pieces of poetry ever. It's from this piece that the albatross took on the metaphorical meaning of a burden someone must bear. I think the poem is a really good read and it isn't terribly long; it contains some very classic lines and is generally a good, if slightly macabre story. Check it out. P.S. - I'm still insanely jealous that you went to Iceland.
loveismagic: You're welcome. Here's some more.
Drachegirl14: Thank you! More hotness on the way.
Velvet Storm: Yes, one is generally overcome with the urge to snuggle Lucius. Here's a sign up sheet for Lucius snuggles. hangs it on the wall
They had switched places. Hermione was the one sitting at the desk, posed over a blank sheet of parchment, and Lucius was perched in the windowsill lost in thought. He hadn't asked her to return the sheaf of parchment that was Soif, nor did he press her about what she was doing now. In fact, he had been very, very quiet on all fronts since they had reluctantly emerged from her bedroom.
He hadn't pressed her for anything. Though it was clear that he had been left in an uncomfortable state after their prolonged kissing and touching, he had not protested her desire to come up for air. Of course, she'd be lying if she tried to say that she wasn't left in an uncomfortable state, too – uncomfortably aroused. But she wasn't ready to lose complete control with him yet. The more she thought about it, the more grateful she was that for just one moment, Lucius's condition had reared its ugly head and slowed her down.
Now, as she stared into the paper, all she could see was Ron's face. What did this mean? She had thought, once upon a time, that she was in love with Ron. Now it seemed all too easy to forget about him. Was it just this? This isolation with Lucius?
She glanced at him. He was staring out at the fertile world beyond their Tuscan window. He looked so normal like that, pensive, unguarded…she wondered where his mind roamed. She hoped that wherever it was, it was pleasant, for she knew very well that there were many unpleasant things lurking in his head.
This task was similarly unpalatable. She felt like Ron deserved more than a Dear John letter. She wanted to be with Lucius so much that it hurt, but she couldn't bring herself to do it while she was still attached to Ron.
She stared at Lucius a while longer before saying, "If you were still married to Narcissa, would you have separated from her before…being with me?"
"Do you want me to be honest?" he asked, not turning away from his view.
"Yes."
He stretched one of his legs out. "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"That is what I said." His retort didn't have any bite to it; it was noncommittal.
"Why?"
"I am not sure we would even be here if I was still married," he said. "It's situational. I can't know what I would have done."
"That's a Slytherin response if ever I heard one," she smiled. That at last drew his gaze away from the countryside.
"Perhaps." His eyes traveled over her, once, a knowing sweep. "Do you want to separate from Ronald before you are with me?"
Hermione's eyes widened. "You knew all this time that I was with him?"
"No, I didn't. I suspected it might be the case, though, and you have just confirmed it."
"Then how could you just take someone else's woman?" she demanded. She wasn't sure how to feel, as was often the case around him.
"It is not a matter of taking. I've already said I can't and won't just take when it comes to you. I wouldn't have stopped you the other day, when you wanted to leave." He leaned his head against his bent knee, watching her closely. "It's yourself you're angry at, not me."
"I'm not angry!" she snapped. A moment later she sighed, because she had just proved his point.
"I know you could care less what I think, but he doesn't deserve you. He doesn't stimulate you, or make you feel appreciated, or give you what you need."
"How do you know?" she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're just saying that because he's a Weasley and you don't like them."
"I would say it whether he was a Weasley or not. We are in each other's minds, Hermione. You have barely thought of him." He frowned. "It's true that I don't know much about love, but the clichés say that if you loved him, he would fill your mind. You would miss him, spend hours pining after him, waiting until you could be reunited. You would think of his smile. His eyes. All that." A thought strayed past his defenses, seeping into her mind. I have fortunately been spared the Ronald Weasley love parade.
She cast a half-hearted glare at him and sunk down further in the chair. She didn't know what had inspired this great outburst of verbosity from him, but everything he was saying was much too accurate.
"He's…he just doesn't…" she trailed off.
Lucius unfolded his legs from the windowsill. "Lovers will always come with stipulations, I think. But some are more tolerable than others." He stood and advanced on her, leaning down with his hands on the arms of the chair. "I want you," he whispered, heat invading his words. "I want every inch of you. But I will wait for you to do what you need to do." He kissed her softly on the forehead and then retreated without another word.
She sat there, a little stunned, for minutes that went uncounted. She never would have expected such patience from Lucius. It seemed like he was taking her assertion that he was becoming a better version of himself to heart. It was still rather questionable of him to have pursued her when he knew she was involved with someone, but she couldn't muster any anger for it. She hadn't exactly resisted him.
Her own psychology confused her. She had been much more accepting of this arrangement with Lucius than she ever thought possible; Hermione of yesteryear would have found a way to have the man arrested and thrown back in Azkaban. But even if she couldn't quite fathom herself, she could see the route Lucius had taken to this point.
It had never been his intent to actually desire her. Those first bold flirtations had been pure intimidation, designed to exploit his weaponized sexuality and her susceptibility to it. Just another way to get what he wanted. What she had nearly said to him earlier when he obliquely accused her of using her body to get him to lift the Vow was: I'm not you, Lucius. Whether he realized it or not, he relied on his looks as much as any seductress and she would bet that he had used sex to further his agenda more than once. But hypocrisy was never easy to spot in yourself; her exacting observation was not something he needed when he already thought he was useless and beyond repair.
So yes, initially it had all been an act to keep her in line. But then, when she had called him on his strategy, the game shifted. Something within him shifted. Then she had stood up to him, tripping him on the road, and there was no more acting. That intimidation had been real. So had the tension radiating between them. He needed her, but she was too smart for his games or his control. After that he had gone into full retreat.
They had circled around one another, neither sure what to expect. She had fired the first shot by solving the riddle of his divorce. Shockingly, he let that shell pierce him and tried a new strategy in the form of earnestness. That was his letter. It had put them back on level ground.
Then she had upped the ante by demanding to be called by her first name. But as far as he was concerned, there was taking a hit one couldn't avoid and there was submitting to a wound that one could. She had no doubt that the stalemate would have gone on indefinitely, if more comfortably, if not for her illness.
The heatstroke had placed control firmly back in his hands. Once he had it back, he had promptly thrown it all away. He'd used her name, cared for her, sacrificed his own comfort and time, and stayed with her until he knew she was better. Lucius had laid down his weapons to the advancement of fate.
Fate had cruel but purposeful ideas. Through pain it had pushed him into her arms. Through curiosity and compassion it had made her embrace him. But Hermione couldn't help thinking that right now, fate had stepped away, leaving them entwined and teetering on the edge of the devil's chasm that was free choice.
With a heavy sigh, she set the quill to the parchment.
Dear Ron,
I really need to see you, today. This is extremely important. Tell the people at your auror training that it's an emergency. I will vouch for you. I don't want to upset you; it isn't really an emergency, but like I said it is extremely important. Please, be at my flat at 15:30. I know this is short notice, so I'll wait one hour for you. If you can come, but will be later than 16:30, please owl me.
Hermione
Blinking, she lowered the quill. It had come out in one big jumble and her hand hurt from writing so fast without any pause except to re-dip once for ink. She wondered if this was what writing felt like for Lucius. Her letter was no literary gem, that was for certain, but it was going to determine how the rest of this plot played out…
She picked it up, blew on the ink to dry it, and folded the letter. Belatedly she realized that she didn't have a bird to send it with. Bugger. With a sigh, Hermione wandered towards Lucius's room to ask if he knew of anywhere to get a post owl.
He was reclining in his bed reading something intently. After a moment's scrutiny she realized that it was the copy of The Critiquill. But more exciting than that, he was polishing off the last bite of toast smeared with red jam. There was another piece on a plate on the night stand. He was eating of his own volition and without any badgering from her. She resisted the urge to smile because she knew it would annoy him.
"I have a stalker," he said when he finished chewing.
"I know. I read it."
"Naturally." He picked up the second piece of toast. Going to yell at me for eating in bed?
She smirked at him. Very indecorous, Mr. Malfoy.
"My father would've hided me," he said conversationally, and then bit into the toast with gusto.
Hermione was puzzled but heartened at his odd mood. He could be as odd as he wanted if it meant he would take care of himself and be generally agreeable. "That article doesn't worry you at all? They sound pretty serious."
"I have no doubt that they're serious. But so am I."
"You are safe, right?"
"I might have lost my will to live, but not my wits."
"Lucius!" she said, exasperated. She hated when he said things like that.
It was past tense, you know.
Her eyes flickered up to him. His answering gaze was subdued but meaningful. Hermione heard the rustle of paper when he closed the magazine and remembered why she had come in.
"Do you know where I can get a post owl? I have to send this."
"The owl that I assume delivered this," he held up the thin magazine, "never left. It's out in the tree to the right of the fountain."
"Oh," she said. Well, that was fortuitous. She turned to leave and then stopped. "Who is P. Netherwood?"
He frowned, his demeanor instantly changed. "Where did you hear that name?"
"It was on the letter that came with that magazine. He's the one who sent it. Didn't you see the letter?"
He flipped through a few pages and pulled out the scrap of paper. It was rippled with water damage, the ink blurred beyond legibility. "If you mean this, yes, I saw it, but unless it is a Rorschach test, I can't do much with it."
Memory came to Hermione in a flash. She had been so out of sorts from Lucius's absence days before that she had put the scrap of paper down on the bag that had been wrapped around the magazine – the bag that was soaked with drops of rainwater. Then she had shoved the note in the magazine without even noticing, and there it had stayed, soaking through with the water it had picked up and making the ink run to the point of no return.
"It was from P. Netherwood. The signature was a stamp. The note said something like 'You might be interested in the article on page 36'." She stopped and thought. "How do you know what a Rorschach test is?"
"I read about it in one of your muggle novels and didn't know what it was so I looked it up while I was in Australia."
Ah, so you have been nicking my books.
Ah, he shot back, so you have been reading my mail.
She was beaten. Hermione contemplated him. What he'd done to figure out the Rorschach test was disturbingly – no, exactly – like what she would have done.
"The book," he said suddenly, "had some sarcastic joke about a character, saying that the only thing he could see in a Rorschach blot was his mother. That sounded rather hellish to me…I wanted to know what it was and how to avoid it."
She had to smile. At the same time, she experienced that same pained feeling she'd gotten when he made the joke about losing his will to live. She knew dark humor was healthy, but his bordered on uncomfortably honest at best and morbid at the worst.
"So what do you see in that blot?" she asked, nodding towards the ruined letter.
"It's not much better than reading tea leaves," he snorted. "But in this case, I definitely see stupidity." He sat up and swung his legs over the bed, standing. "Stupidity that will be remedied shortly." Lucius brushed by her, heading out to the common area. As he did, he spoke over his shoulder, "Don't send your letter yet. I need to send one also."
He was at the desk already scribbling when she emerged. Haltingly, she set her letter down near his arm.
"Don't read it."
"I won't."
She caught a glimpse of what he was writing.
…not like to have to elaborate to you how precarious…
"Who is Netherwood?"
"It is better if I don't tell you."
Hermione bit her lips. Damn it. His secrecy wounded her. After all this…after everything…he felt that he couldn't trust her?
"Is it?" she managed, trying to sound conversational and failing miserably.
His hand paused. He had perceived the hurt in her voice. Lucius sighed.
He is my publisher. Patrick Netherwood.
"Your publisher!" she nearly exploded. "And he put a name on something he sent to you?"
"Apparently so," Lucius said grimly. "Hence the stupidity."
"Doesn't he understand that someone could intercept it? Doesn't he--"
Hermione. The cool, calm boom of his voice in her skull stopped the rising tide of worry. "He will understand by the end of this letter. Which will be unsigned, untraceable, and unreadable to anyone who is not Netherwood."
Hermione relaxed slightly. But the worry niggled at her; what if the damage had already been done? She voiced that thought and Lucius did not immediately answer. The quill scratched on, probably lashing Netherwood fiercely.
"If," Lucius started a moment later, very calm, too calm, "my identity has been compromised, then there is nothing I can do about it." He crossed a t with a firm slash. "Salazar Slytherin said that you must cross a bridge when you come to it. He also said that before you come to it, you should have a plan for everything that could possibly happen while you are crossing the span."
"But you don't know all the possibilities," she protested.
His mouth flattened into a hard line and his eyes went flinty.
"I know enough."
Hermione was at her flat. It felt small, dark, and confined. Crookshanks was the only bright spot; he rubbed against her legs ostentatiously and was clearly glad to see her. She had spelled his food, water, and litter box before leaving, so he was taken care of, but like most familiars he missed his mummy when she was not present for him to annoy.
She was thankful for his presence, though, as the minutes ticked by. He kept her attention off the clock, at least superficially. She sat on the couch and stroked his soft but clumpy fur, watching his puffy tail twitch from side to side. As it passed 16:00, the thought crossed her mind that Crookshanks was truly the only male who had ever loved her unconditionally.
She dug her nails into his fur and scratched just the way he liked. The cat purred happily and in a few minutes his eyes drooped closed. If only Crooks was a real man and not just an eleven pound, pug-faced ball of unruly orange fur…
Well, if Ron didn't show up, she would soon be describing him similarly. In a way she was banking on his absence, but she knew that if it happened, it would hurt. If he showed up, well, she wasn't sure she would be able to break up with him, and that would hurt in an entirely different sort of way. Oh, what was she doing to herself?
It was the most excruciating hour of her life. Maybe that was an exaggeration, as she could recall times that were worse, but it was the slowest, most tension-riddled hour she had passed in a long time. But when the clock switched from 16:29 to 16:30, there was no Ron. There was no owl, either. She had checked everywhere, including outside.
Outwardly, she was calm. She wasn't going to do anything rash. She checked for a third time that she hadn't mixed up the hour with the time difference; she hadn't. Then there was the possibility that Ron hadn't gotten the message. Lucius had mentioned he was going to request delivery notices to make sure their messages were received, but his in particular; she couldn't blame him. The logical thing was to floo and ask him if the letters had been delivered.
Robotically, she moved to her floo. She said the password to open it to the network and then took a small handful of powder. Throwing it in, she said,
"Lucius Malfoy."
That would only work for her and Smythe; Lucius had told her as much. Anyone else who called his name into the floo would be referred to a house elf at the Manor. Sure enough, the shape of his room at the Tuscan villa materialized as she stepped forward and stuck her head into the green flames.
"Lucius?"
He wasn't in the room. However, he either heard her call his name or the sound of the fireplace connecting. A moment later he strode in.
"Is everything--"
"It's fine. Did you get the delivery notices?"
He paused slightly at her brusque tone. Then he nodded. He reached into his pocket and extracted two scraps of parchment.
"Mr. Netherwood received my note at 13:13 – I hope that is not an omen. Your note was delivered at 14:06." He looked at the floor for a brief moment, and then back up to her glance. "Mr. Weasley signed for it."
She nodded. "Okay." She couldn't think of anything else to say; her brain was blanking. "I…okay." An expression of concern spread over his features, but she couldn't bear to see it; as he opened his mouth, Hermione stepped back out of the floo and cut the connection. Then she disconnected the floo from the network and walked the four steps to the couch. And there she sat for the next thirty minutes, numb from head to toe.
When at last her brain began to work again, Hermione looked around the room. It still felt small, like a jail cell almost; all the little touches that she'd once found heart-warming felt foreign. There was not enough light and its aged smell was suddenly aversive.
Lucius had been right. She didn't miss Ron. What she had missed in those weeks before the life-changing run-in with Lucius was the idea of Ron. The security of him, of knowing that she had someone. The familiarity. She had become one of those women who clung because they feared that there would never be anybody else. One of those women who thought that a sub-par relationship was the best she was capable of having.
This entire situation was just a microcosm of everything with Ron. The relationship was built on convenience – for him. If it wasn't important to him, it wasn't important. That had never changed from day one. It was the way he had been raised. Hermione thought Molly was a great mother; one would be hard pressed to find someone more dedicated to her children. However, for Ron it had resulted in him expecting to be catered to and taken care of. Hermione had been raised very differently.
She was an only child. Both of her parents had successful dental practices, and her birth hadn't stopped either of them from working. Hermione didn't mind; she had always had excellent babysitters and her parents made sure that they got to spend quality time with her every single day. She didn't feel like she had missed anything. However, that upbringing had made her a very independent person. Early on she had learned that no one else was going to solve her problems and that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. So was Ron, but why bother if someone else would do it for you?
Up until this point, Hermione had. She had exasperatedly gone along with it, except in certain cases where she put her foot down. But it was never going to change. Ron was never going to change. No amount of compromise or cajoling would work. The bottom line was that him not showing up when she asked him (and had explicitly indicated that it was extremely important)…was a reflection of how much he cared about her and her needs.
He would deny it to the ends of the earth. He also wouldn't understand why she was angry at him in the first place; he never did in instances like this. She was tired of it. There were women out there who liked to take care of their men, who enjoying doing everything for them, being a long-suffering, substitute mother type. Hermione wasn't one of them. As bossy as she could sometimes be, she had no tolerance for the incompetence of others – especially not the planned incompetence that men like Ron used.
As she was thinking, still rooted to the couch, there was a tapping at the window. Her head jerked up. If Ron dared to show up now…but it wasn't him. It was an owl. Hermione's jaw clenched of its own accord. If this letter was not an apology on par with Shakespeare, she was going to become very, very angry.
She fed the owl a treat and took the note. The likelihood of this letter being anything but inflammatory was very low. She knew Ron. Ron had very little tact and even less common sense. Those were things you just couldn't teach a man.
So even as she unfolded it, she knew she wouldn't like it. Her hands were already shaking in angry anticipation. Ron didn't disappoint.
Hermione,
I don't know what is going on with you lately, but you left with no explanation and have only sent me one paragraph of communication in the last ten days. Now you expect me to just drop everything and come to see you? I'm not on vacation like you, Hermione. I can't just leave. Today we're working on flying formations for aerial battles. I can't miss it. I won't miss it just because you decide that you finally want to talk to me at the most inconvenient time. I'll try to get coverage this weekend and come to see you then.
Ron
There was something truly terrible about people living up to your bad expectations. She tried to stay calm but her mind couldn't be quelled. What if there was something seriously wrong? What if she was his wife? What if she was pregnant with his children? Would he still refuse to see her, then? Would aerial formations that they would practice for weeks still be more important?
She had talked to Harry about the auror training regimens. She had it on his authority that nothing was completed in one day. The core of an auror's training was practice; grueling, repetitive practice. Ron might miss two hours of one session. What would it matter? They would be back out there tomorrow doing the same formation, and whatever he missed he'd be caught up on by Harry. The auror trainers were lenient, knowing that many of their students had families and other obligations. In the aftermath of the war they knew they were lucky that anyone wanted to be an auror; the best way to prevent a shortage was to be flexible and keep their trainees motivated.
Was it so much to ask that he take her seriously when she said something was important? Was it so demanding to want him to be where she asked, when she asked, just once? Hermione didn't think so.
It was pretty damned ballsy of him to send a letter forty minutes after her grace period expired, and never mind the content of said letter. Ron apparently had a unique gift for insulting her and everything about her in only a few sentences. This letter said, in veiled words, that this was her fault, she was impinging on his time, her job and life were less important than his, and that what she wanted and needed was of less meaning to him than flying formations.
Hermione crumpled the letter up and transfigured it into catnip. Crookshanks was on it in a second, shooting out from under the couch to attack the clump of dried green leaves. That was about all the letter was good for – giving Crooks a decent high.
She thought about writing a response. She was of half a mind to do it. However, she thought that it would be much more satisfying if she gave no reply, let him show up on Saturday, and then forty minutes after he arrived, sent him a letter saying that they were through and she never wanted to speak to him again. Lucius would be proud.
Lucius…
Hermione sighed. There was no guarantee that he was the better choice. Then again, there was no guarantee that he wasn't. He was smart; she would never have to water herself down for him. He could do things for himself. In fact, she foresaw more trouble with him trying to run her life than his own, though perhaps he knew better. She was drawn to him in a way that she'd never felt with anyone else. It was heady and dangerous; he was that kind of man.
Every woman needed at least one of those, right? A story for the grandchildren? A man who could make her feel like a goddess during the brief but wild ride. A man who made her abandon all sense and just…live. That was no small task, to make Hermione Granger shut off her mind and exist in the now.
It was time to start. She rocketed off the couch and bent down to pick up her stoned cat. She didn't know when she'd be back to her flat and she suspected that Crooks would enjoy Tuscany. He would have a playmate in the little orange kitten, a nice warm windowsill to lounge on, and two people to annoy instead of just one. That sounded like cat heaven to her.
Hermione grabbed a few things and then set the floo to lock after she went through. She could only imagine what flooing would be like for Crookshanks under the influence of catnip; the thought made her smile as she grabbed a handful of powder and once again called out Lucius's name.
She lost her balance as she went through, of course. And Lucius just so happened to be sitting in the chair right near the fireplace. In a plume of ash, she squeaked and fell into his lap. It was a good thing he had quick reflexes; he dropped the book he was reading and opened his arms to cushion her fall just in time.
Crookshanks was mashed between them, and under different circumstances he probably would have clawed the hell out of Lucius. Fortunately, his little cat brain was completely blown by the floo and the subsequent fall. He was still between them, with wide, dazed eyes, the very end of his tail twitching.
"Hello," Lucius said at last, trying to suppress a smile.
"I'm sorry. I didn't elbow you or anything, did I?"
"No."
Hermione winced. She was actually on his lap sideways. She tried to get up, but his hands held her still.
"Is everything all right? You…left suddenly before, and this seems like it was a rather hasty trip."
Crookshanks chose that moment to wiggle out from between them and jump down to the floor. He didn't land very gracefully, and when he began to walk it resembled a wave pattern more than a straight line. Lucius raised an eyebrow at her.
"That's my familiar, Crookshanks. He's just had catnip. He isn't usually like that."
He nodded. And my question?
I'm fine.
Another raised eyebrow. Are you certain? I will understand if you need time to yourself. You were kind enough to give it to me.
Manners. How refreshing.
"Really, I'm fine. I just…" her eyes drifted down to the book he'd dropped to try to escape the intensity of his gaze. "Hey! That's mine. Will you stop nicking my books?"
"You haven't given my manuscript back yet. I have nothing else to do."
She met his eyes again, realizing he was right. "Do you promise not to try to destroy it again?"
"Promises are a--"
"Fool's contract, I know," she bit off, irritated. "Where did you learn that phrase? Your father?" She said it on purpose, to jar him.
It worked. Some of the relaxation drained out of his face. Yes. He used to say that to me when I was younger. Nothing had any value to him unless it was guaranteed, through blood, money, or magic. He swallowed, looking distinctly uncomfortable. I guess I am more like him than I know.
Her heart spasmed. She hadn't meant for it to bring Lucius down, only to remind him of the source of his ingrained response – and therefore of its complete lack of validity.
"You're nothing like him," she said softly.
"You didn't know him," he responded. "I was exactly like him. I was worse."
"Past tense, you know," Hermione intoned, echoing his sentiments from their discussion earlier.
He sighed and leaned his face into her chest. A moment of silence stretched. Then his mind said,
Are you going to stay with me?
She lifted a hand to stroke his hair. Her departure had been rather cryptic before. He had probably spent the better part of an hour wondering if she would come back at all. He wouldn't admit to worrying, or to being massively nervous about leaving so much up to chance, but she could feel it in his mind.
Hermione twined her fingers into his pale mane and tugged gently, so that he looked up. Once he did, she closed her eyes and kissed him. As she'd hoped, his lips chased everything away; thoughts of Ron, of how careless this was, and the desperate little voice in the back of her mind that said he will hurt you Hermione he will ruin you if you let yourself fall because even if he miraculously turns into a saint he is going to die he is going to leave you and what will you have then…
They were breathing one another's air, lips millimeters apart in that drunk way that new lovers had.
"I'm staying," Hermione whispered. Indefinitely.
They had kissed and touched and luxuriated in one another for nearly an hour. She might go so far as to say they had snogged one another into near-unconsciousness after their resettlement to the bed. However, Lucius's stomach had at last propelled them back to reality.
As it rumbled again, loudly, an incredulous look moved over his face.
"I'm…hungry," he said, amazed.
Hermione smiled. "That's good. Do you want to tell Jo-Jo to cook something?"
"No. Let's go into the village." He pressed one more gentle, chaste kiss to her lips and extracted the thigh that he'd worked between hers. He winced as he stood; there was a definite tent in his trousers that still demanded attention. She felt much the same, though the only tangible evidence of her roaring desire was the current saturated state of her undergarments.
She raised an eyebrow at him. He raised one right back. And then he fairly tackled her back onto the bed. His hand was in her knickers before she could count to three.
"Oh…oh God!" she nearly yelped as his fingers moved over her clitoris, sliding slickly with her moisture. It was like little aphrodisiac firecrackers going off under her skin.
"I have wanted to touch you for weeks," he whispered huskily in her ear. "Taste you…make love to you..."
Hermione sucked in a shuddering breath, a flush of arousal careening through her at his words. So much for sense and caution; but really, it had been rather stupid of her to think that she could participate in behaviors that ramped them both up so thoroughly and then just walk away without any kind of completion. But…
Is it safe?
Lucius smiled a Cheshire cat grin. "If I can kiss your mouth…I can also kiss you…" his fingers suddenly dipped lower, between her folds to tease her opening, "here."
Her brain nearly short-circuited. It was the look on his face, the mischievous lust in his eyes, and some devastatingly sexy tone in his voice. All of it overloaded her; she whimpered.
"Is that a yes?" He was sucking on her ear, his fingers ghosting over her clit.
"Yes," she said breathlessly. Yes yes yes yes!
He began his descent without another word. For the second time that day, his fingers slid the straps of her dress down, peeling it away from the skin he wanted to devour. It being the second time didn't detract from the sensation when he fastened his lips around her nipple in the slightest. He sucked and then flickered his tongue over the rosy, peaked skin, all the while still tracing feather-light circles around her clitoris. She was already breathing hard, aroused beyond all reason.
He sensed it. He didn't linger, working the dress down her body with his lips in hot pursuit. The sight of his pale crown trailing down triggered the powerful memory of her fantasizing a month ago. It was right after he had trapped her into the Vow. He had dreamed about her, about doing exactly what he was about to do. She had seen it. Felt it. And then she had masturbated herself into a fine orgasmic frenzy, her mind substituting her fingers for his tongue.
It was happening. Her dress was on the floor and he was peeling her knickers off. Lucius Malfoy was about to go down on her. He was kissing her navel and then the spot just above the line of her pubic hair. His hands nudged her thighs apart. Hermione felt delirious.
She gasped as he unexpectedly nuzzled between her legs and inhaled. No man had ever done that to her, but this was Lucius; she knew what smell meant to him. Evidently it pleased him because a low rumble issued from his throat. She had no time to reflect on what a lovely sound it was; in the next moment, his practiced fingers parted her nether lips and he pressed a kiss to the swollen bud it revealed.
His lips were quickly followed by his tongue. It incinerated her; gasps quickly turned to moans under his onslaught. He knew exactly what he was doing. Each stroke of his tongue drew a peal of pleasure out of her. She had never been so sensitive before. She could feel the texture of his tongue, the very slight roughness bestowed by the taste buds, and in combination with its hot wriggling Hermione was speeding towards ecstasy faster than she ever had before.
Just as she thought she would lose it, he eased off. Hermione groaned in both frustration and relief; she didn't want it to be over so quickly, but the desire to come was overwhelming. He teased her, sliding his tongue over the plump lips of her sex, the inside of her thigh. All the while, his warm breath tickled all of her most responsive places. Ooh, and there he was, fearlessly laving the skin beneath her opening – so that was her perineum. Who knew that little patch of skin could be so profusely innervated? She found herself twisting against his grip. Even that was pleasurable; somehow, the feeling of his strong, sure hands on her thighs just spurred her on.
Him, too. He was blowing softly against the source of her moisture. Then her entire world shifted on its axis with the skillful application of what was now her favorite part of his body. His tongue swept around her entrance, tasting, testing, and then pushing shallowly into her. Merlin help her, the man could eat pussy.
He stayed there for some time, gamely plumbing her depths while his nose bumped most agreeably against her clit. She was outright squirming at his treatment. This was every bit as good as she had imagined. In fact, it was better. That was saying something, because her imagination could be very powerful and it certainly had high expectations. You knew, Hermione reflected, that your partner was doing a good job when your eyes were rolling back in your skull and breathing was nearly impossible. That was her current state of affairs.
"Lucius!" she managed to choke out, bucking hard enough to make him lift his head. A lazy smile speared across his face, half of which was anointed with her arousal.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he said silkily, as if he were not facedown in her most private of places, "did you need to come?"
Wicked man! She could have slapped him, but settled for taking a handful of his hair and giving it a good yank.
His eyes flashed slightly, yet he chuckled. You can't begin to know the ways I'll tease you…
Good God, his words might be enough to do her in. He didn't prolong the sweet agony, though. After taking a firm hold of the place where thigh met hip, his lips covered the feverishly inflamed bud of her clit and he sucked – hard.
"Oh FUCK!" The words exploded out of her in a shout. It was like being struck by lightning. It was almost too much; it bordered on painful. A paradoxical sob clogged her throat. She knew she was trembling. Her toes were curling, digging into the bed.
It was blinding her. Separating her body from her mind's control. The orgasm that was building was thunderous. She could feel it curling in her loins, bunching the muscles into pleasurable contortions. It was like a tiger waiting to spring after its prey.
"Lucius! Yes! Lucius!!" His name was spilling from her lips like a mantra.
Yes…say my name… His mind's voice was a low, rasping growl. Come for me…
With ten more seconds of his excruciating alternation of sucking and licking the over stimulated center of her sexual satisfaction, she did. Everything seemed to pause for a precarious second, teetering on the edge of absolute bliss. Then she flew over the side, screaming as she plummeted into a fantastic fit of raw, spasmodic pleasure. It went on and on and on; Hermione felt ready to black out.
When at last it began to recede, her hips were off the bed, her back arched, and her hands thrown up above her head in fists. She was breathing in great, heaving gasps. Lucius climbed up her body, whispering sweet words to her that she couldn't even process. That was how he gently coaxed her into relaxation.
For a few minutes there was nothing but pleased exhaustion. Then she opened her eyes and looked at him. His eyes were drinking in the sight of her, nude and flushed and debauched in his bed. She wanted very much to see him the same way.
Hermione pounced on him. His eyes widened slightly in surprise at her sudden move. Before he could say anything, she kissed his warm, musk-tinged lips. That sold him; his hands propelled her on fully on top of him, straddling his hips, and his eyes slipped shut as his tongue sought hers. She was probably making a neat little puddle on his clothing where her core rested against him. No matter. She kissed his chin and his jaw as she worked on his shirt.
Damn it buttons are the devil's invention…!
He chuckled, reaching down to help her. In a few more seconds she had pushed the pesky fabric obstruction away and the lovely planes of his chest were open to her. She wanted to put her lips and hands all over him, but first…an experiment.
She trailed her mouth along his neck. It had felt so good to do it the first time they kissed, to feel his pulse pound along her lips. This time was no exception. There was something inherently erotic in kissing and being kissed on the neck; perhaps because it was such a vulnerable spot, a place that no one would have access to without a certain level of intimacy. However, that wasn't her ultimate goal. It was time to see if Lucius's initial attack on her ear so many weeks ago was a reflection of his own desires.
Oh, yes. That was nothing short of magic. His lips fell open and his blues fluttered under pale lashes. When she applied her tongue, his entire body twitched beneath her. In half a minute she had him breathing very heavily. His hands were trailing up and down her back, his nails biting very lightly into the soft skin.
She had never been like this with a man. She had never wanted to kiss every inch of anyone else. But the need burned in her now; she wanted to stimulate every pale acre of Lucius's skin, from his forehead to the soles of his feet.
I don't think I can survive that.
He had heard her thought. She was probably torturing him. He had been aroused for nearly ninety minutes with no relief. Hermione gave him an apologetic little smile. Her exploration could wait. Right now he needed completion. He needed to come as hard as she had; she wouldn't be satisfied with anything else.
With an excited tremor in her hands, she reached for his trousers. He tensed.
"Hermione…"
"You're not a leper," she said. "I can touch you. I want to touch you."
A trace of misery invaded his features. "I want it, too, but I haven't had the chance to speak to Smythe yet." He reached up to smooth his knuckles along her cheek. "The thought of infecting you…I can't…it would kill me."
"You won't." She kissed the back of his hand, fighting the sadness that wanted to rise in her chest.
He gave her a crooked little smile. "After I talk to Smythe, you can touch me all you want."
Hermione felt like crying. "I…"
I just want to make you feel how you made me feel.
His hands tangled in her hair and drew her down. Lucius kissed her thoroughly. He was so adept at fogging her brain and driving rational thought away… When he pulled back he cupped her jaw, his thumb tracing across her lower lip as his eyes pierced hers, sure and passionate.
"You already have."
The sentiment warmed her, but still it wasn't enough. Lucius had been denying himself for so long. She wanted him to feel good. She wanted him to forget that he had this stupid disease. He was moving about the room, trying to distract himself from the desire that drew them together like magnets. She was stubbornly lying in his bed, still nude, trying to tempt him back into her arms.
He looked up, leaning against the back of a chair, and gave a rueful and slightly pained smile. "My strategy is not working."
"What strategy is that?"
"Thinking of absolutely horrible things to calm myself down."
"Don't do that," she said, propping up on her elbow. With a settling breath, Hermione prepared to say something and hoped he wouldn't be offended by it. "If you're too worried about me touching you, then why don't you just touch yourself?"
He blinked, a little surprised. "You…would not think that inappropriate or selfish?"
She laughed, exasperated. "Lucius, you just had your face in my vagina and you're asking me about appropriateness? And why would it be selfish?"
His lips twitched, barely containing a smirk. "Well, there isn't anything in it for you."
"There's plenty in it for me. I get to watch a gorgeous man touch himself and know that he's thinking of me while he does it." She rolled out of bed in what she hoped was a seductive way and crossed the room. There was no denying the way his eyes traveled up and down her body, silently feasting. He let her take hold of his still-unbuttoned shirt and drag him back into bed.
To emphasize her point, she undid the button on his trousers and carefully lowered the zipper. He groaned in relief as it eased some of the pressure on his erection. He wasn't kidding when he said his strategy wasn't working.
"At least, you better be thinking of me." She smiled and gave her newly unearthed treasure a gentle squeeze through his much put-upon boxers.
"Ah," he sighed at the touch. "I think I can manage that. You're sure?"
Hermione nodded. "I'm sure." She settled against his side and kissed his ear. "It will be…educational, because I'll be able to see what you like, and practice it on you after Smythe gives us the go-ahead…"
"Mm hm," he murmured, wiggling his hips so that his trousers slouched down. "Go on…"
"And maybe later, you can watch me."
His hand was sliding down his fine abdominals, dipping below the waistband of his boxers. "And then I can practice on you?" he said, his fingers stroking up and down the length that the last bit of clothing obscured. Hermione almost couldn't think as she watched his hand stray lower, to fondle his testicles beneath the fabric.
"You're a tease," she breathed, riveted.
"I didn't hear you complaining."
"That's because my thighs were clamped over your ears."
He laughed, a deeply satisfied chuckle. And more than watching him reacquaint himself with his estranged sexuality, his smile spurred a profound, gratifying, and distinctly quivery feeling inside her. She supposed that that was what people referred to as 'the warm fuzzies.' Merlin help her.
Yes, Merlin help her, because he was squirming out of his clothes as gracefully as he could. In a short minute he was gloriously nude. She had seen him before, but not like this. Not purposefully naked, ready to give and receive pleasure, to ratchet their level of intimacy up to something breathtaking but indefinable.
He pulled her back against his side and a pulse of pleasure shot from his mind to hers at the feeling of skin on skin. She could feel how much he wanted to roll on top of her, to rub every inch of his body along hers. With an expression that was mildly tortured, he reached for the erection that rested like organic steel against his abdomen.
Hermione's breath caught as he grasped the rigid length. Words like 'beautiful' didn't really apply to a man's misguided center of pride. The best thing she could think of to compare to Lucius at full arousal was the sensation of quiet, slightly fearful awe one experienced when in a new and fascinating place. He was definitely fascinating…
This was much hotter than she had initially thought it would be. Watching him treat himself to slow, firm strokes, his eyes closed and his chest rising in gradually quickening breaths, was completely intoxicating. She tried to pay attention to those educational things; how tightly he squeezed, the pace, where he enjoyed the touch most, but she couldn't seem to keep a thought inside her head. She could only watch him, her own arousal building exponentially.
He turned his head. Kiss me.
Hermione complied, glad to have something to do. His lips were patient and slow, the way his hand was as it worked his erection. Perturbed with the vengeful tide of sexual energy he'd stoked in her, she lifted her chin, pressing her lips more fully against his and letting her tongue stray out to taste him. She mapped the creases of his upper lip, the front of his teeth, and at last the tip of his tongue as it met hers.
If she had been wearing knickers, they would have melted from the subsequent kisses. As it was, she was surprised she didn't have a spontaneous orgasm when he moaned softly into her mouth. He pulled away a second later, breathing heavily. He murmured something.
A lubricating spell. His hand was moving more easily over his thick cock. Hermione had to bite her lip very hard to keep from reaching out to help him. She wanted to make him scream. She wanted to touch and taste and slide down over that turgid length until he shattered and completely lost control.
This wasn't enough. This wasn't wrenching his mind free of its earthly moorings like his treatment had done for her. She couldn't just watch. She had to touch him; the desire was becoming so strong that something wild was pushing against her judgment. How could she…oh! It came to her in a stroke of genius.
Hermione smiled and hoped it didn't look too predatory. With an attempt to calm herself, she retreated into her brain and reached out for him mentally. The connection was instant and shivery, making both of them inhale sharply at the same time. His eyes flew open, struggling to focus on her.
Then she pushed that button, the one she had discovered during their first kiss. That shot of psychic bliss. His entire body jumped and a ragged gasp escaped him. Yes. One step closer to the Lucius she wanted to see, the man twisting among the sheets in ecstasy.
Step two. Hermione let the erotic sight of him spur her mind. She created images of things she wanted to do to him. Of things she was sure he'd like to do to her. She had always had a good imagination, in spite of her logical grounding. Sure of what her visions would do to him, she let them flow past her barriers and into his mind.
The effect was instantaneous. His neck arched back and his free hand fisted in the sheet. She watched him hungrily, gradually escalating the images. The dream-sight of her on her knees sucking his cock enthusiastically had him moaning low in his throat and increasing the speed of his tight-fisted ministrations. She could see a pearly white bead on the tip of his cock; orgasm was not so far away.
She would push him to it. She envisioned every way she wanted to be with him, every position, every place, starting with the bed they were in. There was missionary here, her legs locked around him as he pounded into her, her on top out on the lounge chairs in front of the fountain – and he really liked that idea, for the muscles in his thighs spasmed and his hips rose to his strokes, which were faster and harder than they had been before – against the wall in the loo, just before a morning bath…
What finally did him in was the powerful image of her draped over his desk, the one he wrote on, while he took her from behind. His breath hitched.
"Oh God. Oh yes. Yesssss…!"
He was trembling, his face crunching up. He was going to come. With a few more brutal, practiced strokes, he was lost. He climaxed with a loud, beseeching cry, a sound that made her insides clench with need. So, too, did the look on his face as his seed spurted hotly over his belly and between his still-moving fingers in relentless surges. It was sheer, undiluted rapture: eyes rolled back, brow creased, mouth open in a soundless scream. That was an image she would never forget, along with the sight of his cloudy essence dripping down the back of his hand as he writhed and shuddered through the last seizures of orgasm.
She could not say how long it was before she regained the ability to do anything but stare at him. They were both breathing hard. He seemed unable to move for a moment, just laying there with his hand still loosely clasped around his spent manhood. Then, as if someone had suddenly reactivated his brain, he relinquished his grasp. A slight look of distaste crossed his features as he noticed the stickiness that bathed his hand.
"Feel better?" she asked. Her throat was dry from what she'd just witnessed. She was still humming with need. Damn her mind and its bright ideas.
"Much," he murmured, dazed. "You are…a naughty little witch."
"I heard that's what you liked," she responded playfully.
"Did you?" He smiled slightly, but it reached his eyes in a way that it hadn't in the last few days. She simply stared at him for a few moments. He stared back, clear-eyed and tranquil, and her heart did that disturbing spasm thing again. A devil-may-care expression crossed Lucius's flushed face. "Why don't you give me my wand so I can clean this up, and then I can give you a little relief?" He leaned close to her ear, nipping it. "I know how turned on you are."
Hermione squirmed away and reached for his wand. It didn't feel quite so strange in her hand this time. He cast a quick Scourgify, banishing the evidence of his orgasm, and then decisively leaned into her neck.
"I thought you were hungry," she squeaked under the onslaught of his lips and his hand caressing her breast.
"There are many kinds of hunger," he purred. "Some outweigh others."
God, she wanted him. But this was bordering on perilous.
Lucius, I won't be able to control myself if we keep going. I'll make you do things that could be dangerous.
She meant it, too. Thankfully, it took the wind out of his sails. His hot, open-mouthed kisses turned to the gentle tickle of breath on her neck, and his hand slid from her breast down to her ribs.
You're right. After I see Smythe…
Wordlessly, they curled around each other. Fifteen minutes of stupefied relaxation followed. Enveloped by him, his smell filling her nose, she felt her lust cool into muted anticipation. His stomach rumbled again and Hermione couldn't resist smoothing her fingers over his abdominals, as if she could comfort the protesting organ beneath. His hand covered hers and brought it up to his lips. Just then, there was a hesitant knock at the door. They exchanged a glance, one that was glad that the knock hadn't come earlier. Lucius pulled the sheet up over their bodies and said,
"Enter."
Jo-Jo poked an apprehensive head into the room. "Er, Healer Smythe sent a package for Master and Miss."
"For both of us?" Lucius asked, a note of curiosity in his voice.
"Yes."
He held out a hand and Jo-Jo levitated a modest-sized box to the bed. After asking the elf to bring them some water, Lucius opened it and pulled out two envelopes.
"There's one for each of us." He held an envelope out to her. Perplexed, Hermione took it and extracted the letter. It was several pages long, but the first one was graced with only two lines:
Dear Miss Granger,
Is it still presumption if it turns out to be right?
Her mouth fell open. The cheek! So what if Smythe had been right? He didn't have to rub it in her face. And how would he know, anyway? She shook her head, leafing through the other pages. They looked to be a series of protective spells, designed so that she could engage in just about any sexual behavior with Lucius without any worry of disease transmission. The last page made her blush and feel a little bit nauseous at the same time; what kind of people did Smythe think she and Lucius were? She would never do that, but, well, she couldn't fault the healer for being thorough.
"What on earth?" Lucius looked confused.
"What does yours say?" she asked.
He handed it to her.
Lucius,
Glad to see you are feeling better. Add an Unbreakable charm and a No-slip spell and you're back in action.
"Add an Unbreakable charm to what?" he asked.
Hermione frowned. "What else is in the box?"
Lucius reached in and pulled out a smaller box. Hermione had to stifle a giggle.
"Thirty-six lubricated latex condoms?" he read. "What the hell are--"
"I'll tell you after dinner," she replied.
And the whole walk into town, she couldn't keep the smile off her face.