"You were quick to defend me." Lucius carefully marked his page with a ribbon (green, obviously), and placed the leather bound volume on the side table. He retrieved a cigarette from the fine silver case he carried in his breast pocket, and lit it with the tip of his wand.
From under his lashes, he watched her slide fluidly onto the well-cushioned settee. She kicked off the heels that he imagined plagued her tiny little feet, and tucked them underneath her. "May I have one of those?"
Without complaint, he extended the case to her, and watched as she plucked one of the expensive French cigarettes. Like an old professional, she touched the tip of her wand to the end, and took a deep pull.
"Insider knowledge," she said, upon exhale. "I defended you because I was aware of your existence. And because the letter you carried vouched for Professor Snape, who is integral in winning this ridiculous war. There's no point in bearing you any ill will."
"Eloquently put, Miss Granger. For whatever it's worth, you certainly don't seem as bothered by my presence as others." He flicked the ash from the cherry end of his cigarette and waited for her response.
"You know how boys often act, Mr. Malfoy. You raised one. As for the suspicion of the others, they will either come around or not. What does it matter to you? You're a Malfoy."
He considered the young witch in front of him, and remembered in an instant the swotty little thing from Diagon Alley all those years ago.
The differences between that girl and the woman before him were vast. She was content, he thought, as was he, and that changed people. Finally, he realized, she wasn't trying to prove herself to anyone. Hermione Granger had nothing to prove. She was glorious, and it terrified him.
She was wasted on the boys, as she affectionately called them. He'd wager his father's prize orchids that she was well aware of that.
He eyed her as she drew on the cigarette, smoke circling in a halo around her head before disappearing. Her eyes were closed while she savored the treat. He wouldn't have pegged her for a smoker, but was glad for another in the bustling house. His patience wore thin when Black dared to join him for one, and that was when the lunatic was smoking plain tobacco. "I dare say if Molly catches you with that, she'll have a conniption." The corners of his lips turned up in a slight smile.
Hermione cracked her eyes open and wrinkled her nose at him. "I won't tell if you won't."
Her voice was pure sin and he reveled in every bit of it. "And listen to her berate me for hours on end about corrupting her future daughter-in-law? I think not."
She released an outright snort at his statement and pulled a disgusted face. "She's still on that, then?" After her initial outburst, it seemed that Hermione couldn't be bothered with it. "I'm certain she'll get over the heartbreak at some point."
"Are you?" Her blasé dismissal of the Weasley woman pleased him. "She does seem set on having you as part of their quaint little family." He couldn't resist baiting her, if only a little.
Hermione rolled her eyes. The formidable little hellcat caught his attempt and dismissed it just as easily as she had Molly Weasley. "I'm afraid she'll have to be disappointed." She jerked her chin at the book resting on the side table. "Sartgren's theories about the properties of layered blood wards were debunked by Ludovik in the 1750's - Ludovik's experiments determined that each layer of additional wards placed on a dwelling, for example, strengthened the existing, underlying ones along with it."
Malfoy picked up the book and very carefully fingered the gold leafed titling, considering her. "Indeed he did. Sartgren, however, proved that blood wards can be used temporarily in runic form to protect a living, breathing being. Something that Findlay determined was impossible in the 1300's."
"Only if a bond exists between the caster and his intended," countered the infuriating Granger chit. "Madregen, 1612. Did you know, Mr. Malfoy, that those blood wards can also be used as a perimeter protection, linked not to location, but to specific individuals so that it moves with them?"
"Source?"
She smiled coyly and took another drag of the cigarette, expelling the smoke in a column of blue-gray before speaking. "Granger, 1996."
It was later, after the children were tucked away properly, not scattered around his library on makeshift cots, that Lucius finally took his wife to bed.
"Had the ritual not worked to restore you, I would have joined you." It was rare that Lucius was so blunt, and rarer still that he admitted his only true weakness. "I mean it. I love our children, but gods above, I love you more. I know that probably makes me a terrible father, but I could not survive without you beside me. Do you understand?"
She nodded, safe in the cocoon of his strong arms. "I know. And I understand. They would have understood."
"Not everyone will be as accepting, my pet."
She shrugged off the last vestiges of fear and kissed him soundly. "I don't care. I've been unfair to you, and to our family, in asking you to keep this secret. No more. I don't care if they accept us. It will not change how much I love you. It will not change that I belong to you."
"Are you sure? Once the genie escapes the bottle, there is no putting it back." He prayed that she wouldn't regret the decision. He would spend a thousand lifetimes hiding away from his home if she asked it of him, but he couldn't bear to feel her regret tinge their union.
"I will not regret this. I am proud of you, of our family. Fuck everyone else."
He nipped at her ear lobe. "I dislike hearing that word from your pretty mouth, as you well know."
She muttered an apology before worming her way closer to him. He listened to her breathing even out, and felt her heartbeat slow when sleep took her. His witch was exhausted, and tomorrow would bring an entirely new challenge to their door.
They lay together against the crisp sheets, snuggled half under the down duvet and blankets that Hermione insisted on. He wasn't sure why she demanded the mountain of blankets. Halfway through the night she'd be nearly on top of him, everything but the sheet kicked away, with her legs bared to no one but him.
He loved how she slept so near him. During his contractual obligation to Narcissa (he steadfastly refused to call that sham a marriage) they never slept in the same bed, not even when things were shiny and new. She kept to her rooms, and he to his, meeting in a guest suite for the cold coitus required to produce exactly one heir.
How he'd rejoiced when the pregnancy took, overcome with glee when he would no longer be required to participate in that particular chore. Narcissa subsequently shut herself up in her rooms, and remained there for the duration of her pregnancy. Once the babe had been delivered, she'd passed him off to the care of elves. Lucius spent as much time as he possibly could with the small boy - his little Dragon - providing love enough for both parents.
His Draco had grown into a fine man, and Lucius was immensely proud of his accomplishments.
Now, his life was much different. He and Hermione were rarely separated, and she never once took to another set of rooms – not that he'd bothered to offer them. He couldn't bear to be parted from her for even the few hours afforded by sleep. Instead, his sweet little wife wound herself around him in slumber, nearly a part of him.
Soon, he realized, her belly would grow, forcing her to shift positions. With Lysander and Helena, she'd scooted her back against his front, and slept on her side. He would hold her, both palms flat against her belly. Protecting her and them, even as he slept.
Lucien and Hera saw her on the other side, curled toward him with her belly pressed tightly against him. He had felt every kick or twirl the little ones gave, and wondered how in Merlin's name she could sleep through it.
He couldn't wait to see how she managed this go round. As long as he held her and them, it didn't really matter.
"You're thinking awfully hard." Hermione's voice, sleepy and sweet and so very much his, never failed to arouse him.
He chuckled, and kissed the top of her curls. "You'll soon be too big to sleep comfortably like this." One hand made its way to her only barely noticeable bump. "I was wondering how you'd manage it this time."
Although he couldn't quite see it from his position, Lucius knew her expressions well enough to imagine her mouth curving into a delicate moue.
"You're making fun of me," she pouted.
"Hardly, pet. Merely excited. I love seeing you full, watching you blossom." Soon, he thought, she'd begin to show. He wouldn't deny the feelings of utter possessiveness that washed over him when she was very obviously with his child.
"I can't wait. Knowing that I made you that way." His fingers strayed from her tummy and dipped even lower, to the dewy lips of her sex. He rubbed her clit gently. "I love fucking you when you're round with my children, pet."
His fingers worked harder, bringing her ever closer to orgasm. "Don't. Not yet," he hissed, when she began to beg. "I haven't given you permission." He ground the words out harshly, before he latched on to her shoulder with his teeth and lips.
He slipped two digits inside her, and his thumb rubbing circles on the sensitive little bead that crowned her. "You belong to me. You belong to Lucius Malfoy. Say it!" He demanded against the skin of her neck, jamming his fingers into the spongy flesh of her g-spot.
"Fuck, I belong to you. I'm yours, always yours! Please let me," she begged. Her words tumbled out in a mess that he understood too well. Yours. Please. More. Can't hold it off oh Merlin! Need it, need you. Her voice was laced with heady passion, and tears clung to her eyelashes from the stress of staving off an orgasm.
"Don't you dare," he warned, snarling. "If you come before I give you leave, it'll be the last time for a month." He'd made good on similar threats before, so she was painfully aware of the consequences if she couldn't control herself.
Pleasepleasepleasesir!
In and out, he sawed with his fingers, each time wiggling them more forcefully against the spot that made her eyes clench and mouth go wide. He smirked when he felt her flutter, licked away the tears that turned into sobs with her efforts. She was so close, he could taste it, and yet she still managed to obey him. His lips gentled on her neck, and he kissed the bruised and scraped flesh. "Come for me, pet," he breathed, finally. Mercifully. "And thank me for my generosity."
Her world exploded in a riot of color, and her cunt clamped down on his fingers at his words. Her entire body went rigid, as if she'd been Crucioed, before she barely managed to eke out her thanks. Those eyes, his favorite shade of brown, shot open, and she screamed while flooding his hand with her sticky release.
Once she'd recovered, he laughed against her hair. "Gods, I love it when you gush on my hand. It embarrasses you so."
She buried her face in his chest, but not quickly enough to hide the red staining her cheeks. He fisted his hand in her hair and forced her to meet his eyes. "I want to see you. I love that after so long you still blush like a virgin." He kissed the last of her tears away before capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. "Surely I am blessed."
Hermione hummed in contentment, a smile playing on her swollen lips. "We both are." She gasped when her hand attempted to close around his painfully engorged cock, only to have it slapped away. "But-" she began, lips trembling.
"No." His denial stung, but his fingers still playing at her clit pacified her somewhat. "I have pleasured you, and that is the only reward you receive this evening. Perhaps in the morning, if you behave. Now go to sleep, pet. We're going to Diagon Alley tomorrow."