Alright!
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I know some have been waiting, some not - but here it is - THE WEDDING NIGHT!

And this chapter are Defiantly a rating R or M or what they call it these days so bee warned - I don't want to get any flames because there WILL be sex in this chapter!

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Otherwise Id like to thank my beta, she's just the best. Id like to thank my reviewers and I'm sorry I am to lazy to give you feed-back on your wonderfull reviews - maybe later on.

Disclamior: They are NOT mine!

Disclamior: The lyric is not mine, it belongs to Nightwish and is called "Passion and the Opera"

ENJOY!

Courage is fear that has said its prayers

Princess of lust
dignity put to dust
a virginal sight
their apple to bite

The absurd thing about it was the search for distraction; she was searching for distraction, something that could shut out the present, something, anything. She wanted to find it deep within, a lost thought; something powerful, a memory long forgotten. Sadly enough she couldn't find it, the only thing she could find was the memory of that day when her budgerigar, Tommie, had fallen down their toilet and almost drowned.

Someone took her hand, holding it tightly, but not painful as she expected. The person led her through a dark corridor; only lit up by a couple of spotlights. Under her feet a red carpet led the way, she heard the reduced sound of shoes against fabric, and she could smell tension in the air. The person before her stopped in front of a wooden door with iron mountings and a strong lock. He, the person clad in black with silvery blond hair, un-locked the door with a spell and then opened the door carefully. For her it felt like ages before he let her enter the chamber, as if he actually were embarrassed, something she found highly unlikely.

If she hadn't been so listless she surely wouldn't have noticed the beauty of the room. If she had been convinced that she could escape, then she wouldn't have stopped in the doorframe, watching the surroundings with admiration. She would have kicked, cursed and fought him, the man who now was her husband, but she had no intention of fighting him, that would only hurt her and give him more pleasure.

But as it was she now stood there and watched, yes, even admired his - no, their bedchamber. The walls, which she had expected to be emerald green and adorned with silver serpents, were blue. The wallpaper was, of course, old-fashioned, exactly that kind of wallpaper which you would find in a castle from the 18th century. Ahead of her she saw a pair of enormous balcony-doors flanked by a pair of just as enormous windows. The draperies were heavy and deep blue, they were for the moment tied together on each side of the windows. Through the marvellous glass she could see a wonderful forest and huge grassy domains.

In one corner a huge fire was roaring inside an old-fashioned fireplace, in front of that fireplace she sighted a blue and green carpet, surely a very expensive Turkish carpet if she hadn't misjudged the Malfoy family completely. A few feet away from the fire she spotted two deep blue armchairs with very expensive-looking armchair-legs, in between those two antique looking piece of furniture a little brown mahogany table was placed; on that table one could catch a glimpse of an old book. At the other end of Lucius bedroom Hermione spotted another door and two enormous bookcases filled with old books, rolls of paper and other objects that could prove useful in search for knowledge.

On the walls she sighted portraits, two of the painted men she didn't know of, but surely they had to be family. One painting couldn't have been anything but Lucius, Narcissa and a newborn Draco. But there were two smaller portraits that caught Hermione's interest; they portrayed a young schoolboy, surely eleven or twelve years old. He wore an old Hogwarts' uniform with Slytherin's green colours and emblem. The other portrait portrayed a young man, very similar to Draco, but he wore his long, pale hair neatly tied up in a black ribbon. Those two portraits were without a doubt Lucius' portraits.

The central item in Lucius' bedchamber was (without surprise) the large, if not, enormous, four-poster bed. Built solely in mahogany and decorated with silver here and there, the draperies were in the same colours as those that hung beside the windows. Lucius' sheets were made entirely of the finest silk and the dark blue almost seemed black. Hermione closed her eyes for a while, inhaling the scent of mint and citrus, warmth, fresh and aired bedclothes.

Drink from my thighs
The rain of lies
A sight so cursed:
Breasts which never nursed

He was watching her take in the surroundings. She seemed calm now, or maybe hope had abandoned her totally. In the light of the roaring fire it seemed as if her hair was brought to life, it danced; sparkled in red, gold, mahogany and ebony. Her pale skin caught a golden tone, her white dress also caught the fire's golden flames; her eyes, as they watched the room carefully, stormed with feelings, they shifted from dark, passionate chocolate to light, mild milk-chocolate. In that chocolate storm he sometimes found a golden sparkle which lightened her whole soul.

'Dear me, isn't she beautiful?'

From his inner eye he could see the buck-toothed, annoying, bushy-haired, know-it-all, Gryffindor, Mudblood girl whom had entered his life in Draco's second year, in Flourish & Blotts. For the first time in life he actually could appreciate a woman's features without looking for large breasts, fine, round hips…swollen, red lips and, by make-up, destroyed eye-lashes. Because that was what Hermione was, he realised, she was herself and it worked, right now it worked.

He stood there lost in thought, what would he do now? Satisfy his own hunger and carving for her flesh? Make her beg for more? Make her please him? Take what he wanted by force? Lure her to fight him? Would he perhaps please her and in that way leave her wanting more? He knew she was innocent, a virgin even. The fact that she could wear the virgin's suit told him that, otherwise she wouldn't be able to, that is if the legend was correct and she had the original piece of clothing.

He sighed, he had forced, making them beg him for more, humiliated them. He had raped virgins before, not even caring about what happened to them afterwards. One part of him sickeningly enjoyed rape, he enjoyed power, and he enjoyed fear.

'But,' he thought and studied his young wife, 'I can do all that at once, I can be gentle and still have her fearing me, maybe she'll be even more afraid if I'm gentle.'

'If you want her again you can't rape her, you can't rape your wife,' a part of him spoke up.

'And I know it and therefore I won't do such a thing, I've left that period of my life behind… together with my black cape and my mask.'

He slowly reached out to touch her, a careful caress on her bare neck reminded her of his presence, in her eyes he could see fear, and he inhaled that sight, slowly a smile crept over his face.


An Aphrodite for mortal souls
Playing hide and seek in lecherous roles
their erotic hour, my tearless weep
their satisfaction, my infinite sleep

She felt his index finger trailing down her neck, stopping one or two millimetres from the dress' collar. She shivered but couldn't help turning around and facing him, she shuddered with fear as she saw a smile creeping over his lips, reaching upwards to his grey-blue eyes.

He removed his finger from her, letting his arm fall and then just watched her. She stared back, taking the opportunity to study him closely. It would be wrong to call him beautiful, but he was definitely handsome. She didn't know how old he was, but only judging from his appearance one could think he was only in his late thirties. But some wrinkles along his cheeks and around his eyes spoke of even more time gone since his birth.

In the golden light that emerged from the fireplace his hair almost seemed honey-coloured, even though Hermione clearly remembered that it previously had been silvery blond. His skin was so smooth, almost in loss of beard growth. He was pale, just as pale as a Chinese porcelain-figurine would have been; an ice statue. His eyes held arrogance, his whole being radiated superiority and his willpower shone around him. Inside his eyes a winter wind made shining diamonds of frost visible, tonight there was no storm in sight inside those orbs, a calm winter wind and a sparkle of un-describable lust were the only things she could see in his depths.

He scared her, she could feel her legs shaking, and she could feel her heart racing, her blood pumped in her veins bringing adrenaline to her system. For a long time he just studied her, not even implying that he would hurt her, which, if anything, scared her. She didn't know what she had expected, somehow she had believed that he would rape her, that encounter in her chambers, in his living room alone spoke for that.

"I can see that you are afraid," his voice floated through the air, making her shiver even more, "I know, they always are… are you afraid that it might hurt?"

"I-I-I-I'm not… I'm not s-s-sure," she finally managed.

"They never are," he caressed her cheek and passed her, making his way to one of the huge windows, making appearance of looking out over his domains, "Tell me, is that the virgin's suit you bought in my name, with my money?"

"Y-y-yes," she stuttered, fearing that he might get angry because of that.

"It surely fits you, innocent indeed," he turned around and faced her, "Tell me, do you think its real?"

"No," she spoke almost in a normal tone, "No, I think it's just rubbish."

"Did it happen to, ah, burn anyone?"

"No… or, I mean, yes, it did burn Ginny but-"

"Interesting," he purred and came back to her, circling her as a shark would circle a seal, "but it didn't burn you? My dear Hermione, are you still a virgin?"

"Yes, I am," she confirmed and by some wonder she succeeded to keep her voice under control.

"So rare… so extraordinary… I must confess that I, ah, very much appreciate that sacrifice." His circles became smaller; he could almost reach out to touch her now. "Would you like me to be gentle with you? I could be rather…..how to put it….I can be rather…..sweet, during the lovemaking. Some women, though, prefer violence… but seeing as it-"

"I'm not, unlike some, a pervert," she suddenly squeaked, too late in realising that what she'd just said could be taken for an insult.

"Unlike some?" His index finger trailed down her jaw-line, "Are you enjoying playing with fire, Hermione?"

She didn't answer, just stared numbly at her shoes somehow seeking comfort in them. She kept on thinking about her friends, she thought about how much she loved them… how much she loved Ron. How much she wished she could give her virginity to him, how much she wished he could be there, kissing her fears away, holding her tight.

"Thinking about that Weasley brat are you?" purred Lucius' voice close to her ear, "Do you really think that it would be greater with him?"

"Yes," she spat, not even caring about his reaction, it felt good to write that on his nose. She somehow had hoped that he would feel embarrassed, hurt or even angry but the only thing he did was laugh.

"He's a virgin too, if I'm not mistaken…" his voice faded away as he, in his circling, had come behind her back, "He'd be clumsy, he wouldn't know what to do, but to satisfy himself, his own needs, that's what he'd care about….that's nature. Of course he loves you, he would tell you sweet words as he's reaching climax and he would, without doubt hurt you while entering. He would be un-controlled, he would be done very soon, not leaving much time for you to reach climax, and without a doubt, he would apologise afterwards, promising to do it better next time. After that he would turn around and sleep the night through. Sounds romantic, doesn't it?"

"You are a pig and you don't know anything about Ron," she yelled.

"Oh, sweet denial," he hummed, now directly behind her, she could feel the heat radiating from his body, "No, you're correct; young Weasley could fully well be a miracle…and judging by that mother of his he'd surely have been well taught… had some… practical lessons perhaps?"

It took a while for Hermione to understand what Lucius had just implied, but when realisation hit her it came with full force. That man whom had raped numerous women had just implied that Molly Weasley had… that she and Ron and the whole… it was sick and Hermione felt anger rushing through her system. She spun around ready to raise her arm to strike Lucius, hitting him directly in his face; wipe that infernal smirk from his lips.

"Don't you dare talk like that about the Weasleys; they are the loveliest people on this earth." Her arm fell from mid-air; her intentions were to hurt him.

He caught her arm about ten centimetres from his face, holding it firmly. Not hurtful but tight enough to tell her that she had nothing to put up against him if he wished to strike back. He locked his eyes with hers for a while and then he began laughing, almost mirthful.

"Tut, tut, Hermione… if you really are into that kind of lovemaking you'd better tell me so that I can be prepared."

"You are a sick… perverted, old, death-"

"Now, now, no flattery, that won't get you anywhere," He smiled now, a creepy smile, showing off a white line of perfect teeth, a dentist's smile, "As for me, I'm beginning to be a bit, how to put it….impatient… usually I just take what I want, leaving the trash where I found it, but consider that you'll have to last a bit longer…"

His index finger once again trailed down her neck, she stood petrified. With a gentle caress he parted her collar, exposing even more of that creamy skin. Hermione held her breath, waiting for the laughter-knife against her throat.

Naked limbs reflecting from the moon
I'll be there for you soon
First wish for this night:
Let me be your delight

Lucius knew that the name-calling, the hatred, would only delay that for which he was craving; therefore he decided to start the act now. He didn't need more chitchatting now, right now he needed flesh. He needed hot, young skin against his, he needed and when he needed he usually got it.

Slowly, ever so slowly he started to undress her. She made no moves to fight him; it was as if she had suddenly given in. It was as if his touch made her paralysed. He knew that she thought that the virgin's suit was a bluff, humbug and crap. But he himself, being brought up in an old wizard family, had heard about the myths surrounding the golden wedding, but never really cared because back then he wouldn't have dreamt of marrying a Mudblood. But right now, as he became more thrilled, aroused and god damned turned on she became more… easy to handle. And that was where some clues about something not being right started.

As the dress' grip around her upper part loosened and revealed both of her shoulders, her chest and those lovely, milky white and almost childish breasts, he started to feel the consequences of so much naked skin before his eyes. To be more precisely; his trousers all of a sudden became too small. He spun her around, so to face her properly. Her eyes searched for his, they were in doubt, she was in doubt, clearly not knowing what to do… her dress had increased its old magic in her; both he and she could feel it moving from inside.

His hands reached up, fingers tracing through her hair, guiding her head to tilt back as he claimed her mouth with his, plunging his tongue within, ravaging her mouth as he firmly gripped her buttocks. She tasted so sweet, she intoxicated him with her scent, his nostrils vibrated as he inhaled the sweetness of lilies, strawberries, flowers, wood and grass.

With one free hand he smoothly freed her fully from her dress. When the pile of white fabric fell to the floor there was an explosion of ancient magic. It soared into their bodies, twirling around them, Lucius closed his eyes, and it felt odd, as if his mind was dazed. He looked directly into Hermione's eyes, they were lost into his, and he could almost see his own reflection in them. He supposed that she'd been hit with the largest dose because the power had been building up inside her through the dress and it had been unleashed when she was freed from her piece of clothing. He studied her now standing almost naked in front of him, save for a pair of white knickers. She was every bit as delicate as he'd been expecting, a bit too thin, not into athletics… she was… innocent.

"Would you like to do my undressing or will I have to do it myself?" He didn't know why he asked her about it; somehow it felt right to do that, the power swirled around them, making him feel a rush of power, adrenaline… sweetness.

She studied him for a while with a dim expression, and then she began, with trembling hands, un-buttoning his vest. He took hold of her hands and with his, steadier, he guided her through the labyrinth of buttons and zippers, until finally, he too was left only in his undergarments. Through his black silk-boxers one could clearly see the evidence which spoke about how much she affected him. Hermione stared, even though the powerful "golden-wedding" charm, which affected her too, limits not even speaking.

He bit gently on her neck, sucking it so that a mark would appear. Somehow when he saw the marks he'd made on a woman, or that she made on him, it always aroused him. He bit down harder, his hands kneading her breasts, his thumbs rubbing hard against her sensitive nipples, and she whimpered as his teeth dug into her. In one giant movement he had swept her into his arms and she didn't struggle, he carried her to his bed, dropping her gently on his cool sheets. She lay there, flat on her back, staring up at him. He saw fear in her eyes, but not just that, he also saw excitement, even though she wouldn't admit it even to herself.

He crawled on top, both of them still remained in their undergarments, but he intended to do something about that later on. His hands cupped her breasts and her breath was drawn sharply in, he reached a hand out to her shoulder, caressing down her body, to the outside of her breast and down to her knee, producing a shiver and causing gooseflesh to rise over her arms and legs. He spent several minutes simply stroking her like that, along her arms, legs, and belly. She was tense, he could feel it through her, through the air, through the spell which swirled around them filling the whole room, exploding, exploring… tempting, grasping.

"Relax…my dear," he breathed against her neck, tracing a wet line along the tender flesh, "I won't hurt you more than necessary."

She closed her eyes, finally a reaction through that mist of what he called pure magic of the nature. But he couldn't have it; he couldn't have her closing her eyes and in that way escape this moment. That would be wasted time.

"Don't close your eyes, Hermione…"

She opened her eyes again; they shone in the light from the fire, they seemed like glass from his perspective; he wondered how much she really felt right now. He lent forward and kissed her firmly, firmly but not demanding and this time she did answer him, her little tongue danced with his, he smiled against her lips, she was going down. He left her mouth and began kissing down her neck with grace which he gained through the years; he could actually hear how Hermione moaned for the first time. Encouraged by this he paused at her breasts for a few minutes and then trailed nips and kisses down her body until he reached the lining of her knickers.

"Time to remove these now, Hermione, my dear," he murmured against her skin. She shivered in response when he in one swift movement removed his and her undergarments, "Would you like me to make it pleasurable for you too, Hermione?"

Without invitation or answer he spread her legs a bit, thus giving him better access to what he was going to do now. She gasped in response as he touched her most sensitive spot, he felt how her body tensed and he quickened his movements. The air around them grew hot, he could feel it and it almost scared him because he had never felt anything like it; he could tell, only by being near her, when she would come. Suddenly she exploded, actually crying out loud.

"LUUUUUUUUUUCIUS!"

He stopped; she had actually cried his name. Somehow he had expected that she would cry that Weasley brat's name… then again, the power flow had increased. He himself could almost feel how his brain went dull.

'I hope I don't faint, that would never do.'

"I think you enjoyed that. Tell me, would Weasley have been just as good?" He hummed and stroked her bare thighs.

She surprised him then, by taking his hands in hers, keeping him from touching her and then forcing him closer to her, she brought his face to hers and kissed him. Somehow this felt as the right moment to enter her. He positioned himself between her legs and whispered in her ear, nibbling gently on her earlobe.

"This will hurt," he warned and had a whimper in response; he drew a deep breath and plunged into her.

Hermione cried out as he tore through her, she felt the burning and the snap of tearing tissue as he filled her completely and continued to plunge into her.

Body of a virgin
Soul to the Devil's kin
Your God is me
In all that you see

"Hermione," he growled as he reached climax, she could feel how he filled her with his seed.

In that moment there was like an explosion, Hermione felt how all that power, which they had built inside Lucius' chamber, literally exploded. Everything disappeared in a pink and spinning daze, she disappeared in a deep black emptiness.

An Aphrodite for mortal souls
Playing hide and seek in lecherous roles
Their erotic hour, my tearless weep
Their satisfaction, my infinite sleep