A/N – You knew it was coming (no pun intended). The rating has been upped to M. I don't really know where the line is between M, which is allowed here, and MA, which is not, so if anyone feels that this steps outrageously over that line, please let me know, and I will (reluctantly) edit. But who wants that?
So, ahem. This chapter contains adult content. Yeah. Don't read (or at the very least, skip the naughty bit at the end) if you're under the age of consent, whatever that is where you live. I don't know if that's strictly necessary, but I'd better err on the safe side.
Gosh, I'm a little nervous. I haven't written anything like this for a looooong time. Now that that's all over with… read, enjoy(!), and review!
ON TO
Chapter Thirteen:
For the next few days, Lucius Malfoy was a perfect gentleman – and it was driving Hermione mad. Or more accurately, he played the part of the gentleman only at times when Hermione might have preferred otherwise. Other times, he was just as arrogant, as argumentative, as condescending as ever.
On several occasions, she found herself on the brink of asking what was going on, but her Gryffindor courage always deserted her at the last minute. Bloody useless Gryffindor she made. What was she supposed to say anyway? "I know you disapprove of my politics, my friends, my family, and probably my hair, but why haven't you even tried to kiss me again?"
Everyday she went for a stroll around the grounds of Marius's beautiful property, and since he took the Vow, Lucius felt it necessary to accompany her. If he had been anyone else, she might have suspected (and been flattered to suspect) a ploy to lure her to the most romantic spots for a snog, but Lucius neither lured nor snogged her.
They walked and walked – about books when she was feeling civil and politics when she was not. Her confusion and annoyance (and further irritation at her annoyance) at his somehow distant behaviour was almost offset by her delight in discovering that he harboured a secret curiosity about Muggle society – so secret that she guessed not even he was aware of it, thinking it only a disdainful sort of amazement that these primitive people managed to muddle along at all.
"It's my understanding," he had once said on such a walk, "that Muggles are content to wile away years of their pathetic lives sat in front of a flickering box of pictures."
It was not phrased as a question, but Hermione knew that he had not said it at random.
"That's the telly," she replied, "well, television. My parents never let me watch much, and I always felt a bit left out when my mates at school used to talk about whatever show was popular. But you're right – many of them do seem happy to spend all their free time glued to it."
"It's a wonder you have time to kill yourself off and reproduce as rapidly as you do when there's a…television at home, obviously much more fascinating than real life."
As often happened during these conversations, she felt herself rising to his attempt to bait her. She had never been such an avid fan of the telly herself, but it was not all that Muggles did.
"Muggles still read and write and invent, you know. Has any witch or wizard ever stepped foot on the moon?"
He stopped and turned to face her, mouth pursed and eyebrows raised in an incredulous expression. "Why should anyone wish to walk on the moon? It's just a rock: no air, no life, no anything, though I suppose with six billion people crowding this planet, you must be desperate for some privacy."
She stared. "Why would anyone want to go to the moon? Because it's there. It's the moon. Poets dream on it, and hundreds of years ago, scientists discovered the Earth was round by observing its shadow on the moon." Her expression of surprise became a grimace. "It's a stupid question, why go to the moon. You're just jealous that Muggles have done something no wizard has."
At her sullen expression, an amused smile touched his lips. "Let's make a list then, shall we? Things which Muggles can do versus things which wizards can do. Ahem. Muggles can visit dead rocks in space. Wizards can procure a time-turner," here he looked keenly at her, and she wondered not for the first time how much he really knew about her, "and travel to any moment in history, provided they are very careful."
It was something of an exaggeration on both sides; so far, Muggles had only visited, and while she had some experience with a time-turner to move a few hours back and forth in time, she had never heard of anyone travelling like a tourist through history.
"Muggles can travel about on stinking metal machines which consume fossil fuels and pollute their too-crowded planet. Wizards can Floo, Apparate, or fly by broomstick. While Muggles are inventing ever-more sophisticated methods of slicing each other up for medical and cosmetic purposes, wizards can cure most serious ailments with a simple spell or potion."
She set her hands on her hips and favoured him with a very sceptical look. "What, and that makes wizards superior beings? Muggles scientists are already discovering ways to instantly teleport subatomic particles… it's likely only a matter of time before they can work on larger objects. As for medicine, they have refined their tools for 'slicing' to focused beams of light."
An unexpected smile curved his lips, and the corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly. "And yet, despite their particles and beams of light, can any one of them do this?" He drew the wand, which he carried most of the time when they went on these little excursions, pointed it at a brilliant orange blossom, and muttered a few words. The graceful flower transformed into a lovely orange bird Hermione did not recognise. It chirped a rather startled chirp, doubtless surprised to find itself suddenly accoutred with a beak and feet and feathers, then burst into a sweet warble from its perch on the slender green stem.
She rolled her eyes, but it was impossible to stay annoyed after such a display. "No," she admitted, "but you still haven't proved that you're better than them."
In fact, after displays like that – or breathtaking moments when they rounded a hill to come across a lush valley laid out at their feet, or a comfortable evening cosy in the great room of the house while the nightly storms raged – she wanted more to kiss him than to kill him.
They even continued to sleep together, though only in the most literal sense of the term. Her ever-increasing confusion served almost as well as fear of her nightmares to keep her awake, as the latter had disappeared almost completely since they shared a bed. He held her against his chest and kissed her frizzy hair, but when she tilted her head to offer her lips, he shut his eyes and pretended to fall asleep.
She told herself that she would not be quite so annoyed if he had not been the one to make the first move, not counting that kiss she had initiated back in Paris. No, he had been the one to kiss her down at the lake and then to try again after they had taken the Vow.
Hermione was turning all this over in her mind one night, laying on Lucius's bare chest and listening to the mingled sounds of their breathing. She was having no more success than usual and felt herself finally growing sleepy when Lucius jerked into consciousness with a wordless cry. She propped herself up on one elbow and was bent over him when his pale eyes flew open and latched onto hers.
"The Dark Lord," he managed to say between gritted teeth. "He's calling his followers." One hand clamped over his other forearm but not before Hermione saw the mark, now black and seeming to glow with malign energy. He pushed himself up so he was reclining on his pillows, all tense lines and grimaces.
For him to allow so much pain to show, she knew he must be in agony. He sucked air through his teeth, and his knuckles were white, clutched on his arm and the bed sheets.
"And there is nothing you can take, no creams or potions or anything?"
He looked up to glare at her so fiercely that she almost recoiled. "I'm sure you know there is no such remedy. The pain will subside only when the mark's bearer appears in the Dark Lord's presence." His smooth accent was harsh and jagged.
"I believe he is…" He inhaled sharply. "…is somehow augmenting even what I would normally feel under such circumstances."
He had dropped his eyes back to his forearm, but now he lifted them to stare at her. His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, so pale they looked like twin chips of ice. "It would be so simple to answer his call."
Too late, Hermione recalled that the Vow did not explicitly prohibit such an action unless it would directly endanger her. And worse, the wand lay on a nightstand on Lucius's side of the bed. She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut.
"But I won't. To do so would be to cast my lot irrevocably with him, and I have come to realise that some… flexibility in that area might be prudent."
Hermione let out a breath she had not known she was holding. "I'm glad to hear it. Is there anything I can do… would you like some tea or… anything?"
"Just talk to me," he replied. "The most useful thing you can do is to distract me from this."
Her mind raced, but she could not think of a single thing to say. This was impossible – she was normally too happy to chatter about the latest bit of information she had learned. Right now, the only thing she could think of was that horrible mark burned into his flesh. Actually, that did remind her…
"In my fifth year at Hogwarts," she began, words spilling one after another, "when that insufferable Umbridge woman was there, I designed these special Galleons that would alert their carriers to the next secret meeting we were holding."
After all this time, she wondered if the spell she had used to bind the signatories of Dumbledore's Army still functioned. Best not to find out, she decided.
"I got the idea from… that," she explained with a nod at his forearm. "All I had to do was charm the serial numbers on my Galleon for the date and time of the next meeting, and the rest changed accordingly." She paused. "I think it made Harry quite uncomfortable, but it wasn't as if we could announce it over breakfast."
"Clever girl," he murmured. "And I understand you sent the woman into the Forbidden Forest at a time when the centaurs were feeling… less than friendly toward wizards."
She chuckled at the memory. "Desperate times."
Lucius released his death grip on his forearm to reach up and squeeze her shoulder. She was so surprised by his gesture that she did not shift under his painfully tight grasp. "That was when I began to pay more attention to you. You were a bright girl, but I suspect you did not fully comprehend the amount of support she had garnered. To this day, I imagine you do not know all you were up against when you took up arms against Umbridge." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I wonder if you also know how close you came to killing her."
As the subject became uncomfortable, she glanced away and grimaced. Her shoulder was beginning to ache under his fingers. "No, I don't know, but it was necessary." She bit her lip. "You're hurting me."
Immediately, he let go her shoulder and dropped his hand. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he jolted as if stung by a vicious wasp. His eyes widened until they looked ready to burst and then rolled up in his head. His fingers buried themselves in the sheets and clenched so hard she heard the knuckles crack.
"Oh God," she whispered. "Oh no… Mr. Malfoy?" He didn't respond. "Lucius? Are you… can you hear me?"
He did not appear to hear her or be aware of anything except whatever was hurting him. It must be a spell, vengeance from Voldemort for what he saw as Lucius's betrayal. The man began convulsing, and when Hermione reached out, his skin burned under her fingers. She yelped and, without quite knowing why, began to cry. She felt so useless, sitting here while Voldemort was somehow torturing him.
He had said there was no remedy to stop the pain, but surely a damp cloth would serve at the very least to cool his fevered flesh. Hermione jumped out of the bed and ran to the nearest loo, where she ran cool water over a cloth. Cloth in hand, she returned to find that the tremors had worsened. Feeling a bit awkward in her new nightgown, she clambered atop him, thighs straddling his waist, and leaned all her weight on to her hands, splayed out on his chest. He fought her for a bit but soon quieted under her hands.
When she felt assured that he would not start flailing again, she picked up the cloth from its now damp spot on the bed and began pressing it to his flushed countenance. His eyes fluttered open. "Say something," he croaked. "Anything."
"I don't know, I… I can't think of…" Her heart was pounding until the noise of it filled her ears, and her brain refused to function. All she could do was babble. "Before all this happened, your mark and everything, I was thinking about… why you've been acting different lately. I wondered, did I do something? Am I that repulsive? But no, why should it have something to do with me? I refuse to blame myself for your inconsistencies," she finished heatedly. Her anger seemed to have cleared her mind nicely. "Well?"
His breath was coming in shallow gasps, but he managed nevertheless to answer her. "Good. Do not blame yourself, Hermione. It's… I can't do this to you. I can't drag you into something, not now. I can't, for your sake and for my own. Perhaps… perhaps if we had known each other at another time, under other circumstances…"
Either Voldemort's spell was lessening its hold on Lucius, or their conversation really was working to distract him from the pain. As he continued to speak, his breath calmed, and he started to sound a bit more like himself. "I have too much respect for you to involve you in something… something with no future. You must see that."
Another jolt of something hit, and his words trailed off. Hermione was shocked to see shining trails of moisture run from the corners of his eyes. The sight made her cry harder, hurt by what she could see of his pain and hurt by his words. They sounded so… final, like he had come to this decision without even asking her input.
"I do not see that," she said, but he did not appear to react to her words. "Lucius?"
Her fear grew to agonising heights before he was able to speak again. "It's too much. Merlin help me, Hermione, I cannot endure any more of this. I must answer him, but if I do that, I will break my Vow."
And if he broke the Vow, he would die. And there was nothing Hermione could think of to prevent it, no way to alleviate his suffering.
Nothing, except…
She took a deep breath and moved her hands from her chest to stroke his face, which ordinarily looked so young in the dim moonlight but was now contorted with lines bespeaking the torture he was undergoing. His cheeks were hot and still slightly wet from her ministrations. The cloth she laid a little ways away, so it was still within her reach.
"You can endure it," she whispered and then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He did not respond right away, but when she shifted to kiss the sensitive spot just under his ear, he moaned softly.
"Hermione…" he began, but she covered his mouth with hers before he could say anything more. This time he did not resist but kissed her back, harder than he had before. One of his hands entangled itself in her hair while another slid slowly down her body, pausing to caress her curves before stopping at the hem of her nightgown at her upper thigh.
He broke away long to mutter that he did not desire her pity. She replied between kisses that she was doing this partly for him but mostly for herself. She thought his lips curved in a small smile at this before kissing her back with almost bruising force. His body was still tense with the strain of that night, and she felt him pouring all his anger, his pain, his hurt into his kisses.
He turned his head and focused his attention on the soft skin of her throat, licking and sucking so hard that she was sure she would see signs of his passage the next morning. The thought of him marking her was both offensive and erotic, and it felt so damn good. She moaned, and he tugged her nightgown over her head. She shivered as her body came into contact with the night air, but she forgot about the air temperature when he tightened his hold on her and flipped her onto her back.
Now he gazed down at her, expression inscrutable in the shadows. "This is your final chance to stop this," he said hoarsely. "You've succeeded in helping me through that ordeal. You don't have to go through with this."
"If you stop now, I'll show you a bloody ordeal," she replied, and he said no more after that. Her hands found the top of the silky pyjamas he wore and pulled impatiently at them. With his help, they slid off easily, and Hermione sighed happily at the sensation of his bare skin against hers.
He returned to kiss her for a brief moment before lowering his head to her breasts. She ran her hands through his soft hair while he kissed and licked and even lightly bit the sensitive skin there. While one hand kneaded her other breast, the other slipped farther down, following the smooth lines of her waist and hips to the juncture between her legs.
Her breath came shorter and shorter as he rubbed and caressed her. Her hips moved with the rhythm of his touch, hard and fast. He kissed his way back to her mouth, and he murmured inarticulate sounds of desire which became more fervent when she let her hand wander down his sculpted abdomen, farther down to stroke him. She touched him gently, for she had not engaged in anything like this for a long time and was a little unsure of herself. But the noises he made were quite encouraging, and she soon established a rhythm of her own, bringing both of them very near the edge.
He whispered that he wanted to be inside her, and she murmured her assent, and as aroused as she was, she was also a little afraid. He positioned himself between her legs and slowly pushed into her, sighing as he did. She inhaled, partly from the mild ache that came because it had been so long for her, and partly from the pleasurable sensation he was producing. By the time he was fully surrounded by her moist warmth, the ache had disappeared.
They moved together, sometimes at a frenzied pace and sometimes slower in order to catch their breath. At several points she thought he would come to orgasm, but he always slowed just before that moment. They continued to kiss deeply while he thrust and she arched up to meet him, and he continued to caress her all over, so she was overwhelmed by sensation from every inch of her body. Their pace quickened again, and out of his wordless cries, she heard him breathe her name. Her legs tightened around his waist as she urged him deeper.
Then she could not breathe at all, and something burst like a river from a dam inside her. She cried out as he growled low in his throat and bit her shoulder hard. That jolt of pain joined with the wave of pleasure washing over her and added to it. He pulled out of her just before he came, so she felt a damp stickiness spread over her lower abdomen just after her own orgasm.
He lay atop her, breathing hard for a few minutes before he spoke. "I'm sorry, I didn't think it a good idea to…" he trailed off.
"It's okay. I… it's fine. I'm fine." A smile spread across her face. "I'm very fine. In fact…" She stretched a hand out to find the abandoned cloth she had used to cool his face and found it buried under a pillow. She wiped the wetness from her abdomen and thighs before handing it to him.
"Thank you." He leaned on one elbow and patted himself dry. "For everything." When he was finished, he lay beside her own his back. As he had done for the past several nights now, he set a pillow over his shoulder and held out his arm. She snuggled into the pillow and into his embrace, now sleepy.
She wanted to fret about the consequences of what they had just done and what he had thought and felt, but her brain refused to worry just yet. Her legs twined with his, and when she laid a hand on his chest, he closed his own loosely atop it. He kissed her hair, as usual, but this time when she looked up, he gave her a lingering kiss on the lips.
When she fell asleep a few minutes later, she was smiling softly.
