Lucius obsesses with Hermione's hair. I got carried away here a bit. Really! Hermione's Hair
Most of the comparisons are taken from Baudelaire's poem, "La chevelure". This chapter is extremely obsession filled.
I finally start to explain some aspects of Lucius's sexuality! Hooray! I think I'm going to loose quite some readers with the explanations as time goes by. My point of view about pureblood education is radically different from many others.
And in case you wonder… yes, I am a feminist. And proud to say I've been brought up by one as well.
Lalal-la-LAALALALA! New chapter! New joy! New reviewers! Someone gots 77 reviews and it's ME ME ME ME ME!
Nymphe: Yes- the word I needed then was masochistic but I couldn't remember it so I put sadistic instead. I'm lazy. Just so you know.
Stargazer starluver: Update time. You think my plot is good? Wait until the twist comes!
Hotskittles: New Chapter and no fish. I have brought back mosquitoes though. You want one? You can have a whole swarm of them. We fished for three days just to catch one little fishie! ONE! We kept it as our pet before we set it free.
Ami Mizuno1: Too good to loose? Here's a new chapter I hope you'll find interesting.
CareBareErin: Yeeesh, you're right: it's 'life' and not 'live'. Stupid mistakes. Thank you extremely much for your constructive review. I was pretty proud of the dialogues and I'm very glad you appreciated them too.
But I have to contradict you in a point: I think Hermione is very clean. She brushes her teeth every night and morning (the contrary would surprise me) and she seems to be ery careful with her books. She seems to be a bit obsessed with rules and norms; I think she keeps herself very, very clean, so such things as body odour of bad breath might be embarrassing for her. These things aren't the same thing as make-up at all! Or with hair for that matter; it's question of hygiene.
Mercury Gray: Thank you thank, ooooh thank you so much! This chapter is dedicated to you!
Who Girl: Whoops… I don't think the person who gave you the present ment to say you stink. (Be sure to check your personal hygiene though.)
Bitterspice: Welcome on to my story. You cannot imagine how happy it makes me that some people like my stories.
JerseySaint19: Hooray! Another Lucius/Hermione fan! There should be definitely more of their stories I think. Definitely
Enchantedlight: My faithful super fan! Story updated for your joy. .
It's sad that Moi, the obvious total retard isn't reading this anymore. But have you perceived his reviews? Such teen anger! Such wrath! The reviews almost made me cry (of laughter that's it).
My Dirty Little Secret
Back in her room, Lucius put down Hermione on a small vanity chair. It was a golden little thing with a black soft pillow on it. Even Hermione herself had to admit she looked pretty with her dark wet hair and the white dripping nightgown. She looked like an illustration of some heroine from some dramatic love story found in some Victorian novel. Her face laughed for a second on the thought: it was absolutely true! She was what she looked like.
Lucius put a little golden hairbrush into her hand; he took her hand in his and brushed it with her. Hermione kept on doing the mechanical movement alone, brushing her thick hair thoroughly, and wincing as she felt knots. Although her hair was bushy when dry, right now it was only slightly curly, and very long. Her hair came almost to her shouderblades when dry, growing up in each and every direction it wanted. But wet, it showed how incredibly long it was when straight; it brushed her just below her breasts, perfect and dark.
Lucius took out a little bottle of balsam oil from the vanity table and put tiny dollops of the pink, foamy, product in her hair, massaging her scalp. It felt very nice, and even if she had serious and angry eyes and her mouth was a sad line, her face seemed to lighten up somehow. She saw this herself, and tried to stop it, but couldn't. Lucius felt giddy.
Her hair was so wonderful. He could finally immerse in it, manipulate it freely, touch it, smell it, even bite into it. He got very excited about her hair, aroused, even, passing his hands all over it, messing it up. He brought up a lock to his nose and knew he needed more; he wanted to sink into her hair.
Lucius's grandmother had once said to him "Hair is the crown of each woman." Hermione didn't have a crown, she had a forest of miracles; she had the feeling of the night sky in it. It had already so many memories woven into it; he wanted to wave her hair like a flag in the sky; there was a lost world somewhere inside those strands. Some people say their souls could swim in music; Lucius's soul was sinking in her hair; his soul was drinking in her mane. Her hair was a sky shivering with warmth, a dream.
He plunged into it, forever wanting to keep his hands in it, in her heavy hair, where he wanted to plant gems in it, he wanted it to become an oasis, a bottle where he could drink avidly remembrance water. Lucius stuffed some of her hair in his mouth and sucked, keenly flavouring the taste of it. How he loved it! He loved it even more since she didn't give in, letting him search for her all by himself.
Hermione was one of those persons who could make a revolution, bring out people in the streets; yet they would not riot, but dance instead. She could use her beauty unconditionally, without ever knowing the law of her beauty. She was a bit like a blind and powerful machine, mining people with her looks, not feeling ashamed as people blushed and mirrors tarnished due to her beauty. Her worst default was to be smart; people listened to her too much instead looking at her.
All those people didn't know that what they say about life can be said about beauty as well: Beauty brings everything, but reveals us nothing.
Meanwhile, Hermione had stopped brushing her hair. She had stopped moving and breathing as well. Lucius was pulling her hair, twisting painfully, bringing it to his face whilst groaning like a man in ecstasy. He had moved closer to her, forcing her to take support on the vanity table while Lucius breathed in her hair.
Hermione blushed and felt extremely embarrassed and mortified as she felt his pelvis against her back, rubbing and pouncing against her in a slow, brusque motion, making her heart sick.
It made to her clear what he could do to her; Hermione just didn't want to think about it. Her entire body went stiff, trying to repel his touch.
But now she knew that if he wanted to rape her, she just would have to comply. The only thing she could was to hope. Or better, find something she could use as a weapon; something to control him.
As he continued to pounce, Hermione's mind was running over the room, trying to find anything that could of use to her protection. There were some interesting artifacts like the poker, books, even swords were hanging on the walls. But all of them were out of her reach. Her immediate weapons were the creams and vials on the vanity table. She could eventually repel him for some time, yet she couldn't do anything afterwards.
For the first time, Hermione noticed how beautiful the room she was in was. It was quite big, with windows set very highly up, almost touching the ceiling. There was a princess bed made out of dark wood and surrounded by pink curtains and golden cords, a golden vanity table and shelves filled with the most diverse things you could imagine. It was as if everything was just thrown there with no special purpose other than be pretty and shiny.
The parquet was waxed, and Hermione was very surprised to see a walrus skin on the floor. The Walrus's skin was dark brown and wrinkled with little stiff hairs sticking out. She had once been in a sea museum as a child and seen that strange, rubber like skin that was oddly slippery. She recalled reading that walrus's skin is very tough and thick and polar bears must work very hard to chew through the skin of a dead walrus for food.
As she thought about walruses, she thought about otters as well; otters used to be her favourite animals when a child. Hermione loved to think of her childhood because it was truly an idyllic period of her life. It was carefree and light. Hogwarts had been the ending of it; which was good in a way. Good things had to come to end in the most beautiful moments.
Hogwarts had been new and real, although she learned magic there, a thing belonging to common standards of her muggle peers as fiction. Magic usually belonged to people in childhood. Hermione saw Hogwarts with a wise childlike philosophy; since her childhood's magic was over, she better pick up the grown-ups'.
Hogwarts and otters made her think of Harry. Poor Harry; she hoped he wasn't too devastated about all this. She knew how important she was to him, she and Ron. But he had Ron who would cheer him up. Hermione was happy she had talked with Ron many times during the summer, making him more open to psychology.
Thinking of her otter Patronus made her smile. But suddenly, the man behind her bucked backwards, holding her hair tight in his fists, breathless and almost hysteric. This was a nasty tug back to reality and Hermione saw her face in the mirror placed on the vanity. Her eyes were wide and scared, like those of an otter baby being ready to get killed.
She needed a weapon. He tugged at her hair again, this time muttering her name again and again, as if was a mantra and he was in pain. Or worse- as if he were a lover, in the throes of passion. His face was contorted in pure bliss and she felt how his hands trembled.
She watched the mirror again; she saw her face, her perfectly formed face and her dark eyes and hair and she smiled. She had her weapon; she would use it and make sure Lucius, yes, LUCIUS will die of it.
He finally let go of her hair. Hermione resumed brushing it and Lucius (her eyes blinked in disgust) approached his hand again, looking like a small ashamed boy. Hermione presumed he wanted to caress it, put it back to place; he was surely ashamed of having his emotions control him.
Yet was he ashamed? He smiled very happily, reaching out to touch it again. "Your hair is very beautiful. It has a life of its own; you can sense it by its scent."
Hermione briskly turned her head, sending her wet hair on her left shoulder, and planted her eyes in Lucius's.
" I am hungry." She said decisively, wanting to put the last minute and a half behind her.
He nodded and quickly went away from the room, often turning his head to have a glimpse of her. She was truly lovely.
Hermione sat, glad over her first tiny victory; she had some control over him. She started seeing some elements that might be useable. Suddenly, Hermione felt very alone, and shivered underneath her wet gown. She wondered is there wasn't any other cloths somewhere around.
She still felt the warmth of Lucius against her back, burning and massaging her body. Her whole body shuddered very hard. She shook her head and tried to think of something else. One of the three doors was just next to the vanity table; Hermione could open it without a problem.
The door knob was very pretty; it was in a shape of a wing. She passed her hand on the details of it, liking the bronze-like material it was made of. She slowly twisted it, and saw what was behind the door. It was a cupboard big enough to be her room's size at her parents place!
The room was filled with clothes, mainly dresses (wedding dresses), in different shades and forms. There was mostly white, a colour Hermione didn't really like because of its vulnerability: white was always dirtied by other colours. It also stood for innocence and weakness. Hermione hated to be thought of as weak. A detail struck Hermione: there was no trousers in the room. Only dresses and skirts and blouses.
These dresses suddenly brought to Hermione's mind a sentence from George Orwell's book 1984. The heroine Julia says following sentence: "Yes, dear, scent too! You know what I'm going to do next? I'm going to get hold of a real woman's frock somewhere and wear it instead of these bloody trousers. I'll wear silk stockings and high-heeled shoes! In this room I'm going to be a woman, not a party comrade."
This sentence came for three reasons in her mind: firstly because of its clear connection between the female gender and a dress as a piece of clothing. The dress made the gender; not the sex itself. Secondly, because her life was being controlled by one man easily comparable to Big Brother. He always kept on eye on her and forced her without using violence to do what he wanted. Thirdly, finally, because her life at this point was like those in that book: someone tried to force a peaceful, non-complicated life upon her.
As her parents had read to her that book the first time, Hermione couldn't understand the hero's yearning for something else. Hermione was still a tiny little girl back then and was always watched over, no matter where she was: her parents brought her to the bathroom, bathed her, walked with her and when she wasn't watched by her parents, her grandparents took care of her. Surveillance a part of her life and Hermione was glad about it.
Years later, she understood the feeling of wanting away, but the idea of surveillance wasn't negative in her mind. It had never been; that's why she stuck to the rules, only bending them when more important rules were applied.
Only now Hermione understood how horrible it was to be watched over. It was irritating and frustrating, yet she couldn't do anything against it. Hermione was thinking of all this, but as she felt herself shake because of the wetness of her gown, she turned away from her thoughts and reached out for dry clothes.
There was a purple dress hanging just next to door, a complicated patterned thing. It looked like one of those Asian dresses, with the madarin collar and the funny knobbly buttons, only it had half long sleeves instead of none. Hermione thought it was very pretty and grabbed it, pulling at it gently so it will fall off the rack it was on. It fell gracefully, and she pulled it towards her.
Hermione quickly pulled at the nightgown she had on, shivering now. When it was finally off, she threw it with a wet plop behind her and grabbed one of the towels Lucius had deposited on the vanity table. She wrapped her hair in it whilst drying her skin fiercely. She wanted it to be perfectly clean and dry, but her frantic rubbing made her skin red and raw.
She sighed irritably and quickly poured some lotion in her hand (she noted quickly its sweet vanilla scent) and spread it evenly on her skin. As she judged her skin was moist enough, she opened the dress's buttons and let out an exasperated growl. Lucius might come in any moment and she was naked.
Hermione forced herself to calm down as she dropped the dress on the floor and passed it on starting with her legs. She had barely time to pass her arms in the sleeves as Lucius walked in. She hastily buttoned the buttons, and pulled off the towel around her head with an aggressive hand.
Only then, she turned around to face Lucius. He held a large tray in his hands, balancing it carefully. There was fruits and white bread on it; nothing greasy and no cereals. Hermione shrugged, she loved the traditional English breakfast with kippers, eggs, bacon, sausages, tomatoes and mushrooms. But she forgot this quickly as she saw the newspapers.
There wasn't only the classical crap paper ''The Daily Prophet'', but the" Quibbler", " Witch Weekly", "Teen Witch Weekly" (Hermione raised an eyebrow at this), "The Gryffindor Gazette", "Potions for Professionals" and "Playwizard" as well. Why Lucius would give her a men's magazine wasn't understandable, unless off course it was for his personal use. Which made Hermione shudder. Disgusting man.
Hermione received a pleasant surprise as she saw a stack of Muggle newspapers along the wizarding ones. There was the Times Magazine, the Guardian, the Express, the Independent, the Daily Mirror and The Morning Star; there was even the Scottish version of Sunday Times!
Lucius deposited the tray on her bed and came to Hermione. She looked different. It was odd to see her like this. When Lucius had left, he had a dark haired Victorian heroine in front of him, but when he returned, his sight was greeted by a young woman in an evening dress, posing like a diva.
He turned back to get Hermione. Her dress made it impossible for him to take grip on her as he had before. So he passed his arms under her knees and arms, gently lifting her to the bed. He placed her on her belly, puffing pillows he stuck under her breasts. He sat down on the bed, next to her legs. Time to nurse Hermione.
Whilst Lucius was occupied in cutting bandages in gauze fabric, Hermione started to ruffle through the newspapers and magazines. She put them in the order in which she wanted to read the news. She first set out the magical news and then the muggle ones. But one magazine didn't join the pile of readable items: Playwizard.
Hermione held the magazine in her hand and wondered what to do with it. She assumed of course that it was a man's magazine. There was a picture of a stylish stool on the cover of it and many articles with titles that seemed interesting enough. She finally opened the magazine and quickly browsed through it.
She was so surprised by contents she let out a cry of surprise,which made Lucius look up. The magazine wasn't a 'men's' magazine with naked pin-ups; it was a semi-political, semi-sport centred magazine with fashion advice! It was a…a….a woman's magazine for men!
"What is it, Hermione?"
"This is… a woman's magazine for men!"
"What? What do you mean by that, Hermione?"
"It contains fashion advice and… and…. Actual articles! About things like sexual problems and different personality disorders! They don't have pictures of cars-ah, broomsticks or naked women!"
"Naked women? In a magazine? In a magazine you can find in a regular bookshop! Ridiculous!"
Now Hermione was very interested in what Lucius had just said. Naked women in a magazine which could be found everywhere was ridiculous for him! This tiny piece of information was quite interesting and showed off a lot more of Lucius than you could imagine. The idea of naked publicity was inconvincible for him. Strange to think; Hermione didn't react to naked bodies very much anymore, they were omnipresent in the muggle world.
This showed how Lucius' views of things was restricted. Keeping this in her mind, Hermione put the magazine aside and took the Daily Prophet in her hands and opened it. Another surprise was in store for her; on the top cover was….
"There's a picture of me!" she said, half surprised, half disgusted.
"I know; rather flattering picture; the article isn't bad either. But I preferred the article written by The Quibbler some months ago."
"You read The Quibbler?"
"I read everything involving you."
"But you don't know me; not really."
"To know someone…. Is already to love a bit."
Hermione tensed and didn't say anything as Lucius cleaned her and bandaged her legs. The girl closed her eyes and pretended that it was Madame Pomfrey who took care of her legs. She managed to convince herself so well she could smell the faint odour of lavender and felt the cotton sheets on her body. Yes, she was back at Hogwarts, that's where she was. This was all some sort of bad dream.