UPDATE! Amazing, amazing, I know.
Prin69: Oh yes, my " Why Not". Very proud of that one.
Of Crows and Horses: I liked your review even MORE!
Gingitsune Wings: Start stocking up your compassion for Lucius. He will need it.
HermioneGranger91: Haha, you wait and see. There's always a way out. Remember, remember they both are murderers.
AkGirl: I didn't update fast, but I least I update! I'll bring out the next chapter on Wednesday, promise.
Alandrea-the-magical-kitty: Awww, sorry for the bad updating. But the rest is written, so it'll come, it will, no worries about that.
Sarmoti: update… Sorry for the delay.
Hotskittles: I agree.
CareBearErin: here we go new chapter and
new odd things to come. Twists and turna and odd groups and
Hermione-cults ahead (yo-ho and a bottle of rhum!).
Mrs. Skywalker : Thank you. It is very different and all critic isn't nice, but I manage just well. Keep on reading.
. Perv!
ArcticAngelzTx: OOOOh! Excellent! You noticed! Very, very good! I'm proud to have such a smart reader!
My Dirty Little Secret.
Beauty is truth, truth beauty - that is all, Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. Lucius wanted to know more of his beautiful Hermione than he ever wanted. He could just blame himself for that.
No. He couldn't blame himself. He should have praised himself instead. He touched her in places no one ever touched Hermione before. This use of words had a double edge of course; as repulsed Lucius was by sex, as intrigued he was about Hermione's mind. It was her gender up there, not her brain.
Women, girls in disguise, often said that men thought with their penises. Lucius could retort now that they had pleasure with their brains. You just to touch a man to get him aroused; women had to be touched and talked to.
After their confrontation, Lucius slept that night in the same bed as Hermione, in fear that if he didn't do it, she might seize the opportunity to kill him. It never occurred to him that she didn't know she he slept and that she couldn't move.
Well, he knew it, but Hermione seemed so tired of not being able to spend her energy that it started to leak. Her mind wasn't used to be doing just one thing. Hermione was a girl of action; she needed books, sights, perfumes, everything she could find to satisfy her. Not just sit in a bed and read news.
But it was impossible for him to sleep. Her hair always smelled of magnolias.
A magnolia is a flower that symbolises Perseverance. The symbolism came surely because of its strong scent; the flower flowers in bushes. The flowers are usually white, but can be slightly pinkish too. The aristocrats often showered themselves in magnolia perfume because of its smell; magnolia perfume is easy to make, but often smells sour and slightly rotten if badly made. During middle-age, the magnolia was a sign of wealth because only rich people could afford them. Even in our days, magnolias are expensive.
Magnolias were the scent of feminine beauty. Stubborn and silent, the scent creeps in and even if you would live somewhere where magnolias grew, you still couldn't get used to their smell. If you slept in a room where fresh cut magnolias are, you can't sleep well and your head felt heavy and often you wondered if you hadn't drunk too much or smoked something strange. They were like narcissuses; that flower drove you crazy.
Hermione rubbed herself into magnolia for one reason: she was dead. There was this similarity between flowers and cadavers: they stank. Flowers and corpses reek. A flower is a cadaver; it will die no matter what you do. It'll slowly wither, then crackle up, before drying away.
The scent of magnolias dubbed with Hermione's presence and her heavy secret made it impossible for Lucius to sleep. He could just lie next to her on the bed that forced them to be very close to each other. Hermione was sleeping on her side, a hand underneath her left breast and head resting on her other arm. Her legs were crossed and Lucius's only distraction was to count the beauty spots that were strew over her body.
He noticed how she had different star configurations all over her body and wanted to touch them. Stars had never made Lucius feel alone and lost like it so often did on other people. Surely stars glinting in the skies were striking, but they never had a huge impact on Lucius. His mother had explained to him once how lost and small and insignificant she felt as she saw them. She tried to describe him how she sometimes felt scared that if she watched the stars too long, they would drag her to space and she would drown under their lights. She always felt so sad because she couldn't approach them.
It was very odd how Lucius felt when he touched her back, tracing the Phoenix constellation. He felt like his mother had described, even more lost maybe and sadder because he could touch the stars but not reach up to them.
Now when they were so close, Lucius felt the odd urge of touching her intimately. It was the first time he used this word with a connexion to sex. The fact that Hermione (she wasn't really a girl anymore) would feel sexual pleasure still amazed him. That realization had shocked him even more than her menstruation and showed him how little he knew about women. They had been either wives, cold statues, or mothers, cold things, or just beautiful and distant. Never could he imagine they lived like him.
Therefore, Lucius hand slowly, very slowly crept down her body. He felt this time the soft hair that covered her body and the very light bumps of the moles on her body. There was a scar where her appendix had been operated away. There was something very sensual about her breath, about the way her stomach moved under his hand. It reminded Lucius that Hermione was alive. It was as if her body was made for love.
Hermione's eyes moved under her eyelids and she smiled, purred even a bit before wriggling closer a bit. Lucius was so surprised and shocked that he withdrew his hand from her. Her skin was so warm Lucius wondered if Hermione wasn't a warm element (a warm element was something akin a wizarding radiator; a box where hot, red coal was kept and put in rooms so it would chase away moisture and cold).
Maybe Hermione wasn't human… well, she wasn't humane. She had murdered at age nine. She had been right about the fact of murdering: you loose your title of being humane when you that. But the odd thing about Hermione, was that she wasn't humane; she was human. She had done what she thought was for the best.
Lucius felt odd; he needed to control Hermione, yet he had no idea how.
The solution was so simple it took him a week to come up with it.
Hermione was always on the edge, always alert; therefore, her beauty couldn't be dulled. She knew its affect and kept it up so that Lucius could enjoy it. It was clear though that if Lucius and Hermione would live together a 'normal' way, Hermione would become very soon dull. Lucius kept Hermione on hot coals and therefore she was more aware of things as her beauty. If this would be her everyday life, she wouldn't react the same way. No; no that was not what Lucius meant. Hermione was such a novelty; everything she did was passionate and personal. If she had lived with him her whole life, she'd be still beautiful, yet predictable. She'd be plain and boring in that way.
Now, knowing how alert Hermione called up Lucius's Slytheriness. The simplest way of calming Hermione down? Magic and potions of course! It was so simple it had taken him ages to figure it out.
Magic was never, ever used in the dungeon where Lucius stocked his treasures. The rooms were made by magic; a simple Finite Incarnate' could make the inner tower disappear with all its contains. Therefore, magic was never brought into the tower. Potions were accepted, but Lucius didn't take risks. He charmed his paintings outside the Tower before bringing them in.
Lucius injected a Passive Potion with a syringe in an apple. He cut the apple in pieces, leaving its red skin on and put the apple slices on a plate. He brought the apple slices to Hermione just after breakfast.
Hermione was reading her newspapers and was surprised as she saw the plate next to her. Lucius had placed it next to her, very timidly, watching hard the fruit. He had set it close to her and quickly taken off his hand and walked back three steps and sat down on the floor.
Hermione felt Lucius's eyes and suddenly felt intimated. Hermione and Lucius had gone through a whole myriad of emotions together, but neither of them had felt this intimidated. It was the intimation there was between two random people who knew each others names and had to talk, yet had nothing to say.
Hermione watched the apple slices on the plate. They looked plain, just the same as any other fruit cut up in pieces. She suddenly felt very touched by this gesture. It was personal. He had given her food so she could survive, but now he actually gave her a little present.
She didn't want to eat up the fruit. She wanted to frame it in and keep it under her pillow. It was strange how attached she could become to something so quickly. Suddenly she understood why. It wasn't the gesture or the fruit, no, it was the way how Lucius had given this to her that touched her so deeply. It was a childish gesture, a gesture a friend would do.
So albeit she felt touched, Hermione brought a piece of fruit near her mouth and bite into it. The apple didn't taste especially good; it was a bit watery and the taste of it was sour and bitter. But she ate up the thin slices anyways.
Suddenly, very slowly, she felt how Lucius stared at her. He watched her hungrily. No. He watched her the way Doctor Mengele surely watched his 'patients': in a childish glee knowing something bad was about to happen. Hermione tried to check out if her body was starting some odd chemical reaction.
But no, everything was alright. Her body was the same, no effects could be said to have happened. She didn't feel any pain, or hear anything and apart the fact that her eyes were a bit tired, everything was juuuuuust fine.
Juuuuuuuuuust fine. That was it. Hermione felt suddenly disgusted by the apple; it didn't taste good. In fact, it tasted like nothing. And the bed sheets were too thick. And the newspapers weren't interesting. No. Nothing was interesting now.
Hermione understood now why Lucius had given her an apple: it was the fruit of condemnation according to the genesis. Lucius, good Slytherin snake that he was just had to give her an apple.
Now Hermione definitely noticed that she had been drugged and was angry, yet couldn't be bothered to start up a storm. Suddenly an arrow of energy stormed through her and before her brain could figure out was going on, her mouth sprouted out her anger.
"- What are you doing? What gives you the right?"
That was a rhetorical question of course. Lucius did what he wanted. If he wanted to please her, that was his choice. Lucius was shocked and scared because he had seen how soft and lifeless Hermione had been becoming. This sudden burst of energy scared Lucius beyond answering.
He saw the struggle on the girl's face. Her eyes sifted from mud brown to golden and passing by silver; her mouth was open, slightly pointing out her tongue and she was looking apathic to say the least.
As her face definitely turned dull and angry, Lucius allowed himself to stand up and sit down next to her on her bed.
The girl's displeased eyes met his and she talked to him with a stricken, angry voice that lisped and bawled on the consonants. Lucius felt proud of his plan, yet cursed it. Stupid side effects of that potion!
"-My life isn't supposed to be like this!"
"- Please, Hermione, don't tell me you believe in destiny."
"- I want to do what I want! I want to read what I want! I want to live the life that I want! I want to go to school, graduate, have a work!"
"- Don't lie to me, Hermione. Is a scheduled life what you want? You have it! Your days are perfectly planned!"
"- But I didn't plan this! This goes against my ideas of a life!"
"- Are you a slave for working trends, Hermione?"
"- I want to be surrounded by people who understand me as an equal! Not as some kind of… of… inferior goddess!"
"- Hermione, you will never be treated the same way as others: your origin will always stop some people. You will live with their racist laws."
"- Not every pureblood is bad! Not everyone is! Not everyone is a murderer!"
"- But, YOU are! You are a murderer!"
"- At least, I did for love!"
"- Oh, yes, isn't love just incredible? The saddest part I think is that you are surely right; if I would deliver you to the authorities, your crimes would be milder punished because you did it for love! Your crime would be acceptable, although they are unpardonable."
"- You're acting as if you didn't kill anyone! Your crimes are worse! You killed for killing sake! You just pointed a stupid stick and muttered a spell and they died! You are a coward, I killed the one I loved the most on the world! I killed him myself, with my own hands!"
They were face to face now, breaths caressing each others faces.
Lucius saw the struggle on her face before her muscles relax and she buckled rather ugly backwards and let her body sunk on herself. He heard how the plate fell on the floor and the sudden, rather ungirlish snore.
Lucius relaxed and left himself slumber as he watched how Hermione slept, not moving once, breathing in deeply, making an hissing noise. There was something very alluring with the contrast of her almost fragile, glass like figure and the noises she made.
He sat down on her bed, taking her roughly under her arms and throwing her to the end of her bed and installed himself on her pillows. She was just there, not moving, snoring. He took her hand and shook it violently. Hermione didn't even move.
Lucius took his hand and pressed it against Hermione's eyes. The girl's hand was still moist and warm, like a mollusc, but she tried to grad his face lazily, just as if tried to chase away a fly.
Lucius watched her a last time before closing the curtains of her bed. They fell gently down, shielding Hermione from the world, leaving a silhouette to be seen through a thin layer of gold.
Post Author's Note: Hey, this could actually end here!