I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank Glorioux, Lima Bean and Valady – my brilliant betas. A special thanks goes also to my consultant Ignaty. Please be aware of a non-canon use of canon devices.

To Be a Woman

Chapter Seventeen

Be Afraid of the Elf on the Warpath

Casimir was not happy. He was not happy at all. The little creature was sick with worry for his master. While Severus had been barricaded in his laboratory, his poor house-elf had gone to his wit's end and back. He knew that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong with Missy Hermione and now his beloved master was not well. He even had checked Hermione's flat, trying to understand what exactly had gone wrong. He had found the flat empty of course.

"Silly, silly Master," muttered the heartsick house-elf, while he was covering Severus' sleeping form with a thick, woollen blanket. "Me tells Master Mister Lucius is bad. Me tells Master not to listen to Mister Lucius. No, Master not listens to Casimir. Master always knows better than Casimir." The discontented elf continued to grumble, gently tucking the blanket and fixing the pillow under Severus' head. When everything was up to the elf's standards, he drew a heavy sigh and gazed at his master with a sorrowful expression.

"Me not understands why Master not believes Casimir? Why not listens? Where is Missy Hermione now?" The elf shook his head sadly.

For a long while, Casimir simply stood there, in his master's bedroom, watching the sleeping wizard with his teary yellow eyes. The creature was twisting one of his long, hairy ears thoughtfully, and the only sounds in the room were his sniffles and Severus' rhythmic breathing. Awkwardly shifting his big, flat, bare feet and still mumbling something about Missy and Master, Casimir was caught in his own deep musings. Suddenly, the little creature uttered an exaggerated huff, and squeaked, "No new Missy for Wrinkly," and darted out of his master's chamber. Obviously, our loyal house-elf had finally put all the facts together.

When he appeared a heartbeat later in front of the fireplace in Severus' living room, he was wearing a clean, blue apron and a green trilby hat, which was seated rather tightly between his ears. Casimir's eyes were ablaze with such a high degree of a fiery determination that even our Gryffindor lioness might have got jealous. The creature grabbed a handful of Floo powder, stepped into the fireplace, and with a scratchy shout, "Malfoy Manor!" he vanished into the green flames.

On the other side of the Floo, in the kitchen of Malfoy Manor to be precise, the old elf Wrinkly was going to have tea. With master Lucius in Italy, the Manor was quiet these days, and thus, Wrinkly was truly enjoying himself. With a fine cup of hot tea in one hand and a biscuit in another, Lord Malfoy's elf was an epitome of relaxation.

And that was how our little, hairy, yellow eyed knight found him. Casimir stumbled out of the kitchen's fireplace, simultaneously producing a large cloud of soot, right when Wrinkly was about to take a bite of his perfectly crumbly biscuit. The old elf paused for a moment, took in Casimir's dishevelled visage and, without so much as a nod, bit his biscuit and began to chew. Severus' devoted servant in one prideful movement fixed his slightly askew hat and locked his angry eyes on Wrinkly.

"Where is Missy Hermione? Wrinkly tells me now, or else!" Casimir pressed his lips into a hard, thin line, mimicking with deft precision his master's most beloved facial expression, and waited for an answer.

Wrinkly arched one greyish, bushy eyebrow, slowly put the cup on the saucer, and drawled in a squeaky voice, "Me tells you nothing, boy. Wrinkly answers only to Master Lucius." And with that, the old elf returned to his tea, looking positively unperturbed by Casimir's presence.

For a few moments, Casimir watched the older elf silently, a high level of indignation evident in his yellow gaze. Then he walked closer to him, tilted his massive head toward Wrinkly's ear and uttered in a dangerous whisper, "Casimir is not a boy. Casimir knows what is best for his Master. Wrinkly not wants me as an enemy. Wrinkly better thinks fast, before it is too late. Me knows all Wrinkly's little secrets. Me tells everything to Wrinkly's Master – how Wrinkly drinks his Master's Firewhisky. How Wrinkly comes to the market late. Me knows how Wrinkly kisses and touches Mister Nott's little elf Nattie."

With joy, Casimir noticed that the older elf frowned after these words. Encouraged, he decided to pressure him further. "Where is Missy Hermione?" he asked, his squeaky voice climbing higher.

Wrinkly glared at him, shook his head, sighed and whispered in a hard tone, "Me tells you boy, me bows only to Master Lucius. Me tells you nothing. Casimir goes home now and Wrinkly drinks his tea in peace. Me is not scared of a little dimwit in a hat. Casimir takes his hat now and goes home quietly. Understands?" The old elf gave Casimir a stern stare and lifted his hand in warning. "Me counts to three, and you must be gone. One–"

With chagrin, Casimir recognised that this round was a fiasco. He huffed, turned, and walked to the fireplace. There he paused for a moment and facing the old elf once more, said, "This is not the end. Me finds the way; me is no dimwit. Missy Hermione loves my Master, not yours. Me knows." On this high note, Casimir stepped into the fireplace and vanished.

Wrinkly clicked his fingers to warm his cold tea and at last, returned his attention to his biscuit. "Dimwit," murmured the elf with an arrogant confidence between swigs of tea. There was one golden rule that Wrinkly had learned long ago – if you don't want to have troubles, never meddle in your Master's life. Far too many elves had been burned after sticking their noses where they shouldn't.

It's Time

Lucius stood in front of the stained glass door and watched Hermione coming out of the water. She was completely nude, and water happily shimmered and sparkled on her skin in the pinkish hues of sunrise. Oh, how our Lord Malfoy desired to be there with her, to be able to lick the Adriatic salt from her skin, to touch her wet curls, to dip his fingers in her warmth. The wizard let out a shuddered breath and placed his hand on the brass doorknob. After a minute of hesitation, he began slowly turning it. In the next second however, he stopped, reluctantly released the doorknob and brought his tightly clenched fist to his mouth. Growling hoarsely, "No," the wizard closed his teeth over his white, tensed knuckles. "Not yet."

Lucius' intense, silvery gaze was focused on Hermione. He watched intently how she leisurely strolled through the narrow strip of white sand. When she finally picked up her robe, wrapped it around her wet curves, and began her short journey back to the cottage, the wizard turned and hurriedly left the narrow corridor. Playful and unconcerned sunbeams danced on his taut back and in his long, blond locks until he disappeared around the corner.

Malfoy went straight to the shower. Quite understandably, he needed one urgently. The girl was breathtaking, and he felt his resolve and self-control crumbling. He couldn't hold himself aloof for much longer. For the last few days, it had been Lucius' morning ritual to watch her. When, on Saturday morning, the wizard had heard the sound of bare feet stepping lightly over the wooden floor, he had been intrigued. Naturally, he had followed her, and once she had let her robe fall on the sand, Lucius hadn't been able to leave. Today was his fourth sunrise. Now, standing in his shower under merciless, cold streams of water, Lucius knew – the time has come. If he wanted to stay sane, he ought to bring his seduction to fruition tonight.

Sure enough, he had lied when he said to Hermione that he was not in a hurry. The statement had been rather far from reality. Then again, Lucius was never a truthful person. In fact, he was very much in a rush. Our blond wizard only had a bit more than a week to make everything happen. Ten days wasn't very long but it was workable.

He had achieved quite a lot by this point. He had managed to lure his witch to Italy with him. He had given her four days to relax and come about. He hadn't bothered her with his advances. He had allowed the girl to use him for comfort and sweet talk. His Italian elf, Fabio had used all his resources in order to make the witch comfortable. On Saturday morning, Fabio had brought the best silk robes, along with other necessities and luxuries to her. Ahh, the elf knew his job remarkably well. Over the decades, the creature had served several Malfoy men, and let's just say that Hermione wasn't the first witch that had been brought to the cottage without necessities. She was however, the first witch to be brought here by this particular Malfoy.

By the time Lucius stepped out of his shower it was decided – today was the day. Lord Malfoy had a plan, and he would be damned if the witch would not end up in his bed tonight, or if she would go back to England without his ring on her finger. It was time for action, indeed.

Show Me Love*

Hermione lay in the hammock in front of the cottage. With a glass of wine in her hand and a soft breeze caressing her skin, our witch relaxed contentedly in the gloaming. She felt fine these days. Italy was fabulous and she was having her best holidays ever. If only the throbbing inside her silly heart would vanish entirely, she would be perfectly happy. Alas, her heart still hurt, although the ache wasn't as sharp as it had been in the beginning. Yet, it remained, still bothering her, hidden somewhere deep in her soul.

Hermione's chocolate eyes were locked on Lucius, who was dipping his feet in azure water. His light trousers were rolled almost up to his knees, and his white shirt wasn't buttoned at all. Lately, the witch had made a habit of watching him. Here in Italy, Lucius looked entirely different – younger, carefree, and still insanely handsome. He even seemed more open somehow, more sincere, less guarded, unmasked. Lucius' grey eyes were warmer, or was it just the weather and Hermione's burning desire for him? Yes, my dear friends, you heard right – desire.

You see, my darlings, our young lioness needed him. Her broken heart basked in Lucius' confidence, strength, and his comforting presence. He didn't demand anything; he didn't overpower. No, he simply waited, just as he promised. Every morning he met her with a smile and a warm kiss of reassurance. It was only a matter of time before our witch began to wish for more than a friendly caress. She was young and very much alive, for Merlin's sake. Her warm flesh and hot blood insisted on much, much more than that. Plus, let's face it; Lucius Malfoy was one hell of a wizard – devilishly titillating and shamelessly sexy. Hence, now, while Hermione sipped her wine and kept her gaze fixed on the blond wizard, her thoughts travelled far beyond innocence.

When Lucius came near her, she smiled at him. He reciprocated with a dazzling smile and his uncovered chest blinded our girl, as usual. Blushing, Hermione averted her gaze. For a few seconds, the wizard watched her struggles with amusement. Then he took her hand, and lightly tugging the witch along, said, "Come, I have a plan for tonight. It's a surprise and I think you'll like it."

Hermione jumped off the hammock and followed the wizard's lead. Still keeping her hand in his, Lucius brought them to her bedroom. There, Fabio had been waiting for his master. In his hands, the elf held a set of silk robes and a cashmere cloak, both a deep burgundy colour. The set was bewitchingly stunning. However, it wasn't the clothes that forced the witch to catch her breath in awe. It was the mask on her bed – a Venetian mask, to be precise. The quality, the gilt of adornments, the rhinestones, and feathers made Hermione's fingers tremble. Never before had she seen such a thing, so decadent in its sumptuousness.

Gently caressing the elaborate embellishments of the mask's lacquered surface, Hermione turned her face to the wizard and only managed to breathe out, "Lucius."

The wizard greeted her with a smug, crooked smile. "I told you, you would like it. Now get ready, witch. We are going to the Venice carnival and our gondola awaits." He swept out of the room, closely followed by Fabio.

Hermione's eyes slid over the clothes and the mask once again. Hmm, she wondered, focusing her gaze on the cashmere cloak. It was rather warm for cashmere now. She touched the fine fabric and sighed, enjoying the feel of its luxurious softness against her fingertips. When the witch's gaze moved onto the silk robes, she noticed that Fabio had left undergarments for her as well. Black silk stockings and lingerie were carefully folded on the chair, right beside the robes. Hermione felt a blush creep over her cheeks once again. There was something both embarrassing and exciting in being taken care in such a thorough manner.

"All right," murmured the witch to herself. "It's time to get ready. Shower first." She took a calming breath and went to the bathroom.

An hour and a half later when Hermione, fully clothed, glanced into the old, narrow mirror, her breath hitched. She didn't recognise herself. There, in the reflection, she saw a stranger. She couldn't find the serious, straightforward, somewhat insecure, and a hair naive self anymore. A completely opposite person stared at her from the old mirror. The mask was covering half of her face. Feathers and golden ribbons accentuated her curls. The glitter and rhinestones, along with the silk of her robes shimmered softly and enticingly. Magically, she had metamorphosed into a mysterious, sensuous and predatory self-confident creature of the night. Suddenly, Hermione was overcome with an exhilarating sense of freedom. She felt attractive, brave, adventurous, even sinful, and inexplicably, highly aroused. A slightly hysterical giggle left her full lips. The witch gave herself a final glance and, still softly laughing, stepped out of her room.

Once in the corridor, she saw Lucius, who was nervously pacing the breadth of the cottage's living room. At the sound of the door, he immediately stopped and turned to greet her. He was already dressed as well, and for once, his mask was in place quite literally. Looking at him, taking in the image of him, Hermione couldn't hold the feverish, euphoric laughter that bubbled and simmered inside her. The wizard was magnificent. His black robes and cloak were adorned with silver glitter and green stones. The green mask he was wearing covered only half of his face, leaving his succulent lips visible to Hermione's hungry eyes.

After a moment of mutual admiration, Lucius cleared his throat and drawled, his voice still somewhat hoarse, "You look exquisite, darling. No man in his right mind could stay unaffected by such a captivating and shamelessly provocative creature."

"Shamelessly provocative, am I really?" whispered Hermione seductively. There was undoubtedly something magical in the air this evening. The urgent need to taste Lucius' mouth overpowered the witch. She stepped closer to him and pressed her lips to his. He tasted like chocolate and firewhisky. Lucius didn't miss even a millisecond. His arms instantly circled Hermione's waist, pressing her tightly against him, and his tongue delved into her mouth, eliciting an animated moan from her.

A few long moments later, Lucius whispered into her ear, "Time to go, Hermione. Put on your cloak; it is going to be cold." While Hermione was obediently wrapping her burgundy cloak around herself, Lucius took a finely made, antique Time-Turner and began to count quietly. When he was done, he lifted his face to her and asked, "Are you ready to be entertained, my Lady?"

Hermione met his eyes and still feeling a bit dizzy after their kiss, said with laughter, "Yes, my Lord."

"Very well," his mellow baritone vibrated against her ear, and together they stepped into the Floo. Lucius spoke something in Italian, and green flames swallowed them.

When they walked out of the enormous fireplace on the other side, an empty, dimly lit, marbled atrium greeted them with loud chiming. The sound was coming from the old gilt covered clock that hung on the wall above the fireplace. Startled by the eerie echo, Hermione instinctively pressed herself to Lucius. In turn, he drew her closer and, softly chuckling, "not so brave after all," hugged her shoulders.

The clock chimed ten times and Lucius whispered into her hair, "We need to hurry. It will be over soon." And he led her through empty cold halls, stairs, and intricately interwoven corridors. The sounds of their steps and breathing reverberated throughout the palace, filling the silent emptiness with cacophonous clamour. At some point of their journey, she clearly felt that they were breaching the wards, and when she glanced at Lucius quizzically, he simply said, "Muggles repellent charms."

When Hermione could already hear the music, voices, and laughter, they finally reached an enormous door, heavily ornamented by cast iron and stained glass. There, Lucius paused and extracted a silver flask from his chest pocket. The wizard unscrewed the cork and took in a mouthful of the flask's content. Then he thrust it into Hermione's hands. "Drink, it is February out there," he said. "It'll help with the cold and set the right mood." The last part of the sentence he drawled with his customary, challenging smirk. His eyes shined, teasingly, through the mask's openings.

Hermione, still feeling quite bold and adventurous, took a large swig not bothering to ask what exactly was in there. She almost choked when the fine old firewhisky burst into her mouth, burning everything on its way down. Laughing and gasping for air, Hermione was pulled outside by Lucius who had opened the door, not waiting for her imminent scolding. There, the witch at last managed to draw a much-needed cooling breath and totally forgot about the wizard's mischief and her intent to hex him. On the street, The Carnevale di Venezia met them in all its glory. It surrounded them, drowning them in its atmosphere of sheer decadence, forcing Hermione to forget everything.

The street was packed with people, wearing masks and costumes, and our couple fit right in with the crowd. The air was cold, with a light, foggy mist suspended in it. The narrow street, with one side opened to the canal, was festively decorated with lights, garlands, and flowers. Merchants were offering food and drinks on every corner, and music bands were squeezed between them. People around them laughed, sang songs and danced. The motley crowd looked bright, drunk, and utterly uncontrollable. Dark water shimmered dangerously under the lanterns' light. Dainty gondolas gracefully slid back and forth through the canals, bringing more and more people to the streets. Everything around them seemed surreal, dreamlike.

A white vapour, rising from the water, brought an unwelcome recollection of a steaming cauldron into Hermione's mind. Not allowing herself to dwell on it, even for a second, she turned her face to her masked companion and whispered, "Lucius, kiss me, please, kiss me now."

The wizard smiled, his grip on her waist tightened, and he purred, "Of course." For a moment, his lips simply teased the corners of her mouth, as he continued in a deep and dangerously heated growl, "Isn't it a fabulous venue for proper foreplay, Hermione?" Then, he kissed her.

Lucius' lips were insistent and gentle, equally demanding and giving. The kiss was long and decidedly mind blowing. The comment about proper foreplay bounced in Hermione's head, only adding fire to it. After Lucius gradually ended the kiss, they drifted with the crowd through the streets, looking around and laughing. Again and again, they drank from the silver flask, sharing the fiery liquid with each other during their kisses, and feeling as drunk and uncontrollable as the rest of the crowd.

Time had flown by unnoticed. Hermione didn't pay any attention to where Lucius was leading her. Only when they again entered the cold and empty building did she notice that they had returned to the same place where they had started a few hours ago. Once beyond the wards, she pushed him off her, and laughing, ran towards the already visible fireplace. She felt exhilaratingly free, seductive, powerful and dangerous. That handsome wizard, whose hot breathing was haunting her and whose steps were echoing through this mysterious, abandoned palace, was the one who made her feel that way. And she felt grateful.

The musings caused Hermione to slow down and, unsurprisingly, in the next second her masked companion caught up with her and yanked her to him. He pressed his prey into the wall, and his hungry mouth descended on hers. Hermione was on fire and more than ready to shed her mask and clothes. Moreover, she wished that Lucius would get rid of everything that kept his warm and smooth skin from her greedy, little fingers. Alas, Lucius stepped back from her and drew her to the fireplace. There, he took his Time-Turner from his pocket. Deftly, he made the needed number of turns, and hand in hand, our couple stepped into the Floo.

They stumbled from the fireplace in a tangled mass of cloaks, robes and masks. Hermione had begun to tug on Lucius' mask during their journey through the Floo, trying to remove it. Now, lying in the breathless heap on the cottage's floor, she finally remembered her wand and tried to find it in the folds of her silk robes. Lucius however, had other plans, because he gathered the witch in his arms with determination, and with his precious cargo tightly pressed to his chest, walked to his bedroom. There he gently put Hermione on the bed, immediately covering her body with his, once more not giving her an opportunity to remove anything. The witch huffed in distress and hissed, "Lucius, I want you naked. Now!"

A low chuckle was her only answer. Then, both their masks went flying to the corner of the room and at last, their faces were exposed. Silvery grey eyes caught Hermione's in their light, shimmering prison, and Lucius, watching the witch intently, asked, "Do you want this, Hermione? Are you ready to be mine? You have to think carefully, witch, before answering. Are you ready to be mine, Hermione?"

The seriousness of his grey eyes did nothing to abate the flame that was burning inside our girl. She desired this wizard. Her knickers had been thoroughly and pathetically soaked for the last two hours, indicating just how urgently she needed him. So, what the hell was he talking about? Of course, she was ready. She was more than ready; she was desperate.

"Lucius," Hermione groaned in a breathy whisper, "I was ready for the last two hours, maybe even for the last two days. So if you, the bloody tease, won't do something hard and hot to me in the next second, you'll seriously risk losing me forever due to spontaneous combustion."

"Minx," laughed the wizard breathlessly. His lips deftly nibbled the skin on Hermione's neck. "Tell me that you agree to be mine, Hermione, tell me. I need to hear that." His fingers entangled themselves in her curls, immobilizing her, keeping her in place. His hips kept nudging her ever so slightly, driving her bonkers.

"How can I refuse the wizard who took me to the Venice carnival for foreplay? How can a girl say 'no' to such a man? It's impossible, Lucius, and you are impossible, absolutely insufferable," exclaimed the witch in defeat. Then added hurriedly, "Yes, yes, I am yours, Lucius, yours."

And that was the end and the beginning.

In a blink of an eye, our lovers were fully stripped, and in mere minutes, Hermione was brought to her first orgasm. The moment she felt Lucius' fingers finally delve into her needy wetness, and his mouth and palms found her breasts, she simply came undone.

"Oh, yes, that's the power of proper foreplay," purred the wizard in her ear.

Unhurriedly, the moaning witch was licked, kissed, and teased thoroughly. Endearments whispered by Lucius grazed continuously against the witch's skin. Along with his eager lips, which mapped each rose cavity and every peach coloured peak, his seeking, ravishing hands, and his finely skilled tongue and teeth soon brought Hermione to the brink once again.

Sensing the nearness of her second climax, Lucius shifted and turned until she was on top of him. "Take me in, my darling," he grunted huskily. "Show me what do you like, witch."

She did, of course. Boldly, the young lioness descended onto his impressive and quite eager shaft. The rapture called forth a dual cry from our lovers and, unable to hold off any longer, they both began to move. His strong hands were helping Hermione to keep the friction at that deliriously angelic level, when the heart is beating in a wild unrecognisable tempo, breathing ceases to be a necessity, vision is blurred, and all the rest of the senses are gathered in one throbbing ball buried inside.

It took only two precisely aimed strokes of Lucius' fingers and the fiery meteor inside his witch burst. She arched her back up to a dangerously steep angle and uttered a feral shriek. The wizard under her only managed to groan, "Divine", while watching the spectacular show in awe. When Hermione's breath calmed down slightly, the wizard once again shifted them, trapping her under his broadness. Now, when he was hovering over her in the powerful position with her legs draped over his shoulders, Lucius was poised and ready for his own release. Starting slowly, he soon was moving with urgent speed and strength, pushing deeply into the witch's molten, tight core. Lucius' eyes were locked on Hermione's and, at the highest point; he caught her mouth with his and helplessly groaned his release into her, dragging her with him into an abyss once again.

Oh well, my darlings, no comments here. Except, maybe – the tremendous power is hidden in properly performed foreplay.

AN – * Show Me Love/Tatu

Ahem, here it is. Please don't hang me, just write a review instead. ;)Thank you. Savva.