All characters belong to JKR

Chapter 5: A Place to Love:

Lucius turned slightly on the side of the bathtub and his hands went to Hermione's waist to pull her out of the water. She trembled. She wanted him, and it was apparent that he wanted her, and though she didn't understand what any of this meant, she no longer cared to scrutinize it. She merely wanted to live for herself. She was no longer afraid of living. She was only afraid of ceasing to exist.

He picked up her nude body, carried her out of the tub, and stood over the bed with her still in his arms. "Nothing is going to stop us this time, Hermione Granger, do you understand. Nothing." He placed her on the bed.

She nodded in complete understanding, afraid if she spoke she might protest, and she really didn't want to protest. A number of compelling arguments came to the front of her mind, but she resisted them, pushed them far, far away. The scandal alone would be enough to make a normal woman, a woman who was more prosaic than Hermione was, run away and hide. But what did she have to fear? She was already drowning in scandal, guilt and shame, besides, she wanted this. She wanted him.

His hand touched her face, her chin, his knee on the bed beside her nude body. His scent, in fact, his entire being, was more masculine than she could imagine, and when he leaned down to kiss her, she was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed first by his smell, then his warmth, and lastly by the feel of his lips upon hers.

His lips touched hers quickly, fleetingly, only to stop as he took the time to say, "This is right, Hermione."

She wasn't arguing that point so he had hardly needed to state it.

His drew off his robes and his shirt, to stand before her, wearing only his trousers. She reached up and let her fingertips glide slowly down his chest, touching one nipple, going over his ribs, and stopping on his stomach. He was such a beautiful man. Beautiful was the right adjective to describe the way she thought he looked, so she said as much.

"I think you're beautiful," she said in a soft whisper, her hand moving from his body to lie limply at her side. He smiled at how tentative she seemed. He leaned down and let his lips touch hers again, his hands not touching her naked body, not yet.

His kiss was firm and wanting. He sat beside her, his hands cradled her head, and he continued to kiss her, moving his lips on top of hers, controlling her, embarking on a journey of discovery, acknowledgement, and general pleasure.

Still, his lips moved against hers, and she began to move hers in return. Her hands came up to his neck, pulled him closer, pleasure cascading down her body, from her head to her toes. He embarked upon his ravishment with her mouth, but his hands began to move down to her breasts, priming her for things to come.

He stood once more and removed the rest of his clothing. She didn't look away. He smiled at her courage. He asked, "Do you trust me?"

She swallowed before she nodded yes. He smiled and said, "How odd." He meant that, too. He wanted her to trust him, and he knew in his heart that he wouldn't hurt her, but still, if anyone on the outside would see this situation, they would label her a fool right about now. That was one more thing that appealed to him…her courage.

He sat beside her, reached for her damp hair to curl one long tendril around his finger. "Your hair is beautiful. I can't wait for it to drape across my body as we make love."

"Why wait?" she asked, her voice hoarse, but full of conviction.

"I'm going to ask you a question first," he said. "The answer will decide if I continue."

She took a deep breath in and closed her eyes for a second, opened them at the same time that she asked, "What?"

"Do you think you could ever come to honestly care for me?" He felt like an old fool asking such questions at a time like this, but he needed to know.

"I already care for you," she answered.

"And I for you," he returned. It wasn't an 'I love you,' but who needed that?

Then she said something that both shocked him and endeared her to him forever. She said, "Thank you, Lucius. I need this."

He laid beside her, pressed his cheek against hers, then against her ear, soaking in her smell, her life essence. His lips brushed against her neck, her pulse. "You smell so sweet. Sweet enough to eat." He nibbled at her neck to show her just how sweet. Her hands settled on his shoulders and she moaned.

That moan was his undoing.

He continued to kiss her neck, moved to her jaw, chin, and her cheek. Finally, his mouth slanted against hers again, his tongue sank deep inside, and his arms went around her to press her closer. Every want and need that she had suppressed for so long, sprang to the surface and overwhelmed her. She felt flooded, mind and body with desire and she almost begged him to stop, even though every fiber of her being wanted him to continue.

His tongue was pushing against the roof of her mouth, tangling with hers, hands moving down her neck to her breasts, palms rough on her sensitive skin. She clung to him fervently, her hands in his long hair.

Her head began to spin. This wasn't real. This wasn't happening, yet it was. When his mouth moved from her mouth to her breasts she cried out. He didn't stop or miss a beat. Suckling lightly on one nipple, he then used his teeth to skim the tip, tormenting her until her hips began to move, her head fell back, and her hands pressed his head closer. She began to moan.

Then he did it all over again on the other breast.

He made his tongue flat and moved it back and forth against the second nipple, until it was so erect that it was almost painful. Her back arched and he moved a leg between hers. She felt his arousal on her leg. He felt the warm, wetness of her arousal on his thigh.

Unable to lay idle, she reached down for him and moved one hand around his thick length. Up and down, around the tip, until he lifted his head from her breast, and he too cried out. He looked down at her and smiled. He was hard and ready. He was bigger than she imagined, and she wanted him inside her so badly that it hurt. She had forgotten what this type of desire felt like. Before, it had seemed like some long forgotten dream, something that used to be, but never would be again.

Finally, it was real, and she wasn't sure she could handle it. He began to kiss her again, his hands moving hers from between his legs, or else things would be over before they had begun. He laced her fingers in his, and kissed her with more zeal than before. He took both her hands in one of his, moved his hand down to her center, felt her wetness, her want, her need, and said, "I want you now. Are you sure? You seem ready for me, but are you sure?"

"I want you so much," she returned, and then she surprised herself as she began to cry. He kissed away the tears, his hand moving lightly on top of her, his fingers going inside her. The movement was enough to almost bring her to orgasm. She fought to remove her hands from his, and brought one of hers back down to him, going around him, the thumb rubbing the tip.

He moaned against her shoulder. Then, he adjusted his hips and moved so that he glided right inside her. Another moan escaped him, and she cried out in pleasure at the same time. He lifted his upper body on his elbows. Her hands went to his back. She felt the tension, the muscles, and the hard body.

He didn't move for the longest time. He merely filled her. She felt full, yet unsatisfied. He looked down upon her and said, "You're mine now, Hermione Granger. You belong to me. I would kill any man who would dare to try to take you from me."

"I belong to myself, not you. Now, enough talking," she said through clenched teeth. In actuality, she liked the possessive side of him, though she would never admit it to anyone.

He laughed and said, "Too bad there aren't two of you. If there were, one could belong to me, and one could belong to you." They stared into each others eyes, clung to each other, and moved in sync with each other, back and forth, up and down, around and around, fast, slow, with measured urgency. She felt as if she was falling over an edge. It was bordering on pain, mingling with desire and pleasure. She began to cry again, a look of shock on her face when she climaxed.

As the shudder of her orgasm hit her body, he held on, until the end, and then, only then, did he give into his own need. When it was over, the last tiny thread of release gone, he collapsed beside her, immediately pulling her against him. He held her as she continued to cry.

He didn't ask her why she cried. He didn't tell her to stop. He didn't tell her it would be okay. He stroked her back, her hair, her face. He kissed her. He wanted to say something, but words seemed so inadequate right now. Besides, this was Hermione Granger. She was bound to say something sooner or later.

Sometime later, he awoke and looked at the old wind up clock on the bedside table. It was night again. They had both slept. He wanted to make love to her again, but he knew he should let her sleep some more. He threaded one hand through her curls as she lay with her head on his chest. He picked up one of her hands with his other hand, noticing the contrast in the size and shape in comparison with his own. He brought it to his mouth and kissed it.

The smile that came to his face was genuine. It was brought about by the absurdity of the fact that only a few years ago he would have thought that this woman was beneath him and now he wanted to have her 'beneath' him while they made love. How odd.

It started two years prior when Draco had first started seeing her. At first, it had outraged Lucius, who had lost his wife while serving his prison sentence, that his only son was dating the queen of the Mudbloods.

He tried everything to make his son see reason. He threatened him… "You'll lose you're inheritance," and "You'll be the laughing stock of our kind." He tried to play on his sympathies… "How could you do this to me?" and "Didn't your mother and I raise you better?" He even tried to bring up his rearing and prejudices… "She's a mudblood son, and below you," and "She's Harry Potter's best friend, and therefore, your enemy."

Still, nothing swayed Draco from seeing her. In fact, if anything, it only made Draco more determined. Now Lucius was glad that his son had been so headstrong.

If Lucius wanted to be honest, at least with himself, he would have to admit that from the first moment Draco had told him he was dating Hermione Granger, the first primary emotion Lucius felt, the basic emotion, the biggest one, was JEALOUSY!

It hurt him to admit it, but he had felt jealous of his own son.

Then Draco started to bring her around for dinners and other things. She had been such a little bitch in the beginning, but just as sexy as hell. He had wanted her even more, which made Lucius hate her even more. He looked down at her now and his chest rumbled in silent laughter at that thought.

She was an antagonist from the beginning. Perhaps the worthiest adversary Lucius had come across in decades. She argued with Lucius about everything, vexed him to no end, disagreed with him about everything.

If Lucius had said something was white she would have said it was black just to irk him. If he had said it was big, she would have said it was small. If he'd claimed it was up, she would have argued it was down. He found himself longing for the moments when he could see her, fight with her, look at her, be near her. She had awakened not only a basic stimulus in his brain for arguing and fighting, but an even more basic stimuli called sexual awareness. Every time he saw her a small frisson of passion and desire passed between them intermingled with equal parts annoyance and irritation.

Draco admitted to his father that he was scared for her and for himself when the threats began. That was when Lucius used Leglimency on his son and knew without a shadow of a doubt that while his son loved Hermione, he wasn't in love with her. She was important in his life, and he loved her, but not as a man should love a woman – yet, he needed her, and because of that, Lucius would never have acted on his desires because his son needed Hermione. Draco had been so unhappy and Hermione seemed to fill a small piece of the larger void that was his son's life. Lucius knew it wasn't truly a romantic love. It had been more a 'need' than an 'ardent love'. She was his son's best friend. She cared deeply for him. She had been the only thing keeping his son sane and reasonable happy.

Lucius had long suspected that Hermione had felt the same, and now he knew for sure. His son was gone, and it was too late to help him, but it wasn't too late to help her. He began to stroke her back, his mind still idly thinking of ways to help her. He was also contemplating the many ways in which they could make love again.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"I didn't know you were awake," he said as an alternative to answering.

"I just woke. Now, what are you thinking?" she asked anew.

"The state of the weather," he joked. She looked up at him, and he smiled at her. "Unseasonably cold weather we're having, isn't it, pet?"

She eyed him suspiciously and said, "Do you want to know what I'm thinking?"

"Are you thinking how appalled you are that the weather has been so cold lately?" he asked with a smirk.

She hit his chest lightly.

"Try again." She sat up, pulling the sheet with her so that it was under her breasts. She leaned her back against the headboard.

He sat beside her, the covers on his side pooling around his waist. "Then surely you're thinking about what a splendid lover I am. You're thinking that you want to give it another go already, but you assume, with some prejudice, that I'm too old to go again so soon. How dare you."

She laughed. "You're funny, but no, I mean, well, perhaps I wouldn't mind going again, but something you said before we made love has me thinking. You said that it was too bad that there wasn't two of me."

He rolled his eyes. "I was not serious. I am too old for that. I can barely stand one of you."

She frowned and hit his chest. "Just listen to me. The idea of another me, combined with what Harry told us, is bothering me with no hope of relief. Harry said that they took someone to Azkaban; someone whom everyone thinks is me, right? Who was it?"

"I don't know and I don't care," he said in that haughty tone of his.

"Lucius!" she chastised.

"I'm being truthful. I do not care," he said back.

"Fine, but do you know how they accomplished it?" she asked. "Did they use Polyjuice potion? What? What happened to that person after the Polyjuice potion wore off?"

"Again, I have to reiterate, and I hope you won't hit me this time, I don't know, and I don't care," he repeated, one eyebrow in the air.

She hit his chest again, harder still.

"Listen woman, stop hitting me!"

"Woman!" she laughed.

"Fine, I care," he mocked. "But don't you think those are questions for Potter?"

"I know they are, I'm merely using you as a sounding board for my questions," she revealed.

"More like a punching bag," he mumbled.

Ignoring him, she said, "Here's my theory, and if I say it in the form of a question, you don't need to answer. What if Ron really did see me murder Draco? He claimed under Veritaserum that he saw me use the death curse on Draco. Then he said that he ran to get help, and upon returning to the room, he saw me cradling Draco in my arms. I still maintain that the only time Ron saw me, was when I was holding Draco. I heard Ron scream for help, and only then did I run into the room where Draco had been getting dressed for the wedding. That was when I saw him on the floor."

"What if the first Hermione wasn't really me, but the second one was. I mean, I know the second one was, because I know I really ran in after Draco was killed. We've been thinking of this all wrong. We've been thinking of conspiracy theories, and dark curses, or illusion spells, or assuming Ron was in on everything, but Ron was broken up about his testimony. He didn't want to tell them what he saw. He didn't want me to go prison."

Lucius stared at her for a long time, and then said, "Polyjuice potion?"

"Yes, basic, simple, polyjuice potion. I made it when I was child."

"Of course you did," Lucius said, almost proud. "If we assume the killer is the same person who was sending you and Draco all the threatening messages for the year before Draco died, then that means the culprit is a man. A person can't change gender under Polyjuice potion. Explain that."

Hermione thought for a moment and said, "I don't think that I can, and I agree with you that the 'The Messenger' is probably a man, but maybe he had an accomplice. Tell me, Lucius, who knows I'm on the outside."

"Why does that matter? You surely don't suspect any of them, do you?" He reached over and brought his fingertips down her face.

"Please, tell me."

"Well, there's Potter, and unfortunately, he trusted Weasley enough to tell him. There's Draco's former best friend, Theo Nott, whom I would trust with MY life, and Adrian Pucey, who works for me. Oh, and the Minister of Magic."

"The Minister of Magic?" Hermione asked, somewhat shocked.

"Of course. Potter claims he couldn't have orchestrated this without telling him, and he's very sympathetic to your cause. He's long been a supporter of your innocence, you know that."

Hermione drew her knees up to her chest, placed her cheek on her knees and closed her eyes. "I'm not so sure about that," she answered. "I'm not so sure."