"Good morning, Miss Granger," Lucius Malfoy greeted smoothly as she slid into the seat adjacent to his.
"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy." Hermione slid her moist palms over her woolen skirt and attempted a smile toward the man.
He was stirring his morning tea and glancing down at the Prophet folded in one hand. "I trust you slept well?"
How he could look so unruffled after the evening they'd had, she didn't know. Her own cheeks were mirroring the coiling warmth that fluttered through her stomach. "I did, thank you. And you, sir?"
His lips curled gently and his icy eyes flicked to inspect her. "Well enough. Are you quite comfortable? I hadn't thought to cast cushioning charms on the chairs."
When she'd woken this morning it was to thighs and backside that were fairly growing red, splotches of deep purple swirling in the hardest swells of the welts. "It's fine. I don't mind it."
Indeed, the reminder was like a balm over her usually frantic heart; her pulse was steady, her nerves still soothed. Logically Hermione knew it must be a combination of the hormones that had flooded her system during- whatever one called what they'd done. The body could only manufacture so much adrenaline before fatigue set in. And there were other hormones that had come after. It would have horrified her just a year prior, but now it was like magic, a spell cast to keep her head above water and the surface of her mind smooth.
Hermione eyed her host, nibbling her bottom lip speculatively. Some questions had started to curl upward through her thoughts, but she was unsure how to voice them.
"Yes."
She blinked slowly at him, embarrassment once again flooding her in heady waves. "Oh, sorry. I- it's just that I had some, some questions? About last night."
Lucius Malfoy set aside the paper and turned the full force of his cool attention on her. "While hardly appropriate breakfast conversation, it is only the two of us at present. By all means."
Her hands curled in her lap as she thought through the jumble. "It seems as though you had some idea on how to- to do all of that. Not just the parts where you hurt someone, but the rest of it. There was a structure almost to it."
He leaned back and tilted his head, pale hair stirring against his shoulder. "What structure did you observe, exactly?"
"Well." Hermione Granger struggling for words; everyone at Hogwarts from house elves to Heads of Houses would have gaped at the sight. "You gave me a way to stop it without even having to think about it, and I somehow suspect using a signal word during torture wouldn't end anything. And you reminded me that I could use it last night. You asked me pertinent questions first to find out my boundaries and ensure we were on the same wavelength- er- that we both knew the possibilities. And then you, well, comforted me afterward." Warm eyes narrowed in thought. "Have you had this sort of arrangement before?"
Light danced in his eyes as he set aside the fragrant tea he'd sipped during her short speech. "My, you are an observant girl. Yes. I have had this sort of arrangement before. It's not as uncommon as you might think, and there are guidelines to the appropriate ways of doing it, yes."
That stirred both interest and unease from the mirror of her mind. "People do this, then? Normal people, I mean?"
That frustrating tilt of his mouth unfurled into a full smirk. "Yes, Miss Granger. There are normal people who engage in a little slap and tickle, sometimes more. You should eat while we converse, girl." He nodded at the spread on the table. "You used quite a bit of energy last night; you should have had something small before I sent you off to bed, but…" Lucius dismissed the thought with a wave of his ungloved hand.
"So that really is part of it, the- the taking care of me." Hermione slathered jam on toast and obediently took a bite at the lift of a brow.
"Yes," he said. "As I told you last night, it helps us come out of those headspaces we are in during play."
"Play?" She tucked a curl behind her ear. "That's what that was?"
"Yes, and wasn't it fun?" His pink tongue fluit out, eyes trailing over her before darting back to her eyes.
Hermione squeezed her legs together, stomach tightening in remembrance. "You didn't…" This was certainly not a subject she ever thought to broach with the father of Draco Malfoy, but it had niggled at the back of her mind even while she had sat on his lap. "You didn't have me, er, return the favor."
His chuckle was low and pleased. "No, I did not. I told you what I desired was your submission. While I enjoy an orgasm as much as any man- or young woman-" he winked "-that was not the point of our scene. No, the point, little girl, was to demonstrate that I could and would satisfy that naughty need of yours. And you seem satisfied. Of course, that was a taste of what I offer. My skills are many and varied."
Her thoughts were beginning to whirlpool again and it was difficult for her to ascertain the exact emotions she was feeling, as though they were too distant from her to see clearly. "I still don't understand why you're doing this. You say you like subjugating me, and that part I get, but you're not going out of your way to abuse your position, nor are you cruel when we're interacting. The opposite, actually."
The tapping of his forefinger against the patterned tablecloth was the only sound in the seconds that passed after. His eyes became fogged, his features still. Hermione wondered if she had done something wrong; had she perhaps reminded him of who and what she was, of his disgust for those like her? And now he would become cold and cutting toward her once more and she would have to go back to being a shadow in this echoing manor.
But just when she thought she should excuse herself, he began to speak. "You are muggleborn, yes. And I am a Pureblood who believes we are inherently better. That is true, but it is also true that that supposed superiority did not do us any favors during this war. What Pureblood families remain are dregs of their former selves, while half bloods especially seem to be rising in the world, and those like you with them. Trying to cling to the old ways nearly destroyed my family. Well, I suppose it is destroyed." He sighed into his tea. "My wife realized she could not stand by a man who endorsed the torture of children, and my son is caught between her and I. I cannot blame him for choosing her; I nearly got him killed, which would have my line in one foolish, arrogant move." His hardened features reminded her of when she'd seen him during the war, then he scrubbed a large hand over his face and smiled grimly. "Despite how it may seem, I am only human, Miss Granger. I require the company of others as much as you do. And I have my other needs. A man dying of thirst will drink from a puddle. And, well, you are no puddle." His gaze roamed her once more. "No, you most certainly are not."
"Oh." It was all she could manage in the face of such unburdening.
Lucius pushed back from the table and rose to his full height. "Eat, Miss Granger. I shall see you later."
She nodded, frowning and thoughts still schooling around his words, She added an egg and some fruit to her plate as she puzzled through the labyrinth of Lucius Malfoy.
"Well, I shall retire to my study for the evening. Goodnight, Miss Granger." Lucius stood, deft fingers buttoning his jacket as he straightened. "Unless… would you care to join me for a drink?"
They had kept up this cordiality for the past few days. Hermione arrived on time for each meal and they both made the standard inquiries. "Did you sleep well?" "How was your day?" "What are you currently reading?" The latter often evolved into true conversation; it had startled her at first, but it shouldn't have. Afterall, Draco had been second only to her at Hogwarts, and his father's political savvy and business acumen were well-known.
However, this was the first time he had invited more than polite conversation. Its extension swirled through her ears and down her throat, parching her mouth. She nodded and removed herself from her own seat, following the tall man up the staircase, down the west wing and to the familiar door.
"After you." The door swung softly closed behind him and she was still worrying at the edge of one sleeve when he swept into his favored chair. "Well?" Hermione edged toward the smaller seat, black with silvery brocade, and sat primly in it. Her ankles crossed, her hands settled nervously in her lap. Lucius' gave her a once over and smirked. "What's your poison, Miss Granger?" A wooden panel near his chair swung open to reveal several bottles to the warm light of the fire, as varied a collection as the potions riddle vials from her first year.
"I don't really know," she murmured before admitting, "I haven't tried much, and my choices were usually limited."
He considered her, eyes glinting darkly in the firelight. "Shall I select for you?"
"Yes, please."
A bottle with thick, dark liquid that shone like blood in the night came to his hand and he poured a healthy amount into a small cordial glass, then Summoned a far more familiar amber drink for himself. Once he had set both finely cut decanters aside he stretched to offer her her drink.
"This is a blackcurrant liqueur out of Italy. It is a bit sweet for my palate, but perhaps you will find it enjoyable." He watched as she took a sip, closed her eyes to savor the syrupy mixture that was softened by the burning edge of alcohol. "Good?"
"I see what you mean," she said even as she nodded. "I wouldn't always want to drink it, but it's quite good. Thank you?"
"As proper as you pretended-" here he lifted a brow "- to be at Hogwarts, I doubt you were exposed to much there. Dolohov did not allow you to drink much?"
Hermione's stomach fluttered against the sound of the name. "No. Antonin was hoping to get me pregnant, so he didn't often let me drink. When he did, it was usually whatever he had for himself."
His gaze fell heavily to her stomach. "You're not-"
"No!" she denied with a vehemence that almost spilled her drink. "He really tried. I think he even performed ritual magic at Halloween, but Professor Snape had been sneaking me contraceptives." Lucius sat back in his seat, relief washing the hard lines from his expression. "I also think, perhaps, since the ritual was tied nearly as much to my ancestry as his, that my own magic helped prevent it."
She had thought on that for many nights, tried to recall where the strength she'd felt in those moments had disappeared to. The women of her line had wanted to save her, help her. Hermione herself had wanted to remain barren.
"That is very good," Lucius remarked. "Shall I have Severus continue the practice for you? He should be visiting in the near future."
"Er, yes." Her cheeks flamed. "Please. I should be due for one next week."
"Indeed?" The smile playing at his lips heated up the alcohol in her belly. "So you are still protected for the next few days at least."
She nodded, breath stirring lightly from her lips. Hermione caught herself on the precipice of the darkness swallowing the silver of his eyes, backing away dizzily to taste the corrupting blackcurrant again.
"How are your bruises?"
Each morning before she dressed and every evening before she slipped out of her clothes Hermione checked her backside in the mirror in her pretty little room. The scarlet had deepened to purple and blue and black, a galactic tapestry woven into her skin. In some marks she could still see the center of the welt, could make out the long lines left from his cane, the dark intersections where he'd crossed them. It was fascinating how they changed, transforming her inside and out.
"They're beautiful," she said at last, then her cheeks flooded with radiating heat.
"Is that so?" His dry humor whispered across to her. "May I see?"
Hermione's world tilted, warmed at the request, as she stared back with mouth agape. It was a reasonable request, she supposed as she closed her lips. He had put them there; why should he not see them?
It was a thin excuse, but she wrapped it around herself even as she drained the rest of the sweet, dark drink, stood, and crossed the two steps toward him. He was carefully still, the lines of his lips neutral, but eyes sparking as she neared. Her heart simultaneously climbed up through her throat and spun down to spool the threading heat gathering low in her stomach. She turned on weak legs and gathered her skirt up to her waist.
The rush of her own blood in her ears drowned out the friendly crackle of the fire as she stood and allowed him to see her backside, albeit with the adequate shielding of knickers that did not quite cover half her arse.
Was he waiting for her to prompt him? The hairs on her skin rose under the weight of his study as she imagined him back there, judging her and her thighs that had finally started regaining their former thickness. She should drop the skirt, should…
"Lovely." Heat emanated over the exposed flesh, his voice rumbling warmly from near enough she knew he had leaned forward to better study her. "It looks as though your skin may still be raised in areas." He met her eyes as she hazarded a glance over his shoulder. She nodded and his large hand palmed one of her cheeks, fingers lingering as he stroked down. "You look quite pretty like this; I can see why someone might want to pepper this soft skin of yours with their attentions. I am curious, though. What were your experiences before your captivity?"
The sweet pang of him lightly kneading Hermione's bruised flesh had lulled her into contentment. "Er, I'd kissed Ron during the battle. And Viktor a few times."
His hands stilled. "Viktor Krum?" She hummed. "That's right; he took quite a shine to you. Did you do anything else? Did you let him play with your pretty little tits?"
The words fanned the flames his hand was stoking. "N-no. Viktor was a gentleman."
"Did you ever wish he wasn't a gentleman?"
Whether it was mortification or lust, her core tightened and her voice was hoarse as she admitted, "Yes."
Lucius chuckled as he leaned back in his chair, the heat of his palm leaving Hermione too cold, longing for its return. "Such a generous girl. Thank you, Hermione."
Her breath hitched at the way his lips curled around her name. The skirt of her dress fell around her once again,swirling as she spun, draping over her as she knelt in one fluid, spontaneous movement. Her shaking hands fell against her thighs and she glanced up at him breathlessly, eyes wide and pupils casting them in darkness.
"Oh, you poor girl." The cold, hard rim of his tumbler ran the length of her jaw as he inspected her. "Are you in need?"
This is stupid, her inner reason intoned against the backdrop of her heart racing. "Yes, sir."
"What exactly is it you crave right now?" The silken pull of his voice held her in place and she couldn't even draw her eyes away as her thoughts scrambled to figure out why she had dropped to her knees in front of him, what she thought she might receive.
There was a dark promise in his eyes and it was the fulfillment of that that she wanted, but Hermione was unsure how to voice it. "I- I want-" She licked her lips and saw his gaze track the motion. What was that, that darkness? What was that promise? "I want you to use me."
As the words flooded out her cheeks flooded with them, hot and bright as the fire. Hermione started to lower her head, but his grip was there forcing it back up. "Is that so?" She bit her lip. "If I use you it will be about my pleasure, my desires, my needs. You're willing to submit to that?"
"Yes, sir."
And you remember what to say if it becomes too much for you?"
Her eyes darted back to touch on his. "Yes."
"Good girl." He released her from the iron grip, then nodded to the wall opposite the fireplace. "You see that door there?"
Hermione glanced at it and nodded. "That door leads to my bedchamber. I am will go through that door and make myself more comfortable; you will rid yourself of clothes and then follow on your hands and knees. Do you understand?"
She swallowed through the thrumming of her pulse to say, "Yes, sir."
Pale eyes brushed golden by the firelight narrowed in consideration, then he nodded. Lucius nudged her with his well-polished boot and Hermione slid herself back to make room for him to walk by her. He moved with the grace of a large cat and she couldn't look away as he passed into the next room, shadowy beyond illuminating as his fireplace roared to life.
His bedchamber…
Notes:
Sorry to everyone who wished otherwise, but Hermione is *not* pregnant. However, it's still possible Antonin might get his wish. Just check those tags.
There's some smut which will lead into plot, and somewhere around there Antonin will make his appearance.
Anyway, I appear to possibly be on a roll. Cross your fingers for me.
