Lucius didn't visit his little mudblood for a week and a day after their liaison. He spent his evenings alone with his alcohol, staring into the fire and wondering if she was desperate for attention yet.
He was nearly desperate to give it to her.
Since growing into his adult height, Lucius had never lacked for female attention. Women were drawn to him for his money and influence, yes, but also because he was handsome. Men, too, for that matter. He could have easily had affairs with any number of witches but did not. For most of his marriage, he'd remained loyal to Narcissa, though his father had assured him it wasn't necessary. She would understand that he had needs, so long as he kept the affairs hidden, and met her own needs in return.
Upon taking up the mantle of Lord Malfoy, he'd made his rounds with his wand to establish mastery of the manor and nearly felt sick when he first opened the mistress' suite on his own. Abraxas had shown him once. He remembered it well, how the room was empty, hadn't had an occupant in some time. The elves kept it dusted and laundered, but it had the air of long neglect all the same.
"I've always preferred married women," his father had confided. "They require less effort. Your grandfather, however, had a pretty little muggle woman here for more than a decade."
Young Lucius had wrinkled his nose. "A muggle ? That's disgusting."
"He didn't sully the family line with her, Lucius, merely fucked her. She was pretty, and docile, and satisfied him physically so he could properly tend to his wife." Abraxas wasn't at all put out by the notion of his father with a muggle mistress; not even a mudblood! He might as well have housed a beast in the lavish suite.
"What if he'd gotten her pregnant?"
His father had shrugged. "Then there would have been a halfblood Malfoy bastard out there. Or not, if he chose to terminate. As long as it was never acknowledged, it wouldn't be an issue." That was the most important part: not to allow it into the family.
"Aren't halfbloods lesser?" he asked.
"Yes." His father had seemed amused by his disgust more than anything. "And it's certainly not preferable, but a halfblood bastard in the right place can be useful."
Lucius frowned up at his father, but kept quiet, as he sensed more to come.
"She did indeed bear him a bastard late into their relations, and he sent her to France to raise the boy. He attended Beauxbatons. In return for continued patronage of his own little family, he receives a stipend and has a job handling some of our French business."
"What if he exposed the family?"
Abraxas had beamed down at him for the question. "He'd be cut down, of course. However, should he purify his own line with a few generations of breeding with pureblood families of good standing, one of his descendants could marry into the true line. It has happened before."
And thus, Lucius learned one of the secrets of nobility and purity: a man may pursue his desires and gain advantage from them, as long as he did not besmirch his lineage in the process.
With Hermione, he was doing the opposite of what ancestors had done with their impure spawn; instead of having them breed out the muggle blood, he would keep enough for a line of mudbloods to remain and serve in the home as the Malfoy bastards of the past had served outside. It was nicely parallel, in a twisted way, and it disturbed him less than allowing halfblood Malfoy bastards to imagine themselves nearly equal to his own kind.
Playing with the glass of brandy in hand, Lucius wondered what his father would think of his project. The light refracted in the liquor reminded him of her eyes as they shone with anguish. So many times, he'd seen that bright hue, eagerly devouring a new book, laughing with his son in the garden, but they'd never been as lovely as when they were full of pain for him.
He truly was a monster.
She tempted me to it. Whether he meant Bellatrix or Hermione, he didn't know. One had pursued him and seduced him into infidelity, and the other was tempting in everything she represented, and everything he felt was anathema.
He didn't explore that line of thought because it didn't matter; it all led to the same end.
Lucius quaffed the remainder of his drink, lips twisting as it burned down his throat, and then he plucked free his wand and waved it toward the flames.
The stone hearth rearranged until it was an arch large enough that he walked through it, then set itself to rights behind him as though the entrance never were. Hermione laid atop the covers, curled on her side with her knees near her stomach. She didn't flinch at his entrance, despite the sheen of light reflected in her open eyes.
"I could leave," he said into the cool, dark, heavy air. She sighed but didn't otherwise respond.
Lucius climbed atop the bed and stroked a hand down her back. Her silken dressing gown looked black in the night. With the way she laid, most of her deliciously soft thighs were exposed for his view. He trailed down her hip and traced fingertips over her bare skin. Smooth and soft and lovely. His fingertips sank into the plush velvet flesh.
He bent over her and breathed in her scent, stirring the small hairs along her arm. "I won't hurt you, pet. Tell me to leave, and I shall."
Silk skin was warm under his kiss.
"You can't stay silent forever," though he would allow her to maintain it as long as she wished, if it meant she weren't fighting him. While her fire was lovely, Lucius had always preferred banked flames. She was his flame to master.
He plied her with affection for a while, drinking in the softness of her body with mouth and hands, murmuring to her in the darkness. When her lashes finally fluttered shut, he dressed down for the night and wrapped himself around her to sleep.
It was so much better than sitting in his empty room for another night.
It was easier to bear him in silence, Hermione decided. She wouldn't fight him, but no longer did she want to play this game. Instead, she would endure.
It's what she did best.
Lucius arrived most evenings now that she'd fallen quiescent. He was always dressed less formally, in button down and slacks, often with the harsh scent of liquor on his breath. She could recognize which alcohol he'd had by scent now. He'd watch her for a time, then speak at her despite knowing she'd not engage. If her silence bothered him, she neither knew nor cared.
He didn't demand that she stand upon his arrival or kneel for him. He was perfectly happy to sit while she read or laid in bed.
"You truly are a pet now," he mused. He'd sat on the bed and lifted her head onto his lap to stroke her long curls. "I quite like it. Tell me, have you finished reading the books here? I could get you more from the library."
She released a quiet sigh, letting him interpret it as he wished. The contact felt nice, even if she'd prefer different company. This was what she had.
"I'll have the elves bring some in the morning." Lucius massaged her scalp until her eyes shut. It was so good, so soothing, and she wished she hated it, but this was her only respite from solitude. "If you continue being so well behaved, I'll take you for a walk in the garden this week."
Her heart skipped a beat, but she kept still. If he began to loosen her reins, she'd have a chance at slipping from his grip. Careful, she warned herself. Go slowly.
Lucius chuckled and cradled her skull to lay it back on the pillow. He crawled behind her, spooning her smaller form, and kissed her throat. "I think you like that idea. You miss the sun, don't you?" Hands danced over her. "Then I shall give you the sun. That's it."
She let him adjust her as he wished, trying to pull her awareness away from the sensations. His large hands pried and loosened, swept silk from her skin, settled. When he thrust into her, she bit her lip and stifled a whimper.
"That's it," he murmured into her hair. He was gentle as he rocked against her, the hand on her hip dipping between her legs to help ease his passage with uninvited pleasure. "Just take me, pet."
Lips laid against her throat, teeth skimming dangerously as he came.
A spell refreshed their sweaty bodies afterward, then he wrapped his arm around her waist and held her until he drifted off.
Hermione laid awake long into the night and began planning ways she might escape, if only he'd let her out of this prison.
A/N
I have a sale on commissions that goes for another two weeks-ish. TTV is currently my WIP of the Month. Thanks for reading along and I'll see y'all next week!