Lucius

He'd fucked her.

The Golden Girl.

Gryffindor's Princess.

The Brightest Witch of Her Age.

He'd just fucked Hermione Granger. And it was one of the best shags of his life.

Lucius swirled his tumbler glass, staring down at the dregs of his brandy. The dark liquid sloshed against the crystal, each spin steady and heavy. Almost like the rhythm of his cock thrusting back inside…

"Fuck," Lucius muttered, and he quickly swallowed the brandy down. If even the alcohol was going to remind him of the woman, he was going to have to find a new vice. Something that would turn his mind to mush, preferably, so he could forget all about his escapade in the closet with his newly consummated fake bride.

Because if he didn't forget, it was going to be all he could think about for the rest of his cursed life.

Lucius turned his attention—rather forcefully, because apparently that was a requirement now—to the remnants of the Board of Governors luncheon. It had been a tiresome affair of pureblood family gossip, Ministry goings-on, and even a matchmaking between some fourth-year Yaxley girl and a seventh-year Crouch son.

More tumblers than plates scattered the long, glossy wooden table. The silver platters of tea sandwiches were mostly untouched. It seemed that the governors were even worse alcoholics than he had ever been. They didn't seem to mind as Lucius encouraged them to fill up their glasses a second or third time with the headmaster's personal brandy stock. It seemed that none of the lords had noticed that the sole Malfoy heir had suddenly changed his appearance, and Lucius had intended to keep it that way. Either his Malfoy genetics were so strong that he and Brutus could be twins, Brutus had been such a hermit that none of the lords had seen his face in decades, or they were so drunk that any chap with platinum hair and a smirk could pass as Brutus Malfoy.

If Lucius was a betting man—which he wasn't—his galleons would be on option three.

With one final look around the faculty lounge, Lucius scrubbed a hand over his jaw and rose to his feet. The elves were probably itching to clean up, and Lucius had class shortly anyway. With any luck, he'd be able to bury himself in sixth-year potions theory and foul-smelling ingredients and insufferable swots who asked questions like he was Severus Snape incarnate.

Once he reached his classroom and saw that there were another ten minutes until the students piled through the door, Lucius settled down in his little office that adjoined the dim classroom. He tried to calm his mind, letting his gaze wander over the jars of pickled body parts that adorned the shelves.

One toad's liver. Two toad's livers. Three toad's livers…

It had been a technique he picked up in Azkaban his second time around. With no Dementors to drain his mental facilities, the options were either to dwell on the past or keep it firmly in the present. Counting the mundane helped calm him. Center him.

Most of the time.

One eye of newt. Two eyes of newt. Three eyes of newt…

Was Hermione doing the same? Counting the flagstones under her feet on her way to the classroom, her pretty pink lips silently mouthing each number as it crept higher and higher.

One Adder's tongue. Two Adder's tongues. Three Adder's tongues…

Or maybe she was perched on a windowsill, the sun warming her pale cheeks, making those crazed curls shine like honey in the light. God, that hair had felt sin between his fingers.

One jar of beetle eyes. Two jars of beetle eyes. Three jars…of…

And that neck. So thin and sculpted, like a swan's. It shivered when he kissed it, sucked at it, grasped it between his hands to force her gaze the way he wanted. Lucius's hand slipped beneath the flap of his robes, palming the erection that had seemed to spring up out of nowhere. He hissed at the contact, even through his wool trousers.

One bat spleen. Two bat spleens…

His hand quickly did away with the buttons, sliding against his straining cock and pulling it free. Lucius groaned at the sudden contact, the image in his head of his little witch grinding against him as he thrust into her. Her cunt wet and hot and dripping for him. Even if she thought he was playing a character—even if that's all she would ever think of the encounter—her desire was unmistakable. Desperate. Burning. Drenching.

One Howlet's wing…oh for fuck's sake, screw the bloody ingredients.

With his fist clenched solidly around his cock, Lucius began to stroke himself faster, harder. The image of Hermione on that crate, legs spread around him, head thrown back in ecstasy, one breast free and bouncing while the other strained against that bodice, was too much. Far too much. It was like an iron clamp that shot from his mind to his hand, seizing the memory and sending him barreling towards his orgasm. He heard the filthy slap of his skin against hers, felt the squeeze of her cunt as the head of his cock rubbed against her spot, heard her begging to come, heard her strangled whimpers of please, please, please, felt the impossible tightening of her walls as she cried her release—

A sharp rap on the door sprang Lucius straight from the memory. Lucius's eyes flew open just as the door was pulled back, and one of the Ravenclaw sixth-years—Edward, Lucius recalled—poked his shaggy blonde head in. The desk covered his lower half, but Lucius still tugged the flap of his robes closed and cleared his throat as the student stepped inside. "Yes?"

"Professor Brutus?" Edward said politely, eyeing his professor curiously. "I noticed the cauldrons haven't been set up, and I wanted to offer to…are you alright, professor?" Concern furrowed the boy's brow as Lucius hastily smoothed back his hair. "You're looking a bit peaky."

Lucius held back a scoff. He imagined he was quite the sight at the present moment. Sweating, hair still knotted from his earlier encounter, robes askew and softening cock barely in his trousers. At least the boy didn't know about that. For a second, he considered dismissing the boy in his usual cool fashion, but then he remembered that he rather liked this Ravenclaw, and it may be befitting to keep at least some of the students from thinking he was a pompous arse. He wasn't actually Severus Snape incarnate, after all. And unlike his old friend, Lucius didn't completely despise teaching. Sometimes, when the brats weren't exploding their faces off or coming to class thirty minutes late or interrupting his wank, he rather enjoyed it. "I am feeling a bit under the weather, actually," Lucius responded slowly, with an air of sorrow that made the boy nod somberly in understanding.

"It is that time of year," Edward agreed. He pursed his lips, gave Lucius another once-over, then gave the silver pin on his robes a tap. "A long, hot bath full of salts always does the trick for me. As a prefect, I'm sure to take all the advantages of the role," he said with a wink. "You should do the same, professor."

"And take that bath away from you or your fellow prefects?" Lucius waved him off before deftly doing up his trousers, standing, and heading towards the door. "Thank you, Edward, but I have a perfectly good bath in my chambers. Now as for those cauldrons, if you could set out the copper—"

"You aren't aware of the faculty bathroom?"

Lucius stopped in the doorway and frowned. "Faculty bathroom?"

"On the fourth floor? They built it a few summers ago, if I recall." Edward hurried over to the shelves of cauldrons, still blabbering happily as he began to lug one to a table. "Locked to everyone except the professors after that young Transfiguration professor was found bathing with a female prefect that one time. Horrible story. Did you know he got her with child, then the girl graduated a semester early to marry him, and then he had the gall to return to school last year…"

Lucius tuned the Ravenclaw out as he took his spot at the front of the room, considering. A long, luxurious, Hermione-free bath was exactly what he needed to calm down after the events of the day. With any luck, he'd be able to finish his wank and clear his mind—and his cock—of the encounter once and for all.

Hermione

"Matthew, Alfred, take a seat. I've seen enough shield charms with more holes than a spiderweb for one day."

Both the Gryffindor and the Slytherin glared at her before stepping reluctantly off the mat, their wands still clenched in their fists.

Hermione cast a quick cleansing charm on the blue mat speckled with gold stars before she marched back to her spot in the center of the room. After her encounter in the closet, her rather tense conversation with the headmaster, and a stack of essays in her office she didn't feel like marking, Hermione had decided that today was the perfect day to give her seventh-years their first taste at proper dueling. The desks and chairs were all pushed to the edges of the room, the plush mat had been spread out, and only one student had run crying from the classroom after being nipped with a Bat-Bogey hex.

So what if things hadn't gone exactly to plan? At least Hermione was thoroughly distracted, her students were finally using the spells she'd taught all October, and no one had been seriously maimed or injured. So far.

Wiping her palms on her skirts, Hermione turned to face the students ringed around the mat. "Who's next?" she asked, eyeing them with one brow raised. Half of the students (the ones who had happily volunteered) had already dueled, and the others were shrinking back towards the furniture like it would prevent her from calling on them. "Charles? You wrote a fantastic paper on shield charmers last month. Surely you're ready to give it a go?"

The Gryffindor gritted his teeth. "Erm, well yes—yes I did—b-but—I have a Charms practical next period and—and I c-can't risk getting h-h-hit."

Hermione pursed her lips. She didn't fancy forcing students to duel if they didn't feel ready, but it really was the best way to learn how to defend themselves. With a small sigh, Hermione turned to the others. "Anyone else want to have a go?"

The students glanced sideways at one another. A few of the boys towards the back shoved each other, whispering, before they parted. Corvinus stepped through. "I'll have a go," he answered easily. His pale, sunken eyes flashed with interest.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek as she gazed back at him. With all that had happened since the weekend and earlier today, she hadn't been able to give the Gaunt boy any thought. He had been quiet all class—not even offering to duel until now, to her surprise. She would have thought he'd be rearing to throw spells at his fellow classmates. Perhaps they aren't muggle-born enough, she thought bitterly, even as a strained smile spread over her face. At least this way, she could see what he was capable of…outside of blowing muggle-borns into other times. "And who will duel Corvinus?" she called out to the room.

"I will."

All eyes turned to Clara as she pushed her way towards the center of the room. Her chin was up, her wand aloft, and her eyes on Corvinus like he was a cockroach about to meet the heel of her boot.

Perhaps it was risky, letting Clara reveal and relish in her anger towards Corvinus. But Hermione also knew what it felt like to be hurt by boys like Corvinus, to be helpless against them until all that rage just poured out of your wand. Dueling didn't fix the boys that hurt you. It didn't take back what they did. But it sure as hell felt good.

"Very well," Hermione said, stepping out of the way. "Take the proper stance."

Clara and Corvinus took their spots on opposite sides of the mat, then stalked towards each other until there was just a meter of space between them.

"I do hope you're up to this, Clara," Corvinus said in a sickly sweet voice as he raised his wand so the tip was in line with his temple. "It was so unfortunate, what happened to Henry."

Clara's wand whipped up to match him. Her bright blue eyes were alive with hate. She said nothing. Both students' wand arms flew back to their sides, the air whistling with the sharp cuts.

They bowed, turned their backs, strode to the opposite ends of the mat, then spun back around to face the other.

"Remember," Hermione called out as both students eased into the defensive position. "We are focusing on defense." A twinge of worry shot through her as Clara's lip curled. Corvinus smirked. Their fingers adjusted on their wands. Merlin, she hoped this wouldn't end with a trip to the infirmary. But it was too late to back down now. So instead, Hermione took a breath and called out, "Begin."

Spells shot out before the word had even left her mouth. Expelliarmus flew from both students. Clara threw up a shield that caught Corvinus's, while Corvinus ducked low to escape the scarlet jet of light from her wand.

"Locomotor Mortis, " Corvinus hissed, just as Clara aimed again.

"Protego!" she cried, and the magic vanished into her shuddering shield. "Is that all you have, Gaunt? Let's show off your real talents. Stupefy!"

Corvinus grinned as he jumped to the left, narrowly missing the jet of light. It seemed that Clara's taunt was enough to set him off—set them both off—and soon the shield charms were all but forgotten. Jets of red and blue burst back and forth across the mat. Clara and Corvinus ran and ducked and jumped from the spells' paths, and soon even the mat wasn't a limitation any more. A nasty Confringo whizzed past Corvinus's ear and blasted apart one of the desks. Splinters rained now as the spells continued to fly. The other students where huddled in the corner now, cheering and jeering, for who Hermione couldn't quite make out. She knew she ought to stop it, end the duel before one of them got hurt, but if she just gave Clara a little more time…

Another blasting spell smashed into the window, sending glass bursting out into the open air and the floorboards below. As the chill of November seeped into the room, Hermione cursed and stepped onto the center of the mat. "That's enough!" she shouted, as red light streaked past her. She whirred around to Clara, who held a fresh shield suspended and shimmering in front of her. "Clara, drop the shield." She spun towards Corvinus, whose wand was raised over his head, ready to strike. "Lower your wand. We are done here."

"But—" Clara began.

"I said we're done." Hermione said firmly. She had one hand out towards the girl, her wand towards Corvinus. Clara's chest heaved as she glared past Hermione through her shield. Her eyes were glassy now, bright with withheld tears. She caught Hermione's eye. Hermione nodded in understanding. The girl dropped the shield and lowered her wand arm slowly back to her side. When Hermione looked back at Corvinus, he had done the same. "Now complete the finishing etiquette, as we discussed."

Tears were streaming freely down Clara's face as walked forwards. A smirk had cemented over Corvinus's lips as he stepped up to meet her, closer than when they'd begun the fight.

Clara bowed her head.

Corvinus bowed his.

Then, as his head slowly lifted, he whispered, loud enough for her to hear, "If only Henry had fought like you did." His smirk returned, wormy lips twisting at the corners. He gave Clara a once-over before spinning on his heel.

Hermione's heart raced as conversation broke out among the students. So Corvinus knew that she knew about him. That she knew about Henry, about the other muggle-borns. And he knew she was on to him.

Following him into the chamber was going to be trickier than she'd expected.

Hermione guided a few more pairs of students through their duels before class finally ended. As the boys began to trickle out, shouting and laughing and shoving each other to get through the door, Clara hung behind, tugging at her short auburn braid. Hermione rearranged the desks with her wand, then repaired the broken window and furniture as she waited for the last of the boys to leave before finally turning back to the girl. "What is it, Clara?" she asked gently, perching on the edge of the desk Clara had slumped down into.

"He killed Henry," she whispered, eyes on her hands resting on the desk. They were pale and trembling. "He practically just told me. Can't we do something? Go to the headmaster?"

Hermione sighed as she tucked her curls behind her ear. "I'm afraid it's more complicated than that," she said carefully. It was a balance, dealing with this poor girl. A balance between kindness and misdirection that had Hermione's stomach in knots. "Without evidence, you cannot accuse Corvinus. It's like you told me…they don't listen to us. Not without overwhelming proof."

"Then I'll get it," Clara spat, her eyes darting up to meet Hermione's. Tear tracks marked her pink cheeks like rivers. "I'll find the evidence."

"Clara, it's too dangerous…" Hermione's mouth closed as an idea struck her. It was risky, yes, but what part of this wasn't? Every part of her life—everything that mattered nowadays—was about weighing risk and reward. Stay here in the past or go home? Follow Corvinus into the Chamber or do nothing? Have sex with Lucius or get found out for your sham marriage, her brain supplied, before Hermione quickly shoved the thought from her mind. "Perhaps there is a way to help," Hermione said slowly. "I've been wanting to keep a closer eye on Corvinus after…after what happened. But as a professor, it's rather hard to do so."

"You want me to follow Corvinus, see what he's up to?" Clara said eagerly. "Yes, yes Professor Jean, I will—"

"But you must be extraordinarily careful, do you understand? No spells to harm him, nothing that can get you caught out of bounds or curfew, and absolutely do not try to stop him if you catch him doing something untoward."

"I understand. I'd be perfect for the job. We're already in all the same classes, and as a witch I already take fewer classes than any of the boys. I'll have plenty of time to watch him." The girl jumped to her feet and yanked Hermione into a hug, nearly sending her toppling off the desk. "I promise I can do it, professor," she whispered as she pulled away.

Hermione smiled as she studied the girl. It was a strained smile, but Clara didn't seem to notice. "I know you can. And you can share any updates with me after our classes, okay?"

"Okay." Clara squeezed Hermione's shoulder before grabbing her bookbag and hurrying out the door.

Hermione watched it swing shut before finally sliding off the desk and surveying the room. Bits of glass still scattered the floor, and a spell had knocked over a bottle of ever-stay ink, sending it seeping into the wood. As Hermione began to clean, she heard the door squeak open. "Did you need anything else, Clara?" she asked as she began scrubbing at the inks stain with a transfigured sponge.

A light cough sounded from behind her. Hermione pushed herself to her feet and turned towards the door. "Miss Goyle," she said, surprised. Corvinus's bride-to-be didn't take Defense Against the Dark Arts. The dark-haired girl was standing in the doorway, hands clenched in front of her skirts like she was nervous to step inside. "I'm afraid Corvinus already left for next period."

"I'm actually here to see you, professor," she said, so quietly her voice barely carried across the room. "And just Adeline will do."

Despite not being in the mood to deal with what was very likely another problem—now that class was over, thoughts of a certain someone were knocking on her mental shields—Hermione gestured for the girl to enter. "What can I do for you, Adeline?" she asked, trying to keep the exhaustion from her voice.

Adeline hastily shut the door and took a seat with her hands folded in her lap. "It's about Corny—Corvinus," she said. Color flushed her pale cheeks.

The plot thickens, Hermione thought as she took the desk in front of Adeline, lifting her skirts and straddling it backwards to face the girl. If the girl was about to divulge secrets about Corvinus's use of the time soil or the Chamber, then she was best off looking like a friend to the girl. A peer she could have a chat with. "What about him?" she asked casually.

Adeline stared down at her hands as her cheeks burned redder. "You and Professor Brutus are married, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Which means you and him…know each other."

"We do."

"Intimately?"

Hermione's brow furrowed. Okay, so this wasn't going exactly where she had expected. Her mental shields grew thinner as the memory of her and Lucius in that closet flitted past her mind's eye. "I don't understand your question, Adeline."

The girl scratched at her neck, which was rapidly turning as pink as her face. "Corny and I, we're set to be married after school ends and I…I don't know what to do."

"About the wedding?"

"No, about…well…about what comes after." Adeline's dark eyes lifted from her lap to meet Hermione's. They were wide and gleaming, like a doll's. "I don't know what comes after…or during, I should say, the bedding."

Shite.

The image of Lucius fucking her into his arms was clear as day now. No shoddy mental walls to obscure it. His cock pumping into her, his mouth latching onto her ear, his groans matching hers like a symphony of pleasure…

"Professor?"

Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to refocus on the girl. Her cheeks burned hot, refusing her desperate attempts to clear the memory from her mind. "Erm, right, yes. The bedding. I'm not sure I'm the proper person to ask about that. Don't you have a mother, or a sister, or an aunt…" she said hopefully.

The girl shook her head. "Afraid not. Only my father, older brother, and I are left in Goyle Manor these days, and my brother remains unwed. Dragon Pox took the rest of them when I was a babe."

For fuck's sake. Hermione raked back her hair as she considered her next words. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said softly. "I suppose I can try to help. The bedding isn't something to be afraid about, Adeline. It's…natural, when both partners are ready."

"Natural? Like animals?"

Lucius certainly had fucked her like a animal. A wild, sexy, masculine…"Something like that," she said quickly. "Our bodies know what to do when the time comes."

"But what if mine doesn't? Please, Professor Jean, I must know what happens. I'm so very afraid. And I can't ask Corny. I shudder to think of my husband knowing these things. But you—you are already married! Surely you can explain it to me, so I can be prepared?"

This teaching gig really was going to be the end of her, wasn't it? First students killing each other, then students trying to kill each other in her class, and now she had to be the one to explain the birds and the bloody bees? "When you're with your…husband," she began, choosing her words carefully, "you'll start to feel excited."

"Excited," Adeline breathed out, her eyes lighting up in delight.

Hermione nodded. Lucius had certainly done that to her. Taking charge of their situation in the closet while she freaking out, pressing her up against the door and brushing her ear with his lips. "You might feel butterflies. Here," she said, placing a hand over her lower stomach.

"I get those sometimes when Corny kisses me."

"Yes, like that." Hermione fought to keep the grimace off her face. Corvinus Gaunt snogging his teenage girlfriend was the exact opposite of arousing. Her mind turned back to Lucius. His fingers winding into her curls. They way he tugged, just hard enough to turn her head the way he wanted and expose her neck, her ear. "When a man becomes excited, his…member fills with blood."

Horror struck the girl's face. "It does? Like—like my monthly?"

"No, it's inside. It makes his…member stiff. Like a…pipe." Merlin, dancing around the words was exhausting. She wasn't even sure what the proper terminology was at this time. "And when you both feel ready, he'll ask if he can guide his member inside of you. Where your, erm, monthly comes from. Your body is designed for it." The first stretch of Lucius's cock had felt like a wonder—like pure magic, if magic was hard and silky smooth and pressing against every nerve in her core. "It may be uncomfortable at first, especially during your first time. Your body isn't used to it, after all. But eventually, if your husband is attentive and considerate, it should feel good. For both of you." Lucius's groans filled her head, each upward thrust into her pussy spurring on his sinful sounds.

"The man will move more quickly when it feels good. He might grab you…kiss you…" Fuck, Lucius had just yanked her up against him, clutching her hips so hard it probably left bruises. Guiding her to match him, rolling her hips faster and faster, hitting her deeper and deeper. "And when he's ready, he'll grow very still inside you." Oh how she came as he did, her orgasm pulling his, pulling them both into the floaty high of ecstasy, making every atom in her body and mind alight in him. "Then his seed will spill inside you, and that's…well, that's that. There are so many pleasures of the body that you'll get to explore. And that's just the first." Adeline's mouth was fully hanging open now. It took Hermione a few seconds to realize she'd stopped asking questions. When Hermione lifted her hand to her cheek, it was hot like a sunburn. "Does that help?" she asked weakly.

Adeline's lips closed and parted a few times before finally she said softly, "Is that what it's like with Professor Brutus every time?"

If he ever even touches me again it bloody well will be. "Erm…well, it varies somewhat, but generally yes."

"Oh professor, I cannot wait to be married." Adeline rose to her feet and gave Hermione a beaming smile. She looked like the timid, frail girl Hermione met in the hallway the other day. It broke Hermione's heart knowing that when she wasn't with her fiance, she was this bright, excitable girl.

"I'm happy I could help," Hermione said, smiling faintly.

"Do not worry, I will tell no one what you've told me. I understand now why young witches refuse to speak of such matters until after we are wed. If we were allowed, we'd get nothing else done! Good day, professor."

Adeline gave her a little courtesy before skipping out of the classroom like a child on her way to the ice cream parlor. And when she finally was alone, Hermione turned back around and sank her head into her arms.

God, she needed some time to be alone. Unwind somewhere quiet and dim, somewhere where over-eager students, nosy headmasters, and her husband couldn't find her. The library was an option, but she didn't exactly fancy a run-in with Birdwanker. And of course her chambers were out of the question, in case Lucius was already back. Now that she was mulling it over…hadn't she heard one of the professors mention a private bathroom just for faculty?

Perhaps it was time for a much-needed, relaxing bath with herself, her thoughts, and her hand…

Lucius

The faculty bathroom was almost an exact replica of the prefect's bathroom that apparently hadn't changed in the nearly three-hundred years since Lucius had been a badge-wearing swot. It was aglow in warm light from the candles staggered around the room and floating overhead. Three tower windows framed the huge marble tub, with the central window a masterpiece of stained glass. In it, a brown-haired mermaid spun her hair around her finger, eyeing Lucius beneath her lashes as he shucked off his clothes.

"You're lovely, but I'm afraid you're not the one I want," he told her as he dropped his trousers and stepped up to the pool. The mermaid rolled her eyes and dove into the glass waves, disappearing from view.

Smirking, Lucius sank into the steaming water, which had magically begun to fill as he undressed. He groaned as the hot water rose to his shoulders, winding around his body in the way only a proper bath could. As he set about pouring in perfumed soaps and salts, he pondered the idea of using Brutus's money to build a bath like this in Malfoy Manor. His future-past-self certainly would enjoy it.

Once the tub was brimming with mountains of white and lavender bubbles, Lucius grabbed a flannel from the basket and began washing himself. He started with his hair, combing suds into the locks which had grown far past his shoulders. Narcissa had loathed it this long, always insisting he trim it; and when he refused, or pretended he hadn't heard, she took her wand to it anyway. But Lucius enjoyed this length. It was…elegant. Refined. He had the hair of a king, and by Merlin he wanted to show it off.

Thoughts of Narcissa soon had him rigorously scrubbing away the day from his skin. He had missed her at first, he truly had. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, and three years had passed without so much as a letter or visit, he'd nearly given up on his wife. Draco, he could understand. He'd failed his son beyond measure. But Cissa? She had stood by his side through war and horror and mistakes. Sure, they had lost the affection of youth over the years, but they still loved each other, didn't they? What was supporting each other through two wars, surviving a madman, raising a child in the most trying of circumstances…if not love?

Duty.

His father's low, cutting voice supplied the answer instantly. Duty had brought Narcissa into his life. Duty had kept her in his home and bed. Duty had kept her by his side. But then the war ended. Lucius was locked away. And Narcissa was free.

Perhaps that was why Hermione was still so insistent on going home. She wanted to be free. And in this time, he was nothing but a shackle keeping her in place. He knew she was still trying to get home. It was so obvious the other day during their conversation that Lucius almost pointed it out. But he wanted her to trust him. To see that a life here at this school, a life together as friends, could be worth it. And if he went about pointing out her lies, where did that leave him? With a woman set on fighting him on the plan every single day until she either made it home, or she died trying? He did not want to fight Hermione. Not when she was like… that. Ill. He hated to think it, but there was an illness in her. A darkness lurking in her mind that even the erasure of Dolohov's magic couldn't heal. They both knew the consequences of going home—the consequences of even attempting it. And yet she continued to push and push and push for home.

Lucius wrung out the flannel and tossed it aside, then swam over to the rounded lip of the pool. He spread out his arms and closed his eyes, sighing in the sweet herbal scents. I'll watch her, and I'll protect her, he decided, as his hand dipped beneath the water. It closed around his eager cock. I'll research for a cure and try to stop this madness of going home before it consumes her. He began to slowly stroke his hardening length. This time he wouldn't rush. He wouldn't fuck his hand like a hormone-crazed teenager. No, Lucius would have a proper wank. He'd touch himself slowly, purposefully, picturing first his witch's face. Imagining the way it would feel to kiss her for the first time. How long had he been wanting it? Since she walked down the steps of Malfoy Manor dripping in velvet? Since the day they landed in this time? Since the second she stepped into his cell? Since the moment he saw her across the courtroom at his trial, with her creased tweed robes and her poorly straightened hair and her anxious, broken pout?

And when he finally kissed her, would she make a soft little noise into his mouth? Would she wind her small hands into his hair and tug him closer? Would she straddle his lap with those creamy, lean thighs? Would she nip at his bottom lip like the little lioness he knew she was? Lucius hissed out a curse as he pumped himself just a little harder.

"Oh!"

His hand stilled. His eyes opened slowly, like if it took long enough, whoever had just interrupted him again would disappear. But when they finally did, his hand did not leave his cock. Because standing there, at the edge of the pool, was a very frazzled, very dressed, and very red Hermione Granger.

They both stared at each other for a long moment until Lucius finally dared to look down and see that the bubbles weren't nearly as thick as they'd once been, and the witch standing on the opposite end of the tub could most definitely see exactly where his hand was.

"Hello there, wife," Lucius teased, when his ridiculous brain could think of nothing better to open with. "Marvelous, isn't it?" he said, gingerly releasing his cock in a likey foolish attempt to hide where it had just been. He gestured around the steaming pool. "Who knew there was a faculty bathroom?"

Hermione just stared at him for a few seconds before finally sputtering, "Well, I-I did."

"You did?"

"Yes, one of the other professors mentioned it to me. The young Transfiguration professor, I think."

"Ah. He's the one who molested a student, and that's apparently why they even built this place in the first place…" Hermione looked anything but interested. In fact, she looked positively scandalized. As if she hadn't ever seen his naked body before this morning, which was wholly untrue. Sure, he'd barely taken off his clothes in the closet, but they'd spent weeks now undressing in close proximity. "I'll leave and bathe in our chambers," he said, when the silence was growing unbearable.

"No!" She clapped a hand to her chest, like she hadn't realized she'd nearly shouted the damn word. Hermione grabbed her curls, shoving them away from her face. "I mean…it would be rather silly for you to leave, wouldn't it? When you've just started your…bath?" she said dryly. Her eyes dropped just a fraction, and Lucius smirked. It seemed she wasn't as scandalized as he thought, if she was making wanking jokes.

"Quite silly," he agreed. "Would you…" he hesitated before continuing, eyeing her carefully for any glimmer of hesitation "…care to join me?"

There it was again. That silence that stretched between them, thicker even than the scent of florals and herbs that hung over the room. Hermione didn't move. One hand remained frozen in her hair, the other gripping the opposite hip. He felt suddenly ashamed for asking such a thing of her, for being so foolish as to think she'd actually want to spend that time with him after the encounter in the closet had been so clearly not her choice. Not really. Because at the end of the day, she was still Hermione Granger. And he was a Malfoy. A Death Eater. The shackle around her ankle. And she would never, not willingly, not fully, want to be anywhere near his naked body if there wasn't some crisis on the line.

But then she spoke. Just three words, floating from her full lips over to his ears, through his suddenly pounding heart, and directly to his cock.

"Yes, I would."