"Lucius," Hermione keened.
The hand at her hip slipped to her waistband .
"Good girl," Lucius commended and Hermione bit back a moan as clever fingers dipped into her knickers and delved for her cleft. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?"
He paused briefly to tease her clit before exploring deeper and pressing two fingers inside, pumping experimentally and dragging with perfect pressure against her front wall.
"Already so wet for me. Such a naughty little thing you are. Is this what you think about when we flirt in your office?"
"We don't flirt," she had the presence of mind to deny, squealing when he pinched her clit in retaliation.
"Liar," he accused smugly, "And here I thought you were supposed to be the paragon of honesty and virtue. But I think we both know that's not quite true, is it?"
The scene fuzzed, and he was behind her as Hermione bent over an old sofa, Lucius pushed into her for the first time, his cock hot and weighty as he whispered dirty things in her ear that made her shiver. She was so close, if he would just move a little faster, but then he was always determined to torture her—
Hermione's eyes snapped open as she shot straight up in bed, gasping lungfuls of air. She held a hand to her racing heart and intentionally slowed her breathing to calm herself.
"Oh, no. No, no, no. Salazar's saggy bollocks, no," she groaned, swiping a hand down her face and collapsing back into her nest of pillows.
It was the third dream, no nightmare, supplied by her idiotic subconscious in as many days. Though this one was possibly the most explicit. Certainly the first one where they made it to the actual act before she woke up cranky and beyond sexually frustrated.
She'd never known her imagination could be quite so luridly detailed. Hermione would almost find it fascinating, if she weren't so utterly horrified by the object of those particular lurid details.
None of her dreams had happened on that unfortunate field trip. Reality had been much more sanely mundane. Mostly.
"Malfoy. I will hex your bollocks off if you do not let me go this instant!" Hermione growled through clenched teeth, ignoring the swooping feeling low in her belly.
He tsked at her like a recalcitrant child before stepping away.
"Deny it all you like; we both know it's only a matter of time before you come for me in every sense of the word."
Hermione sputtered, unsure of how best to retort to that delusion, but Lucius had moved on.
"Now, let's just—" He incanted something too low for her to hear and a creeping chill rolled across the rickety floorboards.
Ashwinder eggs floated up from hidden crevices ahead hadn't yet assessed.
"The eggs are highly volatile— the fire danger."
"Has already been nullified, my dear. Handy little charm this."
All of the eggs landed safely frozen in Hermione's collection basket.
"You've known that charm the entire time." She stated, though that was quite obviously the case. Though where he learned it and why He, of all people, would ever need to know how to deal with ashwinder eggs was a subject too headache inducing to contemplate.
"Of course."
"And you didn't think it would be helpful at all to use it earlier?"
"You were quite against assistance, if I recall," Lucius replied airily, "Perhaps next time you'll be forward thinking enough to accept what I have to offer."
Hermione ground her teeth together, glowering at the man in front of her. The slightly smug upturn of his lips bloomed into a full, self-satisfied grin.
She took a deep, bracing breath and reluctantly thanked him before brushing past him to descend the rickety staircase and place these last eggs with the rest.
She was so utterly annoyed with Malfoy, this misadventure, and life in general that she completely missed his inquiry the first time.
"Beg pardon?"
"Dinner," he repeated. "It's growing rather late. Would you care to accompany me?"
And willingly subject herself to even more time in his company? Not bloody likely.
"I have to get these eggs into storage at the ministry," she replied evasively. Why she didn't refuse outright was simply due to needing to remain on semi-decent working terms. She still had legislation to pass, after all. That was it.
"That should hardly take a moment."
"I also need to… feed my cat?"
Hermione groaned to herself in her head. Bugger being polite; she should have just told him no, flat out. Now she had only succeeded in making herself sound like an idiot.
If she thought Lucius would be off-put by her meandering refusal, she was wrong. If anything, he looked amused.
The man was truly bizarre.
"Next time, then," he said easily.
"I— er— I really need to be getting these eggs back."
Ugh. Smooth, Hermione.
Not that she cared about what he thought, per se, but she really did abhor looking the fool in front of anyone.
"Of course. I'll accompany you to the floo."
So much for hoping he would simply apparate away and that be the end of this weird interlude. If the ashwinder eggs would have survived the trip, she would have already done so herself.
Unfortunately, they were rather finicky even after being frozen, and it would be beyond unfortunate to ruin her haul simply to escape Malfoy sooner.
"Right. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."
Thanking him was like chewing glass: sharp and all wrong in her mouth, and definitely bad for her health.
"Oh, it's my pleasure, Hermione."
The walk back to the center of Seffusthaft was accomplished much more quickly than the walk to the house, if only because the crowds had largely dissipated with the oncoming night. Even so, it was awkward and tense, though she thought that was primarily on her part. Malfoy seemed quite at ease in their near silent return. She really did envy the man's ability to be utterly unbothered when she felt like a neurotic mess.
They finally reached the floo, and Hermione expected him to pull some trick or make another ridiculous double entendre at the last moment. But aside from the brief pressure of a guiding hand and a quiet, "After you, my dear." Her strange evening ended without fanfare.
Eggs were dropped off, the elderly Crookshanks was fed, and Hermione ate two-day-old leftovers for dinner. Alone.
She was absolutely not disappointed. At all.
But the dreams were getting out of hand.
It was all she could think about that morning, as she set about her weekend chores.
It didn't help that she had never had dreams quite like these before. Especially not starring a particular person, and definitely not so, so illicit. Even as a hormonal teenager, her dreams had never skewed so far into libidinous territory… though that was likely due in part to the constant worry of keeping herself and her friends alive more than anything. She'd thought she had simply skipped the boy crazy phase aside from a few intriguing snogs with Viktor and a drawn out will-they-won't-they doomed courtship with Ron.
But now there was this.
Trust Hermione Granger to discover her libido with the most inappropriate option imaginable.
But was it inappropriate, really?, the traitorous side of her subconscious asked. From everything she had unwittingly learned about him over the years, she knew they were both single. Sure, Malfoy was older than her. A lot older than her, but did age matter for a fling?
Hermione groaned, shutting down that entire line of thought. Was she really that desperate that she would contemplate sex with an allegedly reformed Lucius Malfoy just to scratch this newfound itch?
Of course not. Hermione Granger wasn't ruled by her hormones.
She would not, could not, entertain the idea of any sort of relationship with him. Purely sexual or otherwise. Definitely not otherwise. That way only lead to insanity, and she had no doubt he would be even more insufferable to know that she had given the thought even a second's consideration. It wasn't even really so long ago that he wanted to see people like her removed from the magical world, or worse. That he was attempting to cosy up to her now that her stock in the magical world had risen was telling. A basilisk didn't shed its fangs, as the old saying went.
Still, Hermione could recognize that she was ridiculously sexually frustrated, had been for a while truthfully. Was it really healthy to be carrying all that frustration around with no sort of release?
The infuriating wizard himself was not an option to relieve her, but in the end, she had a much better idea.
"Ginny! Are you busy?" Hermione called through the fire grate, poking her head through, hoping her friend would be available. James usually spent his Fridays and Saturdays being spoiled by Molly and Arthur at the Burrow, letting Harry and Ginny have some time to themselves for hanging around with friends and the odd date night here and there. Hermione dropping in on the weekends was nothing new, but with how close the baby's due date was, she had no idea if they were holding to their weekend tradition or not.
She just really, really hoped Harry wasn't around. Bless him, but he was the absolute last person she wanted involved in her dating life in any capacity. Not that she wanted Ginny to realize her sudden, urgent desire to get laid had been brought on by a certain, insufferable Malfoy, but of the two of them, Ginny was the more preferable option. And the only one that might actually have a sane, alternative solution for her, if Hermione allowed her friend to set her up.
It was late Saturday morning, and though Hermione had reasoned out her conviction to ask Ginny to set her up upon waking from that last horrid dream, it had taken her a couple of hours of min-numbing chores to actually talk herself around to the idea of actually approaching her.
Hermione analyzed, overanalyzed, and re-analyzed the situation before she came to the realization that she really didn't need some massive change-of-heart rationale. She could simply invite Ginny to a girl's day out and mention that she had given it some thought and might be open to being set up with someone.
Hermione really did make things harder for herself than she needed to, honestly.
"Hermione! Come on through!"
Her heart soared. Finally, after the most awkward week imaginable, something in her life was going right.
"Oh, Ginny, you would not believe the week I've had," Hermione rambled, stepping into the room. "I was actually wondering if I could take you up on your offer—oh. Hi, Pansy."
Hermione swallowed and deflated.
"Granger," the other woman acknowledged.
Pansy Parkinson was not precisely the last person she expected to find in 12 Grimmauld Place as she was now engaged to Ron. But she certainly hadn't expected to find her there sans fiancé at half ten on Saturday morning.
"The boys ditched us and went for a pick up quidditch scrimmage," Ginny offered. "Pans and I were just talking about getting some of those little fancy fairy cakes from the new cakery next to Flourish and Blotts. I'm dying for them."
Ah. They were bonding. Now was definitely not a good time, but that did answer her niggling question as to how they'd become friends.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I can just come back some other time."
Or never. This was a stupid idea to begin with.
She could figure out her love life, or the lack thereof, on her own.
"Nonsense, Granger. I want to hear more about this offer you're taking Gin up on."
Gin, now, is she? Well, isn't that cosy?
Hermione quashed the burgeoning feelings of jealousy. Pansy wasn't replacing her. Ginny could, should, have multiple female friends. In fact, she did have plenty of female friends. It was perfectly normal to try to befriend one's sister-in-law. Everything was fine.
"Now, let's go," Pansy demanded imperiously.
For the moment, with Pansy around, Lucius Malfoy was the very least of her worries.
It was a lovely late August day, not too warm, with the sun peaking through the clouds.
"So, about this offer?" Pansy lead in abruptly once they had settled at an outside table along with their chosen confections.
Hermione sighed and shifted uncomfortably. Perhaps she had metaphorically spoken too soon. Harry wasn't the last person she wanted involved in her love life, after all. Pansy was.
"It's nothing really," Hermione demurred, mentally casting about for any other topic of conversation. "Have you and Ron set a date yet?"
Pansy narrowed her eyes and scowled.
"Don't try to change the subject, Golden Girl."
"Please don't call me that. You can call me Hermione, you know. My friends do." And so did one self-important arsehole who hadn't been invited to do so. Getting over her Malfoy shaped issue was more important than the discomfort of having to engage in conversation with Pansy Parkinson. Remembering that steeled her resolve for the conversation ahead.
"Are we friends, Granger?" Pansy asked, crossing her arms.
"Now, now, no need to get testy," Ginny cut in as she polished off her little fancy cake.
"I think we should try to be," Hermione offered. Pansy rubbed her the wrong way, and Hermione was certain the feeling was mutual. "We can at least try to be civil."
Pansy regarded her for a moment as though looking for something. She must have found it because she nodded once and uncrossed her arms.
"All right then. What would you and Ginny be talking about if I weren't here? If we're going to be friends, I want to know more about this offer you're so reluctant to discuss."
Hermione grimaced as Ginny gasped.
"Oh! I must be completely dazed out. You don't mean-" she squealed, clasping her hands together.
Hermione hesitantly nodded in affirmation.
"Well, out with it," Pansy said in exasperation, "I'm not a legilimens, you know."
And thank Merlin for that.
Ginny grinned toothily with mischief, and Hermione belatedly realized how terrible an idea this really was.
"Hermione's gagging for a good, proper shag. And we're going to help make that happen."
It was the second meeting since their outing, and Hermione wouldn't meet his eyes. She flushed a very becoming shade of red whenever he addressed her. She kept to her meeting notes, not entertaining even the slightest off-topic discussion, aside from an envious brief assessment of his current choice of ink.
She had still yet to even broach convincing him on the subject of the werewolf plight. The only bright point was that he seemed to have successfully run off her lackeys for the time being.
Lucius had, perhaps, striven for too much, too quickly. Pushed a mite too hard.
He resolved to step back and exercise patience rather than push— a task more difficult than he believed it would be. Hermione's continued refusal to use his given name rankled him in a manner Lucius had never experienced before, and he absolutely despised the fact that her newfound penchant for ignoring him drove him up the wall.
He wondered, not for the first time in recent days, what precisely he was doing.
Miss Granger represented a new challenge, and she was certainly that, but seduction was supposed to be a simple accompaniment to moderating her aims rather than his primary focus. Lucius was supposed to be earning her regard and recruiting a potentially powerful future ally.
Not this. He was almost pining for her attention. Utterly pathetic.
But what completely confunded him was her choice of robes this day. They were nicer and more flattering than her typical workwear, and Hermione Granger was not the sort to dress up for no reason.
There was a short-lived moment that he thought she might have changed tack and dressed up for him, but with the way she continued to glance at the clock, he reasoned that she must have an appointment. After work.
With more flattering robes. He didn't care for the implications.
Lucius's eyes narrowed, wondering how he could delay her long enough to more fully discern her evening agenda.
Going off on a tangent about the Wizengamot would do precisely that. In some ways, she really was too enjoyably easy to goad.
"Do you really think the same witches and wizards writing the laws should be the ones to enforce them?" Hermione demanded, eyes flashing.
"It's the way things have always been done," Lucius returned, "It's tradition."
"There's no accountability. No oversight. No balance of power," she ticked off on one hand.
The clock was long since forgotten.
"So, what? You'd have us eschew a thousand years of tradition? To what end?" His questions were airy, and arrogantly delivered; he was rewarded with the passionate depths of her ire.
"Fairness," Hermione asserted, "The Wizengamot unilaterally comes up with laws and votes them into being. And don't get me started on your judicial proceedings. The only thing the common witch or wizard gets to vote for is Minister. We don't get to choose who represents our districts. There aren't even term limits!"
They were fair points in this modern age, he granted, but far be it for him to consider altering a system that had worked well for him and his family for centuries.
"So, you intend to single-handedly modernize our governance?"
"Of course not," Hermione laughed caustically. "I'm not that naïve. I know you all hate me. Besides, there is a disproportionate- Shit!"
The witch hopped from her chair and began stuffing her belongings into her satchel that held far more than it ought. He made a note to himself to look into that for later.
"I'm sorry, Hermione, is there somewhere else you need to be?" He queried, feigning innocence and making no move to rush to leave like she was. It was a full half hour past what ought to have been the end of their scheduled meeting time.
"I'm late, and I really must be going. I'll have to ask you to do the same. We can pick this up next time, if we absolutely have to," Hermione said, grumbling the last.
"Oh? And what precisely are you late for after work hours on a Monday, pray tell?" Lucius asked.
Hermione got that stubborn look in her eye that told him he was about to be challenged. He adored that look.
Lucius Malfoy realized, in that moment, that he might have a problem.
"Not that it's any of your business, but I have a date."
Lucius gripped the neck of his cane harder than he ought, the prickly metal scales biting into his flesh.
Make that two problems.