Beyond the Veil -- COMPLETE

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Updated 3-24-08


Your reviews and analyses are so detailed I wonder if you’ve been reading my mind. It’s a good thing none of you have wands (or do you?)

To respond:

sisterae – Thank you for reviewing. Your views on the hero and heroine are the same as my own.

ScaryBearHair – I may have to pass out virtual hankies if those two don’t come to some agreement soon. Don’t be sad – you know they’ll end up together. Hope I wasn’t letting out a secret with that info. LOL

meankitty69 – Thank you. I do try for original, but that is difficult with all the good writers on AFF.

sheherazade – Lucius may take your fancy as a redhead , but he hates it (Weasley overtones) so that color is disappearing soon.

Utopia – Forbidden Forest is available and they can go there. This is 1817 England, not an alternate universe. The magic world existed then. Lucius has merely said he’s unwilling to go there until he’s rich again to avoid curiosity about any sudden wealth he accumulates (Ch.5). More on that later.

sickforseverus – You asked about the Forbidden Forest also. See above. 8-)

Ravenna – Lucius may help others, but he never forgets to help Lucius. (grin)

Heidi191976 – Thank you. More on the way.

bluezauza – Scuttle that guilt. Lucius isn't worrying too much, but that's his style. Sorry to bring you down with the chapter. You know I always have happy endings, but long stories.

blue artemis – Lucius thought Hermione was unhappy that he took advantage of her physically, not from his cheap perfume smell. She didn’t mention it and he could no longer smell the lilac scent himself, his nose had become accustomed to it. All he smelled was Hermione’s overwhelming perfume sprayed on her by the Madame. I hope that makes sense.

LadyFabulous – I appreciate all your lovely comments. Thank you. I find Lucius Malfoy an intricate character. I’m glad you like this characterization.

FlowersBecomeScreens – I laughed so hard when I read your review. I finished your last chapter of Hungry, Thirsty, Crazy and had the EXACT SAME FEELING about you. Why write when there is someone of your caliber out there? And I agree some people need a one-way ticket to the Forbidden Forest.

datoichii – I think Hermione will come to understand where Lucius’ interests lie… sooner or later. We find out this chapter.

tambrathegreat – There’s more to the Malfoy money. More info later.

LilyValentine – I’m glad you like my stories. Very good question about the mindless muggles. I perhaps should have said ‘one-track or reprogrammed mind’ because of course they have to have some self-direction to target and destroy the magic folk. Good call.

Doodle – I fell across Heyer in the library and now I have all the Georgette Heyer books and have reread most of them. I’m flattered that you think this is better (of course Georgette didn’t have any smut…) A lot of the Regency era’s vocabulary should be familiar to you, then.

So where do Lucius and Hermione go from here?


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Chapter Ten


Attractions

Lucius soon rounded up all the victims, sending them in one at a time to talk to Hermione. If they wanted to leave, Lucius gave them money to go along with clothing suitable to their destinations. They didn’t know he was designing dresses and other outerwear through transfiguration from the Madame’s extensive wardrobe. Lucius actually was having a good time creating interesting clothing for the various escapees. He asked their destinations, retreated to Madame’s boudoir and selected a piece of clothing, then set about changing it to match their desires. He had sat through so many fittings at Madam Malkin’s over the years for Narcissa, he felt he had something of a flair for design.

Surprisingly, when Hermione offered them their choice, only a few actually decided to leave. The rest of the inhabitants wanted to know what the new management was going to be like and what their circumstances would be if they stayed. Hermione was dumbfounded at their attitudes. Why on earth would they wish to stay and be prostitutes? After the third person asked the same questions, she sent for Lucius leaving that explanation to him. She had no answers at all.

Lucius merely asked her to send anyone wishing to stay to the main drawing room downstairs and he’d take care of their queries after the last person who wanted to leave was taken care of.

Soon all the individuals were sorted and the ones who wanted to leave sent on their ways. Those who had wished to stay had gone back to their rooms after a brief meeting with Lucius, which Hermione had chosen not to attend. Lucius removed Hermione to Madame’s private office, a place she hadn’t been before, and asked her, “Do you want me to deliver you back to our room now? The house there is completely empty.”

“What about all the people who want to hear what the new management is going to offer them?” she said a bit waspishly from her seat by the fire in Madame’s office. She still couldn’t understand their attitudes. “They will still need answers.”

“They are going to wait until tomorrow. You let me take care of that,” he replied relaxing in a wing chair, toasting his feet at the fender near the fire. Madame had done quite well by herself – her office cum sitting room boasted some rather fine scotch, which Lucius was sipping appreciatively.

“And we still need to discuss your behavior tonight, Lucius. I can’t pretend that nothing happened between us.” Hermione’s breasts were still swollen and a little tingly from their erotic usage by a master seducer with a twelve-year backlog of fondling to make up for. He certainly made a dedicated start tonight, the louse, Hermione fumed, righteously disparaging her savior in her mind in an attempt to erase the physical intoxication still running rampant through her system. She knew it was not her place to interrogate him about his tomcatting earlier in the evening, but she had to bite down on her pursed lips to keep from lighting into him for something he had every right to do.

“I don’t want to pretend nothing happened either,” he smiled seductively. “Actually I’d like to take up where we left off, but I assume you are not of a like mind.”

“Of course not!” Hermione gasped dishonestly, “Have I given the impression I’d welcome any physical advances from you?” The uptight witch was horrified that Lucius was laying out his sexual hopes so nonchalantly, so enticingly. No way was she going to stand in line and take a number to experience his earthy expertise, especially when he had already obviously chosen some low harlot ahead of her! How could she continue in his company if he was expecting her to give him her favors as part of a harem? That wasn’t what she wanted from him! Beowulf’s balls, she didn’t know what she wanted from him, but playing second fiddle in his erotic orchestra was not it. She assured herself that her reaction to his expert touches on her breasts meant nothing, nothing at all. It had been many years of no sex partners for her too, and it was merely a momentary animal reaction unconnected to her true desires completely. Her protective illusions settled firmly into place.

“So you feel nothing carnally persuasive at all about exploring our attraction?” Lucius gazed at the tiny sprite quizzically. He really did like her diminutive size.

“No! Nothing carnal at all! Nothing! And no attraction!” she responded with a firm nod of her head to punctuate her assertion if the words had failed to convince him. “I’m only disappointed in you taking advantage of me in that horrible situation. That’s all!” Hermione was incensed; her hands grasped the chair arms tightly as she leaned forward with her accusations. He had ruthlessly taken advantage of her in her captivity. Apparently the Death Eater was alive and well. She was disappointed in him and it made her sad.

“However angry with me you are for what I did, I did save you from a life of rapes, and possibly I saved your life, my dear,” Lucius inserted silkily, already recasting himself as a bonafide savior (who perhaps had unilaterally added a few minor side benefits). Resting his glass of scotch on a tiny mahogany table by his chair, he expounded virtuously, “This time period has little in the way of cures for some of the more vicious of the venereal diseases.” He crossed his hands on his stomach and stretched out his legs a little farther from the blaze of the fire, looking completely at home.

Hermione figured he likely was at his ease in this den of iniquity. “What do you mean, angry? I’m disappointed about your unwarranted freedom with my person,” Hermione railed. She stood up, her hands on her hips, spitting mad at her ‘rescuer’ for taking advantage of the situation and making her feel so, so… so unsettled, and weepy and needy. She didn’t want to feel any of that and especially not toward him, a convicted brute from her former life who would have snuffed her out without a second thought during the final battle, had he fought instead of running away with his family. A brute who would choose some second-rate strumpet over her. “And I can cure myself of any of the diseases I might have been infected with,” she added. “You should probably do the same.” Hermione resumed her seat with a ladylike sniff.

“You couldn’t have cured yourself without your wand,” he pointed out. “Why didn’t you just apparate out of here when they left you alone?” Lucius wondered about that comment on his curing himself, but let it pass. Did she think he had been shagging the upscale brothel’s courtesans while he’d been getting rid of the management? Her previous lovers must have been finished almost before Hermione even got horizontal if she thought he could have added sex to everything he’d done while she stayed in that maniacal valentine room.

Unaware of her compatriot’s idle speculations on her sex life, Hermione’s eyes filled with tears again, “They said if I tried to escape, I wouldn’t be the only one to suffer. They showed me one of the other women and said they would kill her. They were probably lying, but I couldn’t take the chance. I knew you would come, so I waited.”

Shades of the sheep, Lucius groused to himself. This young woman will never save herself at the price of another’s life. “You knew I would come.” Lucius said tonelessly. “You trust me to save you, but you still think I’m an irredeemable troll.” He didn’t know why or when the young woman had gone off the rails sexually but something must have happened that had been drastic; she’ d been so unrelenting and intelligent during Voldemort’s reign. But he knew she hadn’t been unresponsive while he was blissfully mauling her breasts. Quite the opposite.

“I don’t,” said the tearful witch, “I don’t think you’re a troll.” But she knew her response could have used a more sincere delivery. She didn’t think of him as a troll. How could she when he was so unbearably, resolutely beautiful with that long, sexy hair and those mesmerizing eyes set in a face that should be licensed as a deadly weapon - the less she contemplated his potent body, the safer she was. No, he wasn’t a troll, but she needed to control any purely visceral reactions that would give him an advantage. Lucius was born to take advantage. He might try to turn over a new leaf, but he was attempting to overcome centuries of privilege and superiority in his quest and she was not about to be mown down in the wake of his experiment to reinvent himself.

Lucius sat lazily contemplating the fire as he wondered if Hermione had really analyzed their predicament. He thought not. There was a whole world out there for them to get lost in, but if either of them developed a relationship with anyone else, a new mate, or even just close friends, their shared secret would always be a barrier. Did Hermione imagine she could marry someone in this era and live the rest of her life having the first thirty years of her existence a mystery to her husband? Or even perpetuate a lie she’d made up?

They both knew too many inventions, events, discoveries, and other shocking modern facts that could leak out in intimate situations for either of them to ever be totally comfortable alone or with strangers as mates. Together the two of them could have some quietly organized comforts from the future not currently known or invented and enjoy them together. The spells alone that had come into being after this time were worth keeping, if only privately.

He silently sorted through his impressions of her. Perhaps she didn’t want to marry at all. She hadn’t shown any interest in him, but that didn’t mean she might not fall in love someday with someone else. THAT wasn’t going to happen if he had to use the Imperius on her until she accepted him. Their circumstances had bound them together tighter than fur on a kneazle and he was going to make certain she understood that little fact before much more time had passed, preferably in bed.

Lucius had come to his stunning conclusion the night before when he had seen the cold, empty bed. His world had crashed about his ears, crystallizing his future with a vengeance. The little witch was going to spend the rest of her life with him, either as his wife or as his lover, whichever she chose. But she belonged to him now. He didn’t want to have to prevaricate to everyone about his past or his ideas ever again. He’d spent years and years of his adulthood camouflaging his double life as a Death Eater from everyone except Narcissa. Even the Death Eaters hadn’t known each other by name until toward the end, always hiding behind masks. He refused to suffer through that again in this new life without the comfort of Hermione’s presence where he could be himself.

Lucius had a fair idea what was running through his witch’s mind – and body – he wasn’t a beginner at male-female relations and her bellicose attitude toward him hid any number of less simple emotions. His whole body was tingling, panting for a mindless coupling, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen while she continued to pretend that her own body wasn’t awakening to a similar need for his. Those sexually arid twelve years were taking their toll and he knew he wasn’t going to wait for more years. Nor months. Even weeks was beginning to pall as an idea. His one unpalatable foray into substandard brothel fare wouldn’t be repeated. His haughty soul couldn’t bear it.

Lucius scoffed inwardly at Hermione’s puny assertions of disinterest. Why did she have to make their attraction so complicated? It could be as simple as indulging in a mind-blowing shag - or six - and then letting the embers cool, going back to familiar enemies if they had to, but together they could have so much more. Lucius wasn’t held down by his bloodlines any more. Some other ancestor was taking care of that and it freed Lucius to choose Hermione for his own. His prison experience had diluted his interest in the Pureblood credo in any case. He knew he’d like to get his hands and other extremities on her and in her, and already itched to see the imprint of his hand on her sweet, rounded little bottom as he spanked her into erotic obedience, one of his favorite forms of bedroom exercise.

His obsession with spanking that bum into rosy submission was fast gaining an almost irreversible hold on him. It wouldn’t be long before he would have to do something about it. Visiting a bordello again for a chastisement of one of the whores held little interest for him next to turning his irate little witch over his knee, but he was nearly boiling over with his craving for a bit of plump backside served up for his palm and if she wasn’t ready, he might have to find another outlet. Lucius guessed that his sexual preferences weren’t even in her vocabulary, much less desirable as a form of amorous recreation. And her behavior, vacillating between treating him as though he were a reluctantly tolerated form of pond scum and Jack the Ripper was making that hand itch unbearably.

“Perhaps you’re angry with me for saving your life the first time, at the Veil. Did you want to die, Hermione? Was your life so barren?” Lucius cocked his head, his glamoured auburn hair sweeping down his shoulder and across his chest, drawing Hermione’s attention back to the wrongness of his looks with the odd eye and hair colors. His changed appearance brought back his recent behavior and she shivered with reaction.

“Of course not. Why should I be angry that you saved me in the Ministry? That doesn’t make any sense,” she stormed, squirming at his jab. She hadn’t felt relief to know the sheep were going to end her life. But she hadn’t experienced any sense of sheer terror either, she admitted to herself. She had been more numb than anything else, but had ascribed it to shock. Had her life become so empty she wasn’t afraid to lose it? The idea appalled her even as it spooked her faintly with the possibility of some truth being cloaked in Lucius’ speculations.

“And by the way,” she added pettishly, “I hate your hair color and that fake eye color. They don’t suit you at all.” She glanced at his drink, “And you’re making a wet circle on that table. There aren’t any house elves here to clean up after you, you know.” Up until that point Hermione hadn’t really been assessing her compatriot with any thoroughness and she was appalled that she was actually angry at him for just being a randy male with a twelve year backlog of sexual frustration to unload.

Hermione looked at Lucius trying to see him – his depth, his personality, his likes and dislikes – and found she hadn’t bothered to pick up on anything about him at all, except his preference for nice clothing and a Muggle-free world. She had buried herself and her interest in her fellow man very effectively for years. Her intelligence had been focused devotedly and solely on the historical artifacts she controlled in her basement Ministry research facility and not on people who could hurt her.

Lucius just smiled, wholly content with her outburst. She was closer than he’d thought to making his dream of a thorough spanking come true. “So shall I take you home now?” he asked serenely. “It’s after dawn. You must be exhausted.” He wanted Hermione to go back to the boardinghouse so he could take the landlady to her new ‘home’. Dropping off the three panderers in the Forbidden Forest wouldn’t be very satisfying as it was more like the drudgery of taking out the garbage, but the idea of delivering the vicious, old harridan to the insane asylum increased the wattage of his smile, infuriating his potential little playmate in the other chair.

Hermione mentally stamped a foot in vexation. There was absolutely no appearance of irritation at her rude comments visible on that nasty, handsome face of his. He was making her crazy, a desperate waspishness coming to the fore in her attempts to make him as miserable as she felt. She knew why she felt miserable and it was all his fault. He’d awakened her slumbering libido and it wouldn’t die down and go back where it had been sleeping for the past ten plus years.

Hermione’s only experiences with sex had been with the two men she’d thought herself in love with, although the second one she had belatedly recognized as a rebound romance. She was nowhere near in love with this arrogant jackass, yet he had carelessly brought her physical awareness roaring back to life in just a few short minutes of sensual fondling. So what if he was easy on the eyes and his form pure masculinity at its best? He had never entranced her before and she’d seen him several times, the most notable in those last few months before the war ended. He’d actually stood at the side in his own home watching Bellatrix torturing her with nothing more than a bored look on his face.

So what if he’d maybe saved her life now? From her calculations, he owed that and more to her for making her early life so fraught with near death experiences trying to end Voldemort’s control of the wizarding world. No, she didn’t owe him anything. He was only making a slight start to rebalancing the scales of what he’d put her and her friends and the whole wizarding world through.

Lucius could see all her thoughts like a children’s school play running across her expressive face - she would obviously be useless at any Muggle games of chance and he immediately dropped his vague idea of having her dress up to distract gamblers while he fleeced them in his new bordello. It would never do. He would have a struggle on his hands just seducing her, but he never doubted his ability to win out in the end.

Lucius’ mind rolled on to contemplate their brief sensual encounter. He knew he had been unbelievably stupid courting his own downfall, touching her like he had after his eye-opening revelation in that stark, empty bedroom. Some of the touching had been necessity, but she was correct that not all of it had been needed. His long hiatus from a desirable female form had lured him to indulge where he should have waited. He didn’t spend a moment’s thought on the blowsy, broad-hipped whore he had spent some of his frustration on the evening before.

So why did one repressed little Muggleborn witch now tie his guts up in so many knots they had bows on them? He absolved himself somewhat with the excuse that his long incarceration had precipitated some of his behavior. But not all.

Lucius knew she didn’t really see him as a man, especially one driven by any sincere interest and desire for her. Hell, he wasn’t even sure she saw him as human. She knew him more as an implacable foe bent on destroying her cherished political beliefs – and her. That didn’t make for cuddly bedfellows.

She had seen him look on dispassionately while Bellatrix had tortured her. He had been dispassionate. Hadn’t he? While many of his fellow Death Eaters had gloried in the torturing of the Mudbloods and Muggles, Lucius hadn’t gained the same pleasure. To him the various tortures had been for information mostly and had been military acts without the arousing overtones that fed his colleagues. He had done his assignments, but with a minimum of unpleasantness if possible. Intimidation and threats, yes. Only if those failed was he pushed into following through on his promises. The only real joy he’d experienced had been the few times when the target was a known criminal.

Along the way, the Death Eaters had dispatched a few drug-dealers, a child abuser for which type Lucius had an unceasing antipathy, and one memorable occasion when they had turned up a rich psychopathic wizard who had been preying on a small enclave of magic folk; he had received the same treatment he’d been doling out to his victims. Lucius had relished that, even if the reason they had killed him was his political views and not his psychotic proclivities.

All the other targets who had been nothing more than innocents selected to send messages to various holdouts from Voldemort’s beliefs hadn’t been enjoyable at all, but Lucius had always been an adherent of the ‘ends justifies the means’ school of thought and those views melded quite well overall with Voldemort’s main agenda.

Lucius closed his eyes to another truth he hated looking at. Unfortunately, his reluctance to administer unnecessary pain and death had resulted in that Department of Mysteries fiasco where he’d been caught and put into Azkaban the first time. If he’d been more ruthless with Potter at the beginning he likely would have succeeded at getting the prophecy – and Voldemort knew it.

His credit had suffered after that and even worse, he’d put his family into jeopardy. Voldemort had punished him by sending Draco to kill Dumbledore. Lucius would regret that all his life, but he and his family had come through the storm that was the Dark Lord together – and finally they were all safe. Oh Gods, he hoped Draco and his family and even Narcissa were all safe from the sheep.

Now all he wanted was peace, to relax and enjoy life unencumbered by political chicanery or intrigue. He just wanted to be at ease in his own home and he knew that could never happen with any female but Hermione. A sigh escaped as he acknowledged that she wouldn’t appreciate his laudably pragmatic, but entirely unromantic reasoning.

“You need to go back to our room tonight, Hermione. You’ll be perfectly safe. I’ve warded the entire building now in multiple ways and that predatory crone is gone anyway. I dealt with her earlier. We’ll have the entire building to ourselves, if you wish to select another room to sleep in tonight.” Lucius offered that option because he wasn’t sure he could keep his hands to himself if they spent another night in bed together, but neither did he want to push her away if she preferred to sleep with him.

Hermione bit her lip. She didn’t want to be alone. She was worried that Lucius would construe her wishing to stay in a room with him as a declaration of interest, but he would be wrong. She just wanted the security of his presence. Maybe having a tame Death Eater to protect her and take care of unwanted predators could be useful. His practiced use of his wand when she’d hit him awake yesterday morning had been scary, but very impressive. He had slept with it in his hand and woke with it already sweeping the room as he reacted to her assault.

He had been a sight with his swift-moving, muscled torso swiveling around, his masculine chest rising from the quilts and his expression savage as he searched the room for intruders. Hermione’s heart had leapt in her breast to see an elemental, fierce male suddenly appear when she had only seen irritation and boredom from him before.

“Take me home, Lucius.” She grimaced at thinking about that spider trap for the unwary as ‘home’ but she wanted even less to stay in this depraved domicile. Hermione stood up, waiting for Lucius to finish his scotch, which he did by tossing down the rest of his portion in a quick swallow.


tbc...

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Poor Hermione is getting more confused by her feelings, but Lucius is now set on his course.


Will Lucius sweep all before him or will he have a fight on his hands? How will Hermione handle his new determination?

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