Beyond the Veil -- COMPLETE

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Updated 5-9-08

I want to express my joy at all the comments you’ve sent my way. I’ve been able to polish the story and even add a few things from the great input I’ve received. Thanks!!

Some answers for reviewers —

sheherazade – One palatial mansion made to order coming up. You didn’t really want them to live in that run-down apartment building any more did you? Yes, Lucius often has those supercilious lines to say ‘cause …well, just ‘cause.

meankitty69 – You’re right. I don’t think Hermione will leave the magical world just to avoid a little thing like being Mrs. Lucius Malfoy.

Utopia – Is Lucius using long words maybe to obfuscate his intentions? He seems to understand Hermione is skittish – the numbing cream might have given him a hint. Some of your questions I can’t answer or ruin the story. I open a second window and review as I read, too. It’s so much easier that way. I don’t think Lucius would ever come across as whipped (except maybe physically…)

Heidi191976 – Ooh, time travel is so tricky. Lucius really is the true heir to the Malfoy fortune, isn’t he? But in what century?

Rini – Yeah, they’re both acting squirmy about the sex. Soap wasn’t widespread for the Muggle masses, but I’m sure magic soap was superior. 8-) Can’t answer everything. I’ll change the pyramids suggestion and the bibliophile – they’re good polishings, but “double harness” is an idiomatic phrase meaning marriage, not merely an equipage, thus your ‘a’ isn’t necessary. Thanks for the suggestions.

Dragonfyre – Sheesh, I can’t answer your questions either. Sorry about raising your blood pressure. At least I do update, right? So tonight’s your birthday, I guess. [grin]

doodle – I love making twists, probably like every other author. Glad you like them and I’ll probably have more…

blue artemis – Hubby loses me in the bookstore all the time. Cell phones (mobile phones) are a godsend.

jw – I think Lucius was asleep for most of the time at Flourish and Blotts. He hadn’t had a good night’s rest the night before with his bruised bum, remember. Can’t answer yet more comments…sorry.

mariteri – Dobby. How old do elves get? I can’t remember. I know Kreacher was ancient.

Scary Bear Hair - Modesty in a Malfoy? I’d think they would consider that a genetic defect. Poor Hermione, missing her knickers at just the wrong time. Lucius needed his money so I gave it to him. I’m such a pushover. Hmm, wedding bells…maybe…or maybe not…

tambrathegreat – Yup, all systems are go again in those tight pantaloons. Can’t answer the rest. Sigh.

crissy – no parallel universe. But they do look confused. Um, your bad feeling is…um, yes.

Ravenna – Aw another comment I can’t answer. Apologies.

Citten – Again a question on wedding bells – again dithering…eek! Sorry about the slight cliffie. If you think that one was bad…


On to Malfoy Manor...


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Chapter Seventeen

Malfoy Manor

“Uh, Lucius, where exactly are we?” Hermione’s eyes were skittering everywhere at once, trying to take in the beautiful and unusual room into which Lucius had apparated them. She sucked in a rapturous breath when she saw the other end of the gigantic, two-storey high room. “Books” she crooned ecstatically, wiggling out of Lucius’ arms before he could let her go. She was off and dancing down the room to the bookshelves that lined the walls and criss-crossed the space in freestanding rows leaving Lucius to roll his eyes at the utter predictability of the witch while he removed the books she’d made him stuff into his pockets.

“This is the library,” he said with quiet resignation knowing Hermione was too far away to hear the answer to her unnecessary question. He walked over to the main seating area and left her pile of new books scattered on two black marble-topped low tables by the comfortable gray velvet sofa in front of a large matching black marble fireplace, its logs currently unlit. Lined up on the mantel was a collection of precious jade columns of varying lengths and sizes in a uniform dark green. Lucius lifted a long finger and lovingly ran it down the side of one of the smooth jade pieces.

This same set had been sitting on this same mantel when he had been sent to Azkaban twelve years ago. His fond reminiscence stuttered to a halt. He had no idea where the jade might be now. His home, this home had been a shambles when he’d arrived after being freed from prison, looted of most of the valuables, and the priceless chandeliers and other pieces attached to the home, torn or broken or defaced. The upper floors hadn’t been ruined like the lower floors, merely messed up. Lucius had managed to find a few pieces of clothing from his twelve-years-out-of-date wardrobe. Even with the destruction, just wearing his own clothes again had been a good thing. There had been no sign of Draco or his family. Lucius took heart from the fact they were missing because the family vault was still locked with the ancient wards. Draco hadn’t been forced to open it and Lucius hoped it meant they had escaped.

Lucius turned to survey the rest of one of his favorite rooms as it had been so many years before. Several large, beautiful Savonnerie rugs in black with green ivy and flowers twining thickly at the edges and a medallion pattern in the center were scattered around the room defining groupings of seating for those wishing to read or converse, with comfortable seating arranged beside small tables supporting light orbs.

At the end of the long room where Lucius stood, tall windows were curtained for the night in long swathes of deep green velvet breaking up walls covered in light gray moiré wallpaper. Lucius knew that outside was the bulk of the main gardens, or they should be the view from these windows if his time period’s exterior layout held in this era. Inside not much had changed. Malfoys were nothing if not traditionalists.

Various family portraits adorned the opposite wall where dark oak double doors announced the way into the rest of the mansion. Lucius found to his amusement that he recognized some of the portraits as ones that had still been on the wall in his own library in his day. He waited to see if any of the painted ancestors would challenge his place, but after a few seconds of scrutiny, the relatives accepted him as one of their own and went back to their own devices. It wasn’t a surprise that he would be accepted - he had the look of many of his ancestors, most of whom had the distinctive pale blonde hair and hypnotizing gray eyes, so it was small wonder that he had been recognized so quickly in Diagon Alley.

The exceptional Malfoy looks had long been one of the family’s greatest weapons for amassing wealth and power. Lucius gazed around once again at the room’s accoutrements and sighed – none of the furnishings were much different from what he had grown up with and he was experiencing a welcome relaxation of his inner tension. He was actually back home, even if it was almost two hundred years younger than in his day.

A quick spell rolled off Lucius’ wand, aimed at the ready logs within the fireplace and a fire roared to life warming Lucius enough for him to remove his formal jacket and neckcloth. He had initially thought he wouldn’t care if Hermione stayed among the library’s vast collection until doomsday now that he had somewhere cozy and restful to settle. He was therefore actually a little surprised to find he was somewhat piqued at her heedless behavior, feeling himself abandoned. It seemed his vaunted charms held sway only so long as Hermione didn’t espy two written words strung together. An edge of irritation tightened his shoulders denying him total contentment as he settled into the soft, goose down cushions of the long sofa.

“Atlas,” Lucius called forth the elderly house elf that Mr. Nesbitt had introduced Lucius to when they had briefly visited before.

The house elf appeared instantly in front of Lucius, bowing formally. “Master wishes?”

Lucius considered asking Hermione for her preferences for food, but he decided against it. If she had a book in front of her, she probably wouldn’t know what she was putting in her mouth. He’d have to make a rule against reading at the table if her behavior became that gauche. Playing second fiddle to anything or anyone wasn’t Lucius’ style and after sitting on that cramped chair in Flourish and Blott’s for the best part of three magnanimous hours, losing her again to some old, dusty books was starting to grate on his ego.

The numbing ointment had cleared away most of Lucius’ previous discomfort, but his butt had suffered a small relapse from the bookstore’s hard chair, eroding a temper that could never have been called sunny in the first place. Lucius’ maiden attempt at consideration for others in his program to turn over his new leaf was suffering a new setback, tripped up by his little witch’s preference for her own company. He was discovering his new leaf was becoming excruciatingly heavy to turn over as well as infuriatingly inconvenient. Was that a bit of jealousy peeking out from under the leaf’s edge?

Lucius instructed the elf, “Please bring some food here in the library. Something simple will do for tonight. If you have any sort of soup, meat and a green vegetable followed by a light dessert, that will do. We will expect a selection of breakfast items tomorrow morning.”


“If Master will accept a French onion soup, coq au vin and asparagus, with a chocolate mousse to follow, we will have it prepared immediately. Shall you and Madame dine at the library table?”

Lucius merely nodded and added, “A nice chardonnay also,” and he waved the elf away. The old elf quickly set the table and disappeared.

The blond wizard dozed in front of the soothing fire, but within minutes the meal appeared at the table, and he had to rouse himself to find his errant ‘wife’ in the bookstacks covering the far half of the room. As he rose from the sofa a delectable thought amused him – she was never going to start the habit of reading in bed if she slept with him. He had already unilaterally decided that her place was in his bed. Starting tonight.

“Hermione,” Lucius called, “dinner is served. You need to put down the books and come eat before the food gets cold.” Gods, he was sounding so domestic. He rather liked the feeling, watching as Hermione emerged from around the nearest bookshelves, beaming with the glazed glow of the addicted. He would work on making her look like that for him instead of some old, dusty books before much longer.

“Oh Lucius, you should see the magnificent collection back there. I could stay here forever. I’ve never seen so many different works on such a vast array of subjects. There’s even a large section on the dark arts. It’s so impressive, Lucius.” Hermione wandered over to the table, book in hand and sat down, reaching for a spoon and propping the open book up beside her plate.

“Is that the manners Muggles have, reading at the dinner table?” Lucius enquired, one dark blond eyebrow levitating toward his hairline. He opened his linen napkin and placed it across his lap, all the while pinning Hermione with his narrowed gaze.

“Oh, please, Lucius, this book is so fascinating. It’s all about the four founders of Hogwarts and how they met and decided to form the school.” Hermione looked at the wizard with beseeching cow-eyes, hoping he would be lax enough for her to do as she always did in her solitary existence. She knew it was bad manners, but she’d rather read than talk to Lucius. Her eyes returned to the coveted book missing the abrupt change in her associate’s demeanor.

Lucius gave her a frosty look and suddenly he was itching to smack his wand on her bum again. He didn’t trust himself with her in this uneven mood – the unbidden flare of intense jealousy had caught him by the throat and was squeezing hard. He stood up, tossed down his napkin and apparated away, having lost his appetite in his anger.

Hermione bit her lip, shocked at his unexpected disappearance and surprised to discover she was suddenly close to tears at his defection. She hadn’t meant to insult him. “Lucius?” she whispered. “Lucius? I’m sorry.” She looked around briefly, but was deeply discouraged by the empty silence of the room where ten minutes earlier she had been so happy. Now her central prop had left her and her books suddenly lost their fascination. “Please come back. You’re right, my manners were execrable. I’ve eaten alone for the best part of ten years and I’ve always read at the table. I’ll need to break my bad habit, but I didn’t mean to offer an insult. Please?” Hermione’s lower lip began quivering and the long, trying day after minimal sleep with a burning butt suddenly overtook her; tears began dripping into her soup.

Lucius had apparated into the bookstacks and stood there undecided on his next move. He knew he was tired – he hadn’t had a lot of sleep the night before with his throbbing rear waking him up at intervals - and he shouldn’t be allowing his uncertain temper to overwhelm him, but it was a close thing, holding on to a semblance of calm when he was seething. How dare she choose a book over him? Lucius’ fists closed in an acrimonious slow burn. How did she manage to send him up so easily? Why did he even care? She was a means to an end and she would work out pleasantly as a wife and bed warmer. Her ability to make him livid shouldn’t happen. Wives were soft, sweet-smelling accessories to give a man pleasure in bed, provide social support and make a home comfortable. His previous marriage had been a tranquil, amicable institution smoothing his life in a multitude of ways.

Narcissa had done all those wifely things superbly and he had been happy with her. She had provided him with his heir as was her duty. Lucius’ mind skidded to a screeching halt. An heir. If he was truly the legal Malfoy, he would in turn need an heir and everyone already thought Hermione was his wife. Lucius blanched as he watched Hermione from the shadows of the far bookstacks. She would never go for bearing him a child. She was barely interested in exploring sex. Not when she had a good book to read. Her interest hadn’t truly been in him anyway, just his gender. It seemed he was merely a means to an end for her. He had a monumental task ahead to bring her around to actually taking on all the duties of his wife, including childbirth, if he truly had to perpetuate the Malfoy dynasty in this time.

While Lucius stood in shadows, dismay and determination battling for equal time in his mind, Hermione stood up from her chair, realizing now that she was alone in a strange room in a strange house. She had no idea where she was, her one mainstay had abandoned her – again – and this time he was angry with her. Maybe he wouldn’t come back. She didn’t want to leave this room and venture anywhere else in the unknown building. The uneasy silence was unnerving her and she backed away from the uneaten meal, turning in a slow circle as the enormity of the new change in her circumstances crashed in on the tired, frightened witch.

The last few days had taken their toll on her and her lack of sleep hadn’t helped. She’d been propositioned by a handsome, magnetic wizard who had told her some home truths, which had made her see her life was more hollow than she had ever really understood before. Her only other claim to glory in this new world was being kidnapped and manhandled, scared out of her wits and clobbered twice by terrifying strangers.

Then, to top it all off, she had been seduced into feeling an unwanted but devastating arousal by that same handsome wizard she had thought she could trust because he had saved her life. Stupid, stupid, stupid. When would she ever realize that men went after what they wanted and then left. This time she’d apparently been unattractive enough that the handsome wizard hadn’t even made the effort to seduce her before leaving.

Hermione had had enough of all of it. She swiped her sleeve across her eyes, wiping up tears of fear and heartache, then resolutely closed her eyes concentrating on where she wanted to go. She never saw Lucius dart forward from the concealing bookstacks with his hand raised to stop her before she was gone.

Hermione stood in her rundown bedroom at the seedy apartment building bitterly asking herself why she never learned. “Lumos,” she commanded and her wand tip glowed bright enough to see the room in all its dingy glory. She grabbed up the old quilts and pillows off the bed and squeezed through the panel into the hidden walkway. Her only sanctuary in this unpleasant reality. She had felt somewhat safe there before and it was all she had so she placed the quilts on the floor, set the pillows and warded her little space, then curled up wrapping herself in the material and putting one pillow over her head as though that would protect her, like an ostrich with its head in the sand. Hermione was tired, depressed and miserable and she missed Lucius already. Hermione quietly cried herself to sleep, rolled into as little a ball as she could manage.

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At first Hermione thought it was still night because it was so dark, but as her eyes adjusted she could see it was just the gloom of the hidden wallspace. The panel crack was actually letting in a fragment of indirect sunlight to the small enclosure so she must have slept through the night. She blinked once, coming more awake and feeling rather nice - very cozy and warm, encompassed in a heated cocoon. She began to stretch and found she was hemmed into her space not by the quilts or the pillows but by a body wrapped securely around her, shielding her from the cool air of the space. As that knowledge surfaced she twisted her head and came face to face with a steady pair of pale gray eyes fastened on hers.

“Lucius! How…how did you find me?” Hermione was struggling to wake up and understand how Lucius could be here in her wallspace when he had left her the night before. Was he very angry at her? Hermione pushed a little away from her surprising roomie’s chest, discovering he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“How many places could you apparate to?” the blond wizard calmly asked. “All the Diagon Alley stores were closed and warded against illegal entry. I didn’t think you would be idiot enough to attempt them. Where else have you been besides the brothel and that Leaky Cauldron bedroom you loathed? This was the only choice as I saw it. It was easy to find you once I arrived. Remember our big toe connection?”

Lucius pulled Hermione into his arms more solidly and gently petted some stray strands of her hair away from her face. “Hermione, I’m sorry. I was a total arse leaving you last night. I was tired, hungry, and truth be told wildly jealous of that damned book you wanted to read instead of paying attention to me. I felt like I was going to snap and you know what happens if I lose my temper. I thought I was saving you, but instead I frightened you and I never meant to do that.”

Hermione was sure she was hearing things. “You look like Lucius and you smell like Lucius, but you’re not acting like him. Why are you being nice to me?”

“What do you mean I smell like Lucius? And when haven’t I been nice to you?” Lucius held up one hand, “Don’t answer that. We haven’t all day for the dissertation.” He smiled ruefully down at his petite partner, “I’m attempting an apology. It’s part of my new leaf program. I decided in prison to begin anew and try not to make the same arrogant mistakes that stole twelve years of my life.” His lips quirked, “I guess I need to try harder. I didn’t realize it was so difficult being cognizant of or compassionate toward the needs and feelings of others. It’s rather annoying isn’t it? Frankly I don’t know how so many do it.”

Hermione smiled shyly at her companion. She knew he was attempting to make her feel better and strangely it was working. “You just smell like Lucius. Kind of like lime and something warm and safe. Maybe snuggly.”

“Hmm, well, I ate enough limes in prison to turn green. It was a vital part of my diet so I could avoid the scurvy that some of the inmates had from their poor nutrition. The meals there weren’t particularly enriched with any kind of proper balance for a healthy body. If I hadn’t had my benefactor occasionally providing me with my specially added viands, I wouldn’t be able to chew my food any more. I’d have horrible open wounds and no teeth. I think I’d rather smell like limes.”

“Ugh, I think that’s barbarous. If one is in prison, one should be rehabilitated, not tortured. But I like your smell. I feel safe when I smell you.” Hermione blushed at the ridiculous words, but they were true for all that.

“And do you feel snuggly, too? I think I’m having a slight attack of snugglies myself. What do you smell like?” Lucius nuzzled Hermione’s hair with his nose and then trailed it down, sniffing and sliding his nose into her ear and making her squeal with breathless laughter.

She turned toward the wizard and found that she enjoyed being cuddled against his bare chest.

“Please excuse my paucity of attire, but I didn’t want to sleep in my street clothes. To allay your possible worries, I am wearing the green undershorts. Lucius’ expression turned quizzical when Hermione’s reaction was more disappointed than relieved. “If you would like me to part with my shorts, I’d be more than happy to oblige. Say the word, kitten, and I’m all yours.”

“Are you still calling me by that pet name?”

“Sorry. That slipped out. I’ll -”

Hermione touched his lips with her fingers silencing him. “No, I think maybe I might like it. If you aren’t using it in a derogatory sense.”

“How do you see that as derogatory? I’m not calling you piglet or squab or tadpole. You are the most contrary woman. Relax and enjoy things instead of analyzing them to death.” Lucius was getting stiff from lying on the hard floor. “Will you come back to the mansion now? I know you’ve already seen your favorite room, but there are ninety-seven other rooms for you to familiarize yourself with as a new owner.”

She lowered her eyes to his chin and saw a slight stubble of pale blond beard and it occurred to her that he was just a man, not an infallible monster. Maybe they could try to work out some sort of living arrangement with some of that no-strings sex he was offering. The morning beard was giving him a rakish look that appealed to the hesitantly emerging wanton in her.

“How do you know the number of rooms?” She challenged him, furrowing her brow in her confusion.

“Haven’t you recognized it yet? It’s my ancestral home, the same home where…” Lucius gazed at his little sprite in consternation, not knowing how to delicately say it was where Bellatrix had tortured her years before.

Hermione sucked in her breath, a full frown now blossoming as she realized just where Lucius was expecting her to live. “Your home? As in your real, where-you-grew-up home? I don’t want to live there. That’s a horrible place.” Hermione crossed her arms over her breasts looking more like a small mule than a sweet sprite.

“Hermione you need never go into the main drawing room or the cellar again. I’ll close them off. With ninety-six other rooms I don’t think we’ll be cramped. But that is the seat of the Malfoy dynasty and I will have to live there.” Lucius gave Hermione one of his steady stares meant to intimidate her into doing as he wished, but this time she knew him better and the effect was much less daunting to her.

“I don’t like your home. It has extremely bad memories for me.” She didn’t budge on her stance.

“Hermione,” Lucius softened his expression and his voice, letting the timbre deepen into a half-croon, “I’m sorry for your abhorrent past there, but let me make better memories for you. Let me give you more pleasant experiences to remember in my home.” His hand gently sledded down her side, pulling her more tightly against his body and sending a silent, visceral signal to her hip that she was affecting him in ways guaranteed to give her intense pleasure.

Hermione squirmed against Lucius’ erotic offering, briefly squeezing his arousal with her hip by accident, then shuffled away. “If I don’t like the place I won’t stay there, but I’m willing to go back with you for now and that’s my only offer.” She didn’t want to close the door on his proposition of steamy shagging, but she was unwilling to put up with any place that made her miserable.

“Let me get dressed, then if you are willing, we can apparate back to the mansion library again. From there it’s only a short step to an informal dining room where we can have a sumptuous breakfast and discuss what we want to do today. I’ll have to go to Gringott’s early on and I’d like you to come with me if you would.” Lucius set Hermione back on her quilt nest and rose, twisting his back and working the overnight kinks out before opening the hidden panel and taking a step into the rundown bedroom, bright brown eyes avidly following his every move with remembered pleasure at his warm body and safe arms.

“Since you currently have billing as my wife in the magic world,” he called back into the wallspace, watching as Hermione rose and pulled the old quilts off the floor, “it would be prudent for you to be recognized by the goblins and given unlimited access to the Malfoy vaults. Who knows what we’ll be up against here. I am trusting you without reservation to have my back, Hermione. In return I promise to protect you from everyone and everything that offers you harm. I think I’ve proved I’m a man of my word already, but I am promising verbally now.” He picked up his clothes from one of the rickety chairs and donned trousers and shirt before moving to the old bureau to begin working on his neckcloth in front of the flyspecked mirror.

Hermione stepped into the drab bedroom and threw the quilts up on the bed, then grabbed the pillows from the wallspace and threw them after the quilts. “We were political and mortal enemies, Lucius. I fought against you and everything you wanted for our world. Worst of all, my side was victorious. I just want to understand that you no longer have any agenda for the advancement of Purebloods in this time period. I can’t in good conscience give you my allegiance if you will be working toward your same ends, now that you have a lot of money.”

“I’m not an idiot, Hermione. I lived through what happened when my political agenda was put into place, for however short a time. The philosophy seemed sound, but the actual reality put too much power in too few hands. Well, actually one hand. I guess our time has too many people and too much widespread education in it to work with a small monarchy system any more. The system becomes too unwieldy, but I had to learn that the hard way. My ideas might work better in this older time period, but,” he lifted his hand as Hermione stopped spreading the quilts on the bed and turned to look at him in fear, “I’m tired of trying to coerce the world of magic into Pureblood hands. My youthful ideals have disappeared with my youth. I’m well aware that I and my family were going to be next to fall under the maniacal fist of the Dark Lord.”

“You were? I thought you were his right-hand man. Voldemort was going to kill you and your wife?”

“And probably Draco in retaliation for my failures. My life would have been forfeit if our side had won.”

“Hmmm, just like Robespierre.” Hermione tried to fluff up the pillows – a futile project.

“Robe’s pee what?”

“Maximilien Robespierre, a French politician who espoused a revolutionary cause and then was executed by the backlash. You were going to be executed by your own side. Just like Robespierre,” Hermione dimpled at Lucius, “well, except he was left-wing and your group was so far past right wing I’m surprised you didn’t try to trample us with woolly mammoths.”

“This is Muggle politics?” Lucius ignored the slur on his old affiliations.

Hermione nodded, “Was. Back in the late seventeen hundreds. In France. Or,” she was arrested mid-plump of the sorry pillow, “I guess it would only be less than twenty years ago now. I’m surprised you weren’t aware of French politics. Your family originally came from there, didn’t they?”

Lucius finished wrapping his neckcloth and shrugged into his coat, settling it on his shoulders. “My family came from France in the fourteen hundreds. So pardonnez moi, but by my time, old French Muggle revolutions weren’t foremost on my mind.” He turned to Hermione who had been surreptitiously enjoying the play of muscles on his white, lawn-covered back as he tied his neckcloth, “I’m still waiting to hear if we are working together as a couple.” He aimed his wand at her wrinkled dress, smoothing the material out for her.

Hermione stroked her hands down over her hips, “Thank you for fixing my dress,” she said primly, coloring up at the intimacy. She took a breath, stood straighter and addressed his question, “If you assure me that your ‘Purebloods Forever, Down With Muggles’ signs have all been burned and you will never espouse that credo again, then I can promise you my unconditional allegiance.”

“Unconditional? As in unlimited, unqualified, and absolute?” Lucius thought he might be able to work that promise out to his benefit.

“Do I detect a bit of Death Eater trying to rear its ugly head, Lucius?”

He smiled, then laughed at a joke only he was in on until he explained it to her, “You’re closer than you know. That promise is actually ‘rearing’ one of my heads, yes. But I don’t consider it ugly. Do you?” He turned fully toward her and she saw what he intended her to see.

Hermione’s eyes were drawn to just where Lucius wanted them to be, perusing his distended pantaloons once again. “This is getting to be a habit with you, isn’t it?” she grinned. “Um, no I don’t think it’s ugly at all. Quite the opposite. I remember you…it…quite well. You know,” she pointed vaguely toward his extension to be perfectly clear, “when I slathered the numbing ointment on -”

Lucius waved away the rest of her explanation, “Yes, yes, I’ll probably remember that the rest of my life. It was very clever of you, if entirely unscrupulous.”

“Lucius,” she complained, “You know why I did that. It’s not that I’m not interested in your offer. I am. Really. Well, alright, I’m a little concerned about how we will match up in size. You’re quite a bit bigger than I am and so is your…” Hermione gestured at Lucius’ pantaloons. “But I am interested in the no strings part. Just like you said.”

Lucius was starting to regret those two words. He knew his offer had a whole ball of string attached, just not in the way she imagined. “Will you trust me to know about our respective sizes? You are actually designed to have a baby come through that channel. My size isn’t anywhere near the size of a baby.” He skirted the bed and reached his hand out for hers, “For now, let’s go have some real breakfast instead of that pap we’ve been subjected to for the last few days.”

tbc...

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Ah, so no lemons quite yet. Sorry. Lucius is in stalking mode. He knows what he wants and he's extremely Machiavellian about getting it, er, her. It's like a giant mastiff stalking a tiny, sweet kitten. But sometimes the mastiff comes away with claw marks on his nose. Lucius plans on coming out the winner without any claw marks - except maybe down his back from providing complete satisfaction.

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