Prisoners of Love - A Mystery - COMPLETE

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Updated 9-8-07


As well as my long-standing reviewers - I wait for your reviews as much as you wait for my chapters - I'm seeing some new reviewers and I want to say a sincere thank you to all of you for the time you take to give me feedback. AGAIN, a review caused me to add to my story. Thank you for helping make the story more complete with your comments.


And now it's time for Lucius and Hermione to come together again. Remember, Hermione isn't anyone's pushover; she's an extremely intelligent, analytical young woman who knows how to play her quarry, er, victim, um no, target(?) very well. They're a lot alike, you know. 8-)



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Chapter Eighteen

Reunion

Hermione had tried to plan for the coming birth, but she had begun having intermittent headaches after Lucius left her, which bothered her so much her ability to work at her new job had been compromised to the point where it had to be abandoned. Finally she realized she was spending too much time thinking about the future and how Lucius was going to take the news of a halfblood Malfoy. She discovered that the more she worried about the future, the worse her headaches got, so she decided to try to not think about her not-husband and live in the moment.

She asked her parents to loan her enough money to last through the pregnancy after which she would see to it that her erstwhile husband paid them back with interest if she had to drag him through the wizard’s debtors court to do it. She grimly assessed her command of court protocols to be well up to forcing the money from him if he proved reluctant. All that work on his appeal had made her something of an expert. He wouldn’t like the publicity, being seen as denying his own child in front of the whole wizarding community, but that would merely add a piquancy to the proceedings if he balked. If she knew anything at all about her slithery lover, she rather thought the money would be quietly handed over. Which depressed her more.

Her parents had been most supportive – she really hadn’t expected anything else – and had wanted her to move back in with them, but she demurred, needing to have her own space where she could straddle both the Muggle and magical worlds. Occasionally her parents still were startled by an empty coffee mug changing into a glass for morning orange juice. Using her wand was now second nature to Hermione and feeling comfortable with her innate talents was important to the little witch as she coped with all her other problems.

When he had belatedly discovered she had needed to quit her job, Snape had directed Gringott’s Bank to send Hermione money each month by owl from the profits he and Lucius were making on their investments, allowing her to begin paying back her parents. He figured the money would come back to him if and when Lucius came to his senses and returned to his wife. Hermione wasn’t aware of the scope of the Snape-Malfoy financial juggernaut, but Snape had assured her that the monies belonged to her baby by right and she shouldn’t reject the help for her and her infant’s health. Snape had, with his usual diabolical flair for seeing and exploiting the weak points of others, easily homed in on Hermione’s Achille’s Heel and convincing her hadn’t been too onerous.

Because she was expecting a child herself and she was no longer working, Hermione began spending more time with Ron and Lavender who, while not overly enthusiastic about its father, nevertheless congratulated the little witch on her condition and wholeheartedly accepted Hermione’s desire to become more proficient at babies, plus being grateful for another pair of hands to help.

Hermione threw herself into learning how to care for growing babies and found her days with the twins filled with fun and laughter and mountains of nappies, which Ron cheerfully passed on to Hermione to do if she came over, citing hands-on experience as being the best teacher. He was right, even though she knew he was shirking dirty-booty-duty any way he could.

It took no effort at all for Hermione to know that fastidious Lucius wouldn’t change a nappy even if it was that or having a cruciatus bounced off his skull. Hermione’s lips quirked in amusement at her errant thought, then she shied away from that mental direction. Thoughts of Lucius always brought on her headaches and made her sad thinking about his cherished, persnickety ways.

As the months flew by, her feelings about him were a dichotomy of still loving the bastard and trying to decide which part of him she’d slice off first to barbeque over an open fire – maybe she’d have a weenie roast. One Machiavellian idea she was particularly fond of – really, it could almost qualify as Slytherin - was to hex his hair into permanent snarly disarray so he’d have unending bedhead no matter how much he combed it out. Hermione knew exactly what would make her handsome deserter absolutely demented and that happy daydream often took her out of her dismals as she contemplated his uptight panic.

She’d slipped into St. Mungo’s on a free clinic day and learned that she was apparently fine. They couldn’t see any reason for the headaches and decided perhaps it was just her body’s reaction to being pregnant, but she had nothing to worry about. Hermione had worried that her bouts of misery might make her lose the baby so she was buoyed by the medical opinion and resolved to put away as much of her heartache and anxiety as she could.

Hermione had asked both Ron and Harry to be godfathers to her unborn infant and both had quietly accepted. Hermione was loved even if the baby’s father was not. However, Harry was ambivalent about his impending godfatherhood, taking it less well than Ron, but he toned down his dismay at Hermione’s forever link to the Slytherin snake, merely saying the baby would likely be a Gryffindor with Hermione as its mother. Hermione happily accepted Harry’s avoidance of her babe’s sire as a topic of conversation – she suffered physically from discussing or thinking about the wizard and never brought him up in conversation either.

It was usually only at night when she was alone that sometimes, if she was very tired, she cried herself to sleep. In the morning with a bright new day to look forward to, she always promised herself she would never cry over the man again. It was a constant source of anguish to her that she could never keep that promise to herself no matter how hard she tried.


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The two miscreants gathered later that night in an out of the way pub. The first voice growled, “This is turning into a farce. First Malfoy gets too close so we falsify damning evidence for Scrimgeour and he thinks Malfoy is playing him for a fool. That wasn’t bad enough, Miss Know-It-All has to take an interest in the Ministry’s financial system AND is assigned to the inventory of supplies to sidetrack her. It seemed a solid idea to ask her boss to give her added work, but dammit, I didn’t foresee the added work would be toting up towels, soap, uniforms and toilet paper. That boomeranged nicely on us, I must say. We keep her away from the finances, and she winds up counting supplies where we want her even less.

“She was nearly onto the discrepancy between the supplies inventory and the cost of the items ordered. I had to pull some hidden strings making Scrimgeour think the stolen papers were a matter of national security so that little bitch would be thrown in prison quickly before our ‘redeployment’ of funds could be unearthed. If she had been as stupid as the others in that department we wouldn’t have had a worry in the world.” Both voices glumly contemplated all the bad breaks they were getting.

The second voice commiserated, “Scrimgeour has the luck of the devil. The only thing that’s gone our way so far was prying Malfoy off our scent by discrediting him. But that got him into Azkaban only to team up with the nosy little witch. This enterprise almost seems to have bad karma.”

The two sipped morosely at their pints, wondering how such a well-designed plot could have gone so wrong. Both of them were getting extremely irritated with a certain blond Pureblood wizard whose roving dick had now caused them untold problems and whose release from prison was the most frightening problem yet.

The first voice said, “Malfoy sent the Ministry a request to have the Azkaban Warden’s Office audited. He’s reported to Scrimgeour’s office that there are ‘irregularities’ in the supplies given prisoners. Now he’s trying to pull that end of our operation down around our ears. Scrimgeour isn’t paying him any attention so far, but we need to put an end to Malfoy and that interfering wife of his as soon as possible.”

They had just heard that Malfoy had filed the marriage lines and was about to announce his marriage to the little bitch-witch. That made some clean-up imperative. If Malfoy decided to take up a full-blown investigation on her behalf, he might discover just how much he’d been screwed. It looked like there needed to be a couple of loose ends named Malfoy to tidy up before any investigation got underway.

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Lucius’ timid house elf returned with the information on the whereabouts of Hermione’s Muggle home, informing his master that the Weasleys had been reluctant to give it to a creature of the Malfoys, but had decided to tell Lucius her whereabouts in their carefully worded message to the ‘arrogant arse’. They knew that the elf would have suffered if they’d chosen to keep back the knowledge of Hermione’s home and Lucius would have found out somehow anyway.

Lucius left immediately, not bothering to upbraid his minion for the unflattering name included in the Weasleys’ message, excusing his own weakness with the knowledge that the wording of the message was not the house elf’s fault. Then he worried that Hermione had weakened his authority as well as his autonomy. She had a lot to answer for.

He suspected his loneliness and her isolation may have initially contributed to the nearly instantaneous pull of attraction between them, but in the end their surprisingly fierce connection on all levels made the why of it unimportant. Snape was right. Lucius had to deal with this ‘bond’ before the morning came when he didn’t wake up.

Unusual energy shot through Lucius’ system, awakening a zest he hadn’t felt for months as he apparated to the correct address. Even the possibility of a less than enthusiastic reception didn’t slow him down as he strode up the short walkway to her front door. He didn’t really want to describe this emotion bubbling inside him as excitement at seeing her again. And feeling like an exuberant puppy dog wagging its tail in ecstasy did NOT describe his emotions. No, no it certainly wasn’t excitement… and elation was waaaay too dynamic a term.

He was merely…umm…pleased, ah yes, pleased to be seeing her again. Lucius frowned a bit as the remote possibility that she wouldn’t see him crossed his mind only to be pushed away. He was her husband now by law. She would have to at least see him and then he could take it from there. She loved him, didn’t she? She’d said so.

At the Burrow Molly Weasley decided that Hermione was a match for the blond wizard any day, and felt a bit better about sending him to her even though she knew what problems it would cause for her almost-daughter. She wasn’t able to get off an owl in time to beat Lucius to Hermione’s home, however, before Lucius himself was stamping snow off his expensive black leather boots on the front porch of the modest suburban cottage in the middle of a small Muggle neighborhood.

Hermione’s aged housekeeper answered the door at the sound of the peremptory knocking. “Yes?” she asked the tall, well-dressed, rather haggard-looking man.

“I’m here to see Hermione. Show me to her, please.” Lucius gave the woman a glacial stare designed to intimidate the obvious servant who was an undoubted low-bred Muggle. Her hair was covered in an old scarf and her spare figure barely filled out a patterned housedress whose chaotic colors fought an unceasing battle across her scrawny bosom making him cringe at the visual nightmare. The lingering effects of his illness still made his stomach a little touchy.

“Well, now, I’ll have your name first young man, to ask her if she wants to see you!” was the woman’s unruffled answer as she blocked the entry.

Lucius was a little dismayed at being called a young man, but it wasn’t completely without its allure. He softened slightly, “My name is Lucius Malfoy. Please tell her I’m here.” He tried not to stare at the dress, but it affected him like seeing a train wreck, horrifying but mesmerizing. He wondered if Muggles could be colorblind in some form.

“If you’ll come into the hall here, sir, it’s perishing cold out there tonight. I’ll ask if Miss wants to see you.”

With that Lucius had to be content as he stepped into the dim hallway of the warm house and halted, resolutely examining the coat hooks on the wall by the front door to avoid any more rude staring. The old woman slowly ambled down the short hallway to a door on the left and opened it, letting a spill of flickering firelight out to warm and lighten the gloom of the narrow passageway. “Someone to see you, Miss. Says his name is Loosie Malfie or some such.”

Lucius cringed at the mangling of his name, but stayed silent, listening.

There was an unnerving moment of silence before a familiar feminine voice said, “Oh bother, I’m not in the mood.” Then he heard a loud sigh, “Well, I guess he’ll have to come in. Show him in here, Aggie. Then you can go on home. It’s late and your Henry will wonder where you are. I do appreciate the Shepherd’s pie and I’ll eat some soon, I promise.”

“See that you do, girl. It don’t do no good to starve yourself, a little mite like you.” The old woman turned and motioned for Lucius to come forward. “Here he is now, Miss. I’ll just be on my way, then. G’night.” She trundled past Lucius, got her coat from the rack at the door and left, leaving a draft of frigid air in the previously warm hallway to ruffle the pale strands of Lucius’ clean, groomed hair.

Lucius walked forward and stood at the doorway into what appeared to be a small parlor where comfortable chairs, a small sofa and a roaring fire greeted him with a cheery ambiance completely missing from his own home.

“Oh, so it is you,” a disinterested Hermione said, looking back down at a book open in her quilt-covered lap. Lucius moved farther into the room, approaching the little witch all unaware, when suddenly he froze in mid-stride with a strangled gasp. The Pureblood wizard was struck dumb and his mind felt paralyzed, looking at the petite female outlined by the fire. “You’re pregnant!” he whispered hoarsely, gesturing to her middle.

“Did you come all this way just to tell me something I already know?” she asked, bored, not even looking up as her eyes traveled across the page of her book.

“You’re pregnant!” he roared.

“Yes, well now that you’ve announced it to the neighbors, would you like to send up a Sky Mark telling the rest of the magic community?” Hermione finally looked up with a long-suffering expression and gestured to the other comfy chair. “Take off your cape first if you like. It looks like you’re going to stay for a while,” she said in exasperation.

“Whose is it?” he bellowed. Lucius strode over to her and bent over, putting his cold hand on her rounded belly and firmly pressing against her abdomen for several seconds while Hermione waited patiently, shivering a little at his icy touch, but looking bland and desperately hoping he couldn’t detect her heart beating like jungle drums just from seeing him again.

He concentrated all his energy on the life within, then removed his hand. “It’s mine,” he said. “That’s my baby.” The Malfoy genes in the babe spoke strongly to Lucius confirming his paternity while simultaneously slapping him in the face with its halfblood constitution. The red haze of jealousy faded slowly from Lucius’ vision as he calmed down a little with the knowledge that he was the father of Hermione’s baby.

“I never said it wasn’t.” Hermione gave him back an impersonal stare.

“Well, when the HELL were you going to tell me I was going to be a father?” Lucius was so relieved the child was his he felt faint, but he was enraged at her for keeping such a monumental secret from him. He couldn’t seem to moderate his voice from the loud, angry tone he’d adopted at his shocking discovery. “And how could it have happened? We were only together in Azkaban and that place is warded against all diseases and has a strong contraception spell on it. Probably so those brutal, cretin guards can rape the female prisoners without worries.”

“Keep your voice down or I’ll have to ask you to leave,” Hermione replied, displeased at his outburst. As though she owed him anything. “For what it’s worth, I’m sure it was our wedding night. The protection spells probably don’t extend to the visitors’ quarters. Well, why should they? I don’t imagine the guards’ nasty ambitions extend to visitors.”

Hermione shivered even now at her close calls, then she reminded herself that her horrid experiences were all in the past and Lucius had saved her. Nevertheless, she was going to make sure there was an end to that antedeluvian, predatory system favoring those vicious guards. Maybe a suggestion dropped in Harry’s ear – later. He was still steamed about her current predicament. She gently ran her hand over her belly. Right now she had more pressing concerns pacing agitatedly in her parlor. No time turner was going to fix this.

Lucius suddenly stilled, seeing her movement, then said more moderately, “Did you know you were pregnant when I…,” he paused seeking an appropriate word and couldn’t find one at all complimentary to himself, “uh, in that Muggle café?”

Hermione gifted him with an arctic smile, “Yes, I did. And before you try to take the high ground, I decided then and there I wasn’t interested in you if you only wanted me because of this baby. I decided to tell you when the baby was born. Not before.”

Lucius tried to take it all in, feeling off-balance and a little light-headed. Oh Gods, a halfblood Malfoy. He hadn’t been ready for that. Had Snape known about this? Was this why that black-haired meddler had nearly murdered him in his own home? Lucius facilely glossed over his own destructive, drug-addicted behavior in his mind and dexterously shifted the blame to Snape, just as Snape had said he would.

It was as well that Severus knew his longtime friend from his oversize ego all the way down to his stunted conscience because the Hogwarts Headmaster was destined to receive a pungent howler by the next outgoing owl – a not uncommon occurrence. Whenever a howler declared itself from Lucius, Snape just zapped it with his wand, enjoying cutting Lucius’ blaring voice off mid-howl. Except for stinging epithets there was never anything remotely informative in them anyway – Lucius would never commit any important intelligence to a message designed to scream at top decibel level to any listening ears. Lucius just liked letting off steam that way and neither of them thereafter bothered to acknowledge the vituperative missives. Well, Snape couldn’t have discussed them anyway, because he never listened to them.

“I was going to let you know the minute you actually became a father, Lucius, but for obvious reasons I wasn’t particularly keen on having you attend the birth. See that parchment rolled up on the mantle? Read it.” Hermione sighed hugely as she very reluctantly closed her book, retaining the page with a finger between the pages.

Lucius raised a reproachful eyebrow at her sigh, but reached for the parchment and stood scanning the brief writing, “Lucius, You are the father of a new baby______ (space left blank). Let me know if you wish to acknowledge the child as a Malfoy. If not, I will claim ___ as a Granger. Signed, Hermione.”

“Molly was going to send that by owl when the baby was born. So you see I wasn’t going to keep the knowledge of your new child from you,” Hermione lambasted the irate wizard. “However, as of this moment, there is no separate baby for you to care about. There is only a pregnant non-wife whom you chose to exclude from your highbrow life as a Pureblood - and by the way, how’s that going for you - being back at the top of the social register and all?” she snidely asked.

When she got no answer beyond a furious glare, she went on, “If it is of any interest to you, knowing its less than pristine genetic makeup, you have my word – and I assure you it is worth more than yours – that the moment the baby was born you would have been told so you could have a role in its life - if you wished. For now, you’re superfluous. Just as I am superfluous to you. Why did you come here anyway?”

Lucius swept off his cape, dislodging the few snowflakes that hadn’t yet melted in the warmth of the room. He set it carefully folded on the back of the other comfy chair, making Hermione smile inside bittersweetly as she remembered his finicking ways.

She was intensely interested in why he had come if he hadn’t known about the baby, and his gaunt face gave her some hint of his unhappiness. She’d heard of his social life through her friends, but it hadn’t sounded like he’d been enjoying his freedom. She had learned to know him rather thoroughly in their scant time together and she knew he wasn’t quite his old devious, conniving self right now. That person she could deal with easily, this one she wasn’t so sure about. All she knew was that he was no longer going to be the Pygmalion to her Galatea in their relationship, if that was why he was there.

To her dismay, a lush, purring liveliness began to churn where he had touched her belly, creating an insidious intensity of emotion that she couldn’t turn off. Just looking at him made her guts turn to sappy mush. She bit her lip, trying to remember that he’d rejected her, that she’d almost lost Harry when she’d defended Lucius against her best friend’s adamant hatred, and only still had his friendship because Harry had felt vindicated and sorry for her when Lucius had dumped her.


Hermione was trying her best to transform Lucius’ hurtful behavior into a protective shield against his presence - he’d abandoned her, left her alone and pregnant – her mind stalled…well, he hadn’t known she was pregnant. She bit her lip and sighed. Oh, hell, she just couldn’t entirely rebuff her errant husband even if she was fiercely angry at his abandonment of her. She was still so stupidly in love with the deserting rat. But he didn’t have to know that.

What did he want? Why was he actually seeking her out in the Muggle world? Was there something really wrong with him? Her heart skittered in fear then settled. No, Snape would have owled her if Lucius was dangerously ill.

A tapping noise interrupted Hermione’s ruminations and she said, “Make yourself useful and let in the owl please. It’s at the window.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes at his wife’s preemptory ‘request’ but stepped over and slid the casement window open for the owl that went immediately to Hermione and held up its leg.

Hermione unrolled the parchment and smiled mirthlessly. She fed the owl a treat from a little canister by her elbow and the owl took off through the window again. Lucius closed it with an irritated snap and returned to the fire.

He propped his cane by the side of the chair, settling into the cushions as he faced a young woman who apparently had little interest in his company, although he remembered her vivid, enchanting presence in his bed and her quick, lively mind as it had dueled with his in their cell. Lucius scarcely knew himself why he was here in her Muggle home, his wife apparently having little interest in his return, but his reasons or his compulsions, whatever they had been, now had to take a backseat to the newfound knowledge of his paternity, and in any case he was feeling better already. This anger was clean, pure, strong –it felt good! What he’d felt during his months of ‘freedom’ had been corrosive, tainted. “The owl’s message amused you?”

Hermione quirked her lips at the question, “Apparently you’re coming to visit me. Fancy that!”

“The Weasleys’ owl, of course.” Lucius contemplated his spouse for only a split second before commanding, “Pack your things. You’re coming home with me. No backchat.” Lucius smacked his fist on the arm of the comfy chair, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” Lucius cringed a little inside where no one could see but him. He hated being put in the wrong and he hated even worse knowing he deserved it. This time the fear of losing his own child because of his unease at this little witch’s emotional power over him made him absolutely shudder with panic. Pureblood, halfblood, that unborn infant was a Malfoy. If he hadn’t come to her, would she really have ever told him about his baby? How had his life become so badly mangled?

A new thought intruded and Lucius paused. Another Malfoy to terrorize his circle and a halfblood at that. The Pureblood strata would soil their knickers over this one. Lucius calmed down some more contemplating a new Malfoy wolf among those sheep. Muggles certainly weren’t known for their saintly forbearance and combined with his genes, his new child might have the makings of a fine wolf.

Since this babe was a fait accompli and there was no way he was going to step out of Hermione’s life again, he would have to make the best of the situation. He knew any hint of disappointment or disparagement of this baby would mean instant dismissal for him from Hermione’s life and that was not an option he had any more. His own life depended on his acceptance of this new one. Oddly, seeing the swollen belly of his wife was creating a surprisingly fierce sense of ownership, both of her and definitely of this newest Malfoy, a peculiar development he wouldn’t have suspected within himself, but weirdly compelling nonetheless.

His pragmatic Slytherin mind instantly blossomed with tentative plans for the future molding and education of this Malfoy; it would need careful handling if it wasn’t to be ruined by the sweet nature and ingrained innocence of his wife. He knew he was attracted to and seemed to need the balance of her innocent, unblemished outlook in his artful, scheming world, but he didn’t want her softening up his newest scion too much to be able to help Draco control the Malfoy empire when their times came. With an internal shrug he shelved that worry - he’d fight that dragon when he came to it. It wouldn’t be easy asserting his influence on their child over hers - she had always been such a strong, positive force in their cell.

It was ironic that Lucius’ plans for his new child, trying to see the baby as a positive hybrid of two sets of desirable predatory genes, had missed the major point in his ruminations. Hermione might have a sweet nature, but she came from that same bloodthirsty Muggle stock Lucius was counting on for ruthlessness and Lucius’ history with her wasn’t the best.

Lucius saw Hermione open her book and scan the pages again and he started remembering the short time he’d had with this little witch. Their time in prison had been almost euphoric in its effect on him, making the reality of the small stone cell nearly disappear from his consciousness. It had only been after she was gone that the horrors of the place had become glaringly prominent in a way they hadn’t been before her advent.

Now he wanted all that back – the euphoria and happiness - but he knew he was weak to feel that way – and stupid. Hadn’t he learned what happened when he was drawn into that sensuous, erotic, spellbinding haze he lived in around her? His terrible, wonderful obsession with her piquant little face, her body – her mind?

Weak and stupid perhaps, but he had no choice – Snape’s comment rang in his ears. Lucius cringed to think there had been a thread of truth in what the Hogwarts Headmaster had said. Lucius really hadn’t cared much about seeing each new day dawn. All that had changed with his decision to claim his wife and now it had changed again. The blond wizard felt cold terror creep up his spine that she wouldn’t have him back, but he suppressed his feelings, all except for the hard thumping of his heart, which he couldn’t control. He was thankful for the seductive heat in the room. Piled on top of his recent bout with that drug, his seesawing emotions were wearing him out and the warmth of the fire was relaxing him as was the presence of his mate. His mind felt almost tranquilized by her nearness.

His wife looked up from her page. She been waiting for Lucius to say something, but he appeared to be contentedly sitting in the comfy chair. She broke into his circular thoughts, “Well thank you for the rather late and not very sincere invitation to live with you, but I’d rather not. We’re not married, remember?” Hermione looked back down at her book and turned a page, appearing engrossed in the text.

“We’re married if I get the paperwork from the prison and have it authorized in the Ministry,” Lucius retorted, fighting for his future. “And that’s going to happen tomorrow, first thing. Don’t think for one instant that you have any say in keeping me from my child.” Lucius’ lethargy dissipated with Hermione’s recalcitrance and he stood up and started pacing again. He was suddenly scared spitless he’d lost everything he’d come to her house to win back. He’d actually retrieved the paperwork from his solicitor three days ago and sent it to the correct authorities after making the decision to try to reclaim his wife.

Hermione contemplated her restive visitor with an assessing stare, weighing her options. A moment ago he’d been almost catnapping in the chair. Now he was pacing like a caged lion. He wasn’t the most restful person, but oh, did he set fire to her libido – she thought she could smell smoke coming from the vicinity of her knickers.

Did she want him back? Him with his hypnotic eyes and erotic expertise and assumption of superiority? He was bound to her through the unborn child forever and now he’d sealed their marriage officially in the Ministry records. Hermione had learned from Arthur Weasley just that morning that Lucius had finally filed their marriage lines, because Arthur had promised to look out for the proof of the signed document ever since Hermione had told him and Molly about the wedding months ago. She officially was married to him. She was now Mrs. Ratfink Malfoy. She needed him to understand he was now also Mr. Hermione Granger Malfoy.

Her dictatorial husband had sent in the paperwork without even consulting her. A totally Lucius maneuver. The Muggleborn witch sighed. That’s what her life would be filled with if she accepted him back. Marriage by fiat. Except she wasn’t having any of that. She foresaw strife and turmoil before he finally understood she wasn’t his chattel. Her eyes narrowed on the tall, impatient sorcerer who had erupted back into her life. In the cell he hadn’t had much scope for his inbred tyranny, but his attitude while loving, had always been shaded with benevolence.

She had thought he loved her and she’d accepted his wish to protect and his faint possessiveness and high-handedness as badges of his affection. His subsequent rejection had been heartrending, making her re-examine her belief in what she’d thought they had together. She had felt used, and being left with a part of him blooming inside her had been both grim and wondrous. Naiveté had been her downfall, but she wasn’t an innocent, trusting virgin any more.

So now what did she want? She sneaked peeks through her eyelashes at Lucius’ discomfited perambulations, drinking up his physical aura. That man was her fatal attraction and already she could feel the pull of him working on her senses, her mind, but if they both recognized this union, things were going to be different.

She knew Lucius was fudging the timing of the legal paperwork, but because of the resurrected document and in spite of his self-protective lie, she was willing to cut him a little slack. Hermione saw a glimmer of a wicked plan to reveal what he was truly willing to offer her as she watched her mate traverse the small room, invading it and marking it with his overriding, charismatic presence. She could invite him to live with her in her Muggle home until the baby was born. However, no more than that would she relinquish any control to him. It was a little heartening that Lucius had filed their papers before he knew about the baby. She had been prepared to live with the knowledge that she was only a part of his life due to the connection through their child. His behavior made her hope for more.

Hermione shut her book, but Lucius saw she kept her finger in the pages again. He didn’t even rate her full attention; that rankled and he pursed his lips in annoyance - but it also hurt and he really didn’t like that.

Hermione reluctantly gave Lucius her attention again, saying, “I’d rather keep any apparating to a minimum, and frankly the idea of moving in with you to that mausoleum you call home excites me about as much as watching flobberworms mate.” Lucius wasn’t the only one who could lie in self-protection. “I only have a little over two months to go now. You’re welcome to live here with me if you want, but I’m not moving in with you. So your choice is moving in or you can come back after the baby’s born. Unless you’re really ill. Then you’d better stay at your own home. You look even worse than right after you got out of Azkaban.”

She trained an opaque stare on the man she still loved more than her own life, worried about him but knowing she couldn’t give in on anything he wanted. Not any more. Her strength of will had to balance his, or they had nothing. He was way too self-centered as he was and only a major change in his thinking would save their marriage now. She couldn’t let him have anything his way any longer or he’d be impossible as a spouse.

“I’m not ill. It’s just…uh…stress from some minor financial reverses, over now.” Lucius didn’t want to admit anything more of his recent activities or his dependence on this little female center of his universe. It was bad enough that he had to face it. He looked around at the small room and inwardly flinched. “You expect me to live in this…this hovel?” He didn’t think he could bear to stay in this depressing, claustrophobic environment.

Hermione spoke in a dead tone, “No, Lucius, I don’t expect you to live here.” She smiled at him with spurious pity, but she was heartened that he wasn’t truly ill. “I’ve offered it only as a courtesy but I don’t expect you to be able to set aside any of your patrician preferences for me. Come back when the baby’s born. We’ll try to work out something then. You know where the door is. I’m sorry not to show you out, but getting out of this chair is a major undertaking now.” Hermione opened her book again and her eyes started to scan the page where she’d left off.”

Lucius’ heart started to pound and he looked around the room again, this time in apprehension, but with an increasing sense of fatalistic doom and he recognized he had to choose the lesser of the evils confronting him – stay in what amounted to little more than one of his stable stalls or leave her again. He drew a tortured breath and chose his fate, “I’m staying if you won’t go. I’ll bring my clothes here. I’ll need a desk to handle all my estate accounts and business interests. Do you have somewhere for me?”

Hermione looked back up at him with the first smidgen of animation she’d shown since he arrived. “You can use the dining table across the hall, I suppose. But we’ll need part of it for meals. Perhaps you can clear it off a bit then.”

Lucius’ distaste was apparent, but all he said was, “Of course. Can you perhaps show me around my new home so I don’t get lost?” A trace of sarcasm escaped him and he tried to cover it with a charming smile.

Hermione smothered a smile of her own at his discomfort and irritation. Oh, she was going to enjoy this so much. “Come here and hoist me up. You did this to me so it’s only fair that you should help me when I need it.”

Lucius immediately went to her side and put his arm around her back guiding her to a standing position and steadying her. He lifted his hand and ran his fingers through her soft, curly tresses. “It’s been a while since I touched this. I always liked it - your hair is like myriad tiny coiling snakes - so Slytherin – it’s a favorite pattern for me and very appealing.” He had to touch her any way he could. He needed to. He pulled his hand down and away from her hair before she could feel it shaking.

“Ugh. I guess that was a compliment but the idea of a head full of snakes makes me feel like my scalp is crawling.” Hermione’s breathing became a bit erratic as Lucius gave her a less charming but much more engaging grin at her comment. Damn, he really was it for her, the louse. How did one fight the overwhelming rush of hormones to her feminine places and the incessant yearnings of her heart and mind for the one man who could slay her with a glance from those stunning icy eyes?

tbc...


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So...

Try to keep in mind that Hermione is as diabolical as any Slytherin in her own way. She just has a few more Gryffindor morals impeding her than any of the serpent-types would have to contend with. Her plan allows her to have her cake and eat it too. (Especially eat it...LOL)

Lucius' rehabilitation isn't going to happen overnight. Hermione will roast him very slowly over that open fire until he learns how to be a husband in a marriage of equality - or as near to it as she will ever manage to train him. Can he ever be truly housebroken? We'll have to wait and see.

If you were hoping to see Lucius broken and crying at her feet - nah, you knew that wasn't going to happen (didn't you?) Besides, where's the fun in having him cave in so easily?

I suppose you can always tell me how you would have made Lucius crawl on his knees - or write what you would have done in a REVIEW, but I hope you do like where we're going in our Stubborn Slytherin Training Program. I'm not sure Lucius is going to care for it.
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