Prisoners of Love - A Mystery - COMPLETE

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Updated 9-29-07


All your reviews are very much appreciated and keep me tapping on my computer as I work in this (cough) lonely room with only three cats jumping up and down, leaving cat hairs all over my computer and my son shooting everything in sight on his computer game - bullets flying, laser hits, grenades going off. Halo 3 is quite an astounding video game - complex and visually amazing, but I'm surprised I can hear myself think. What? Can you repeat that?

Dinner with Hermione's parents is still a couple of chapters away, but it will arrive, never fear. I see that Lucius found a bit of compassion in most of the readership. He's no angel, but he has a couple of good points. It just usually takes an immense amount of chapters to find them. I hope you won't mind?

Ah, and as for Lucius angrily throwing the glass, he's extremely jealous of the 'rivals' he saw in the Daily Prophet but hides his feelings thinking that he would appear vulnerable to Hermione who he's not sure cares much for him any more.


More domestic bliss...

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Chapter Twenty-Four

Tickled Black

Lucius had told the truth. His head barely hit the pillow and he was deeply asleep, completely worn out from his moving day, his embarrassing confession, and his stifled anger. By the time Hermione had finished preparing for bed, her husband was sprawled face down across the mattress, naked, leaving only a fragment of space for her. She lifted the blankets and squeezed in, settling herself against his furnacelike body. He didn’t like to stay under the covers much in her warm little house and with her increased body temperature from her pregnancy, she didn’t need so many covers either, but she did want her share of the bed. She used the covers to slide him over a bit and was able to get more comfortable. Neither of them surfaced until late the next morning.

Hermione woke first and saw Lucius had climbed under the covers during the night, but was still sprawled out on his stomach, breathing deeply and still dead to the world. She liked looking at him when he was unconscious. He looked softer somehow, sweeter, more mellow and less overpowering. So completely misleading, but she cherished the endearing illusion of her domineering mate. She bent over him, kissed his slightly whiskery cheek and got up, slipping on her robe and padding to the kitchen after closing the door to the bedroom. Aggie was due later and if she came early Hermione didn’t want Lucius disturbed. Soon the teakettle was shrilling and the teapot was ready for the morning’s first cup.

Hermione began some eggs and frowned at the toaster. They would need to go to the shops and purchase a new toaster rather than possibly getting electrocuted by the ruined one. She lifted the appliance up to throw it away and saw for the first time that the other side was dented. The dent looked suspiciously like the strike from a wand, being a little charred at the edges where the metal had resisted the magic. She wondered if Lucius had vented his anger at the mistreated toaster but decided not to ask. What was done, was done. She had a couple of muffins left over from a luncheon she and Ginny had made for themselves a few days before – she could put those out instead of toast.

It sank in on her that she was actually married to a very rich - and perhaps very angry - man. Funny, his wealth hadn’t really impinged on her before. Maybe it was his previous wardrobe of prison stripes that had thrown her off. A small snort of amusement at those horrid stripes on her snobby husband escaped before being firmly quashed, then Hermione shrugged her shoulders, thinking his wealth was the last thing she really cared about. She had lived all her life without his money and she could continue without it just as well if need be.

His anger, if it was anger, was a separate issue best addressed if and when he decided to share his feelings with her. Asking him to re-open his private heart to her before he was ready would be worse than useless. It could be like popping open a fizzy champagne bottle. She had no interest in getting the brunt of his emotions sprayed all over her, not when she was still angry with him also. It might escalate to wands at twenty paces. She took a deep breath and resolutely donned a calm façade for the day, not wishing to affect the baby with any more negative emotion than would happen as the normal course of events with love ‘em and leave’em Lucius.

Several minutes later Lucius strolled into the kitchen wearing nothing but a dark green silk robe negligently tied at the waist. The pocket had a small embroidered Slytherin escutcheon on it earning Hermione’s snicker. The pretentious bit of thread lightened her mood as she gazed in reluctant admiration at the handsome sorcerer who was complicating her life.

“I amuse, you, tidbit?” Lucius yawned, stretching his arms up and rolling his shoulders. He ran fingers through his slightly tangled mane and sat at the little gateleg table. “So what’s for breakfast this morning?” He grimaced uneasily at the sink where the sickly dishrag loomed. “Anything I can cook?” Surely he mused she could get a new dishrag if that one somehow disappeared.

“Isn’t a Slytherin shield on your bathrobe a little over the top? School spirit is all well and good but that seems a little excessive.” Hermione began to see that Lucius’ habit of ramming his fingers through his hair usually meant he was nervous. Interesting.

“Maybe for your bourgeois circle. It’s very common in my strata to pay homage to one’s alma mater.” Lucius had also attended university at a prestigious European institution, but he identified with his Slytherin background much more than his foreign experience. He sniffed at the cooking smells. “No toast? Didn’t you mend the toaster yet?”

“Lucius, I can’t wave a wand at a toaster and mend it. It’s Muggle-made, and that means I’d have to have a working knowledge of what I was fixing and I don’t know how the toaster works inside. I could make something look like a toaster from the outside, but it still wouldn’t work. You were able to make the fishing pole because it was entirely made of magic materials. Transfiguring electric circuits is impossible for me.”

Lucius shrugged, uninterested in deficient Muggle products and asked again, “What’s for breakfast, assuming that I’m not having toast this morning?”

“I’m fixing eggs and some muffins. And tea, of course. And there isn’t anything else for you to make. Sorry. But you can either clean the dishes with your wand or, since Aggie is coming today, you can leave the washing up for her if you like. Tomorrow you can get up first and cook. But you’d better have a lesson today before you attempt anything on your own.”

Lucius poured himself some tea, wondering to himself if he could get some gourmet meals sent in from his favorite restaurant, but out loud he merely observed, “Today we had better do some shopping so we have something to take to your parents’ home tonight. I think it would be better to arrive with a small gift. That way I can hand it to your father and his hands will be full, so he won’t try to punch me. I don’t have to allow physical abuse do I?” He was never quite certain of the strange cultural intricacies of Muggle society. Lucius sipped at his cup, “Hmm, I think the tea I made yesterday was better. How many pinches did you add today?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at Lucius’ sudden expertise at tea making. “Oh, I’m sooo sorry, my love, I guess my fingers are smaller than yours, so my pinches were less. I’ll try to do better,” she said sarcastically, “or here’s a better idea. Why don’t you be in charge of tea-making every morning while I sleep in. I need my rest anyway and you could make yourself useful instead of just being a decorative lump in my home.”

“You think I’m decorative?” Lucius smiled beguilingly at his wife totally ignoring the rest of her mild censure and raising her blood pressure with exasperation. “So shall we go to Diagon Alley for a gift?”

Hermione threw her hands up in the air, abandoning her reprimand and serving up the food, “We can go down the street to the shops for something if you insist. The short walk will do me good and I can hang onto you for balance on the icy pavement. And no, you don’t have to take physical abuse, but I doubt you’ll be called upon to dodge blows. I don’t guarantee your safety from a few choice words, however.” Miffed at her husband’s one-track ego she chided, “but as you seem to have a remarkable propensity for only hearing what you want to hear, I don’t think you’ll have a problem with the epithets either.”

Lucius was actually feeling a little self-conscious after admitting his subjugation to both Voldemort and Scrimgeour the previous night. Those two black events in his life still tormented and mortified him even now that Voldemort was dead and he’d managed with Hermione’s help to finally escape the grim Minister of Magic’s vindictive machinations. He thought it ironic that his little witch-wife should be the one to free him from his legal trap and paradoxically present his greatest weakness. His jealous anger surfaced briefly but he beat it down again - he wanted to enjoy this morning time with Hermione, not dredge up unhappy thoughts.

His controlling, imperious personality had no room for what he perceived as blemishes on his self-esteem and confidence. He’d already tried hiding in a firewhiskey bottle from what he viewed as two episodes of embarrassing disgrace and a third piercing loss of self to Hermione and that wasn’t the answer. He’d wanted to be free from all the nooses choking him but he’d found the further he got from Hermione, the tighter her noose became.

Oddly, telling her about his two episodes of weakness had finally relieved much of the ache in his wounded psyche over those events. He would never win prizes for his humanity and the word subservient was anathema to his supercilious, autocratic soul, but being with his wife was loosening his stranglehold on his need to dominate. His internal pressures relaxed on all fronts in her company; his need to control his environment with his neatness, his view of himself as always in charge, all these took a back seat when he was with her, which was preferable. As long as he didn’t slip under her spell again.

It surprised him that upon occasion he even wanted to please her. Of course he always wanted to please her in bed but that directly increased his own pleasure. No, this phenomenon was something different. He’d interpreted his desire to please her before as being subservient to her, but maybe it didn’t have to be viewed from that angle. He didn’t have to please her. His Slytherin mind twisted the idea so his compulsion was more appealing as a trait - no, making her happy wasn’t required.

Maybe he only wanted to please her – when HE decided. That way of viewing of their relationship put him in control again. Yes, he could accept that interpretation. The idea was still a little unsettling, but he was sure it would become more comfortable as he lived this quaint, surreal Muggle existence with her while trying to maintain his emotional autonomy.

Lucius pulled his robe around him a little bit, ruining Hermione’s unobstructed view of his too-thin but still mesmerizing chest, “When is your cleaning person coming?” He didn’t want to be sitting in his robe in the kitchen when the servant arrived.

Hermione leaned out of the kitchen and checked the wall clock in the hall, “She won’t be here until one o’clock. She does another house in the morning. We should probably get dressed and head to the shops, though. I’d like to finish that chore and be through with lunch before she arrives. We can stay out of her way in the parlor while she cleans.”

“You organize your schedule around your cleaning person’s routine?”

Lucius’ outraged, scornful expression reminded Hermione that she and he were still poles apart in their attitudes toward others. His worldview was completely at odds with hers, but so was his everyday behavior. Hermione wondered if she was fooling herself that they had a future together. So far they meshed about as well as Snape and bow ties. If it weren’t for the absolutely extraordinary sex and those messy feelings she had for him, they shouldn’t have been a pair at all. Was there any way to bridge their gap in politics, culture, or just sheer humanity?

She reminded her spouse tartly, “I’m also organizing my whole life around you for the moment, so don’t get into an argument you are definitely going to lose.” Hermione swept up the dirty dishes from the table, used her wand to clean up the kitchen and disappeared down the hallway to their bedroom.

Lucius was stupefied that she had made him clean up the kitchen the day before manually when he could have easily use his wand the same way she had. He conveniently forgot that she had given him a choice and he had chosen to try the Muggle way. Lucius rose from the table and strode angrily down the hall after his wife, his uncertain temper rising as his robe flapped around his body displaying his wildly swinging assets to the disinterested wall clock. Undershorts were never on his list of to-dos.

Hermione was in the small bathroom and already in the shower when Lucius entered the bedroom with more to say on her cavalier treatment of him as her servant. He hesitated midstride, finally remembering he had offered to be her busboy and then he also remembered she had told him he could wash dishes either with his wand or by hand. He’d chosen to try the Muggle approach. Dammit, it looked so easy when she just waved her wand and – he looked down - he had gotten his hands all dried out from the dish soap. He was getting tied up in knots around her. Two more months of this unsettling existence, then he could transfer her to his estate for the birth. It was going to be a looong two months.

As the miniscule shower was taken and there wasn’t room for two in there, especially with a pregnant female, Lucius ran a cleaning spell over himself and got dressed. If they didn’t find anything at those shops of hers, he would apparate them to Diagon Alley whether she liked it or not. Being seen with a pregnant Hermione in Diagon Alley didn’t appeal much as a first public outing, but his marriage had to become general knowledge sometime. There was no going back now.

Lucius wanted this marriage to work. He had become initially …attached… to Hermione mostly because of her intelligence. He was still damn near dazzled by it to be honest. He found women with brainpower and a backbone unbearably erotic and they were unfortunately about as common as an ugly Malfoy. Hermione undoubtedly led the pack with her bewitching mind and her backbone of steel. He loved jousting with her, knowing she was going to lose in the end. No, there was no going back.

Lucius was just finishing up his tie when it all belatedly hit him. He was actually going to be a father again. He would have a new baby around the manor, with his genes and his heritage. It would be a halfblood and that didn’t sit too well, but Malfoy blood was always more important than pure blood and their baby’s intelligence would be indisputably superior. He could forgive a lot if a person had a superior intellect. So far he had been seeing into the future with a new adult heir, not a new baby.

Hermione came out of the bathroom naked and went straight to the small bureau for underwear. She saw Lucius was dressed and wanted to hurry and get dressed too. When she saw him approach her, she waved him away, “No detour to the bed this morning, we have to get to the shops.”

Lucius put his hand on her bare belly, looking mildly hypnotized as he traced the contours of her outsize abdomen. “My child. My son or daughter. A new baby. A new Malfoy. You’re amazing, Hermione.”

“So it finally hits you, huh? Now, when we haven’t the time to discuss it.” She tossed on her underwear and a dress of lavender and stepped into some woolen tights before working her feet into her snow boots.

“We’re having a baby, tidbit. This is the most perfect gift.” He patted her stomach again and silently applauded the lavender, which he felt was more appropriate to her condition and coloring. “I guess I wasn’t entirely focused on this little one. There was so much turmoil inside me, coming here, seeing you. And the shock knocked me further off balance. Do you have any names picked out yet?” Lucius beamed at her beatifically as though she had invented motherhood just for him.

“I thought we’d call the baby Gryffin if it’s a boy and Dora if it’s a girl. After my school house. I don’t have a monogram for my robe so I thought the names could do instead.” Hermione pushed past her husband and went to get her coat from the hook in the hall near the front door.

Lucius came out of the bedroom looking hurt. “You’re making fun of my child?” His chin went up, “You don’t really want this baby, do you?” Lucius sucked in a shocked breath and stood riveted to the floor, his heart pounding out a tattoo like a drumbeat. Had he really just blurted out his most private fear, uncensored? What was wrong with him?

“Oh, Lucius, why does everything have to be so dramatic with you?” Hermione was shrugging on her coat and getting out her gloves, so she failed to see the arrested rictus of his face.

Lucius breathed a ragged sigh of relief and his heart resumed its normal place after sliding down out of his throat – his tidbit hadn’t recognized his soul leaving his lips. Then he frowned. Dramatic? ME?

Hermione pulled her hair out from under the coat collar, “I’ve been pregnant for nearly seven months and of course I’ve thought of names. And of course, I’ve had to put the whole idea on hold until I could consult you. I merely thought it would be after the baby’s birth because I didn’t expect to see you until then.

She turned toward her mate saying fiercely, “I’m not carrying your baby, Lucius, I’m carrying OUR baby. It’s half mine, don’t forget. I want this child more than anything in the world, but up until a moment ago, I wasn’t sure if you did. Except for berating me for keeping the news from you, you haven’t been very forthcoming in your feelings about being a father again.” She glared up at him from her enveloping sheepskin collar, “and I certainly wasn’t going to stick my swollen belly in your face and ask you how you really felt about a halfblood baby for your precious dynasty. My ‘mudblood’ pride, I guess,” she added sarcastically.

Lucius retraced his words and actions of the past two days and he realized his wife had a point. He knew he was thrilled, but he hadn’t said it in words to the one person who needed to hear it the most. Lucius winced inwardly. He’d spent more time processing the pregnancy in terms of its effect on his social world than on praising her and showing her his delight and interest in their joint accomplishment.

He always seemed to put his foot wrong with her. She was so different from his friends. Her thoughts, her dreams, her view of life, all were completely alien to him and for the most part a mystery. In order to entrench himself more firmly in her existence, he realized he’d have to start doing better than an occasional clean dish. His mind shuddered at the alternative. No, he couldn’t go back to his estate without her. Apparently she could live without him very easily, but the reverse? No, that didn’t bear thinking about.

“Well,” Lucius gently pulled her into his embrace, careful of her rounded shape, “I’m serving notice now that I’m tickled black about this new baby.”

“Black?” Hermione looked at her husband dubiously, wondering if maybe he had been at the firewhiskey again.

“Black. It’s my favorite color as you know,” he reminded, gently mocking her earlier tirade. “I couldn’t say ‘tickled pink’, that’s so…so…girly.” He made sure all her coat buttons were done and held her little knit cap while she donned her gloves. Why did she affect him so? Had Scrimgeour had the last laugh? Was there some hex or curse he’d fallen victim to? Lucius played that scenario around in his mind for the hundredth time, frustrated at his ‘attachment’ as the little witch called it.

He groaned inside at his jumbled thoughts. Why would he pick a little Muggleborn witch of no pedigree and no social connections to obsess over? It just didn’t make sense, her mesmerizing intelligence notwithstanding. She could have just been his mistress, if not for that hellhound guard. Lucius turned resolutely away from any more searching around in his psyche for something he just might find.

Hermione opened the front door, oblivious of her husband’s inner turmoil and as usual exasperated with his careless attention span, only seeing his sudden abstraction there in the hall. But she hadn’t given him enough credit this time as he clamped down on the back of her coat collar, preventing her from leaving the house.

“I’ll go first and you can hold onto my arm so you don’t slip.” Lucius stepped outside onto the porch, “Really, Hermione, you need to be more careful with your priceless cargo. When we move to my estate, I’m going to have the elves watch you around the clock.” Lucius instantly saw a mind picture of several elves sitting beside his bed watching him climax inside his wife. “Uh, maybe not when we’re sleeping.” He smiled wickedly. He leaned down and whispered to his little spouse, “I am very, very happy about this baby.” His lips covered hers, settling in for a deep soul-catching kiss as he lifted her chin with one glove-clad finger which then wound its way down her throat and around to the nape of her neck, drawing her lips more firmly against his.

Hermione had no defense against those drugging kisses and she didn’t even try to stop him. Her arms caught hold of as much of his torso as she could as she leaned into him offering her tongue for playtime. A shrill whistle pierced their absorption as a voice said rudely, “Take it inside.” Hermione and Lucius looked toward the street and saw two teenage boys leering at them.

Lucius reached for his wand, but Hermione grabbed his hand. She didn’t need two teenagers with their guts hanging out in front of her cottage. Instead she murmured, “Just hit them with the Obliviate spell and make them forget they saw us. That’s ALL, Lucius.” She fixed her fuming husband with a firm stare.

Lucius pointed his wand at the two rude teenagers and intoned, “Obliviate!”, then mumbled something under his breath too quietly for Hermione to hear. She probably wouldn’t have taken kindly to him dispensing a bit more punishment to the two ill-mannered young Muggles. Lucius got a fierce enjoyment from making sure the two young men had limp peckers for the next month. Let each of them worry that his ability to perform was in jeopardy. To a teenage boy, a wimpy dick was tantamount to taking away their favorite toy. A fitting judgment on their nasty intrusion.

The two teens looked at Lucius and Hermione blankly, then at each other. They shrugged and walked on, having totally forgotten their recent wisecrack to the magic couple.

“Thank you, Lucius.” Hermione smiled up at her husband for his forbearance with the Muggles. She latched onto his firm forearm, closing the front door behind them. She turned to take Lucius’ arm again and saw another visitor entering her small front walk. She felt Lucius’ wary reaction through his arm as he too noticed their new guest.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Harry stalked up the walk and stood on the step below, a fiery glare accompanying his uncivil comment. He whipped out his wand, but Lucius was faster, recognizing personal danger when he saw it. The two men stood with wands aimed at each other until Hermione stepped between them.

“Harry, you idiot, put the wand away. You too, Lucius. What is wrong with both of you? This is my home and it’s Muggle territory.” She frowned at Harry, “Lucius is my husband and he and I are reconciling. What are you doing here?”

“You’re taking that bastard back? After what he’s done to you? Why on earth should you have anything to do with him?” Harry focused his intent green stare on his best friend wondering if she was under an Imperius. If so, he’d need the Ministry to help intervene.

“Harry, I don’t need any more reason than this,” and she drew her hand down over her ballooning middle, “but we are trying to work out our marriage. I know it’s not what you want to hear and I’m sorry for that. You know I love you, but I can’t help that you‘re unhappy with my relationship. If I hadn’t wanted you to marry Ginny how would you have felt?”

Harry’s eyebrows snapped together as he ignored her question and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket, shoving it into Hermione’s hand. “I need to speak with you, Hermione. Maybe we’d better take this inside,” he growled.


tbc...


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Oops! Another wrinkle in the story. Whatever next?

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