Prisoners of Love - A Mystery - COMPLETE

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Updated 10-3-07


All your wonderful reviews are making my Muse dance (well, that's probably Terpsichore over there in the corner - she's a maniac on the floor...ahem, so my Muse is likely Erato, the Muse for erotic poetry). Close enough, I think. Anyway, I adore your words and the time each of you takes to leave me a review. They are more precious than gems to me. Ask any author - they'll tell you the same. I'm launched on my next story and madly typing away.


pluto_rising I have the Season One set of DVDs for Brotherhood and saw each one as it aired. This season is starting out with Michael Caffee having problems. I want him to be kickass again. Jason Isaacs is mesmerizing as usual though and already we get some kissing and a shot sans shirt. Thank you, Brotherhood.


sheherazade I'm not giving anything away to say that those two teenagers were strictly a side issue and won't be seen again. I'll be careful about the cat hair. Thanks.


lilbitbord Can't tell about Hermione's parents, but I loved your long review even with your frazzled brain.


dynonugget I generally post new chapter notifications on the yahoo group:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/prideandperfection/ if that helps.

Now, what was on the parchment Harry brought?


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Chapter Twenty-Five

Excursion

Hermione opened up her front door again and the trio trouped into her parlor. Hermione sat in her chair, Lucius in his chair and Harry paced in the small space behind the sofa.

Lucius didn’t know what was on the parchment and he was very curious to find out what would cause the Potter git to aim his wand so mercilessly at him. The young man had a hair trigger temper when it came to him and Lucius wanted that to stop if possible. He would make no points with Hermione for frying her friend. Lucius settled back trying to look harmless as he waited for Hermione to read the parchment.

“Oh, Harry, no!” Hermione was stricken by whatever was on the note. “It’s horrible. There’s just enough truth, but it’s so distorted. Lucius didn’t, Harry!”

She passed the note to Lucius who read aloud, ‘Your friend Hermione Granger was nearly raped in prison and the Warden had to marry her to her cellmate, Lucius Malfoy, to cover the near assault before her reputation was destroyed.’ “I see it isn’t signed,” the blond wizard noted, turning the parchment over to look on the other side. “How did you come by this?”

Harry squared up to the seated wizard, looming over him, irritated beyond measure that the older wizard just sat at his ease, “Did you or did you not assault Hermione? I want to hear it from you.” Harry couldn’t forget that this arrogant wizard had been the right hand of the monster who had murdered his parents, leaving Harry to a Muggle hell. When Hermione would have remonstrated Harry briefly looked over at her saying, “this is between him and me.” The young wizard fixed Lucius with frosty eyes.

Hermione stood up and spoke so loudly both wizards looked at her in surprise, “What do you mean it’s between the two of you?” When she saw she had Harry’s full attention at last her voice softened again, "Harry, I understand you are only making an attempt to protect me, but if I tell you Lucius did NOT rape me, nor even tried, I expect you to believe me. Will you need me to drink Veritaserum before you believe me?”

Harry looked at his friend’s earnest stare and his wrath faded some to be replaced by confusion. “Then why would someone send me this parchment? If you say you weren’t forced by this…this Death Eater,” Harry drew a calming breath and his posture eased into more natural and less menacing lines, “why would anyone say such a thing?”

“Did you fly here?” Lucius asked, showing his first sign of urgency.

“No, I apparated into Hermione’s backyard shed and came around to the front.” He addressed Hermione, “I didn’t know you were keeping eagle owls now. You might have warned me. Oh,” Harry looked his question back at Lucius, “I suppose those are yours?”

Lucius merely nodded and turned to his wife, “That was a lucky escape, if someone sent the message figuring Harry might lead them to you. They can’t follow anyone apparating. I think your enemy may be actively trying to locate you. That’s not good.”

Hermione put her hand on Harry’s arm, “Whoever sent me to Azkaban may still be trying to get rid of me. Lucius protected me in prison and he will protect me and our child now, but I guess you and Ginny will need to apparate here until Lucius finds the culprit. Can you tell the others?”

“Is HE responsible for this danger?” Harry flicked his thumb at Lucius. Death Eaters and trouble were interchangeable as far as Harry was concerned and there was strong precedent for Harry’s prejudice, so Lucius held his peace.

“No, he can’t be,” Hermione was adamant. “There isn’t a connection. He was in prison four months before I got there. We think it is something to do with my job at the Ministry and Lucius is working on it. I’ll keep you informed, alright Harry?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Lucius, flashing a silent warning that if anything happened to Hermione, Lucius would answer to him. “Hmmm,” was all he said and with a parting enigmatic, laser green stare for the blond wizard, the young man slammed away out the back door to apparate home from the little shed.

“Sociable sort,” was all Lucius said about the whirlwind that was Harry. He had no interest in the younger wizard beyond Hermione’s partiality and was happy to keep it that way. “So shall we go to the stores now?” He rose and followed Hermione back to the front door. By now he was sweltering under his outdoor clothing from sitting in Hermione’s warm parlor. He hadn’t wanted to make any sudden moves to divest himself of his overcoat while Potter was still apt to wave his wand indiscriminately.

They once again left Hermione’s house and Hermione shepherded the dark wizard down the street and over two blocks to the market square, guiding him into a small store with a large selection of bizarre items.

Lucius had no idea what some of them were, but did recognize the wine bottles. He looked at the labels, “Do your parents like wine?” This wine isn’t really very good, but it’s not the worst I’ve ever had either.” He checked a few other bottles as well. Wine was one area that spanned the Magic and Muggle worlds without dissent.

“I suppose it will do as well as anything else. Select one you think will be acceptable and then let’s get another toaster. This store sells a few models in the next aisle.” Hermione wandered a few feet away to look at some biscuits on sale.

“Ah, biscuits. Are you going to buy some? I rather like them for afternoon tea.” Lucius came up behind Hermione cradling two bottles of wine on his arm.

“Will we need two bottles, Lucius? My parents don’t drink that much.”

“But I imagine I will. I want some liquid courage for tonight’s dinner.”

“Lucius, I hope you aren’t going to get snockered. That’s definitely not going to make a good impression.” Hermione frowned in worry, seeing in her mind’s eye a sloshed blond wizard weaving away from her parents’ dinner table.

“Two bottles of wine won’t make me drunk, especially if I’m sharing them with your parents. I just wanted your father’s hands full, like I said before.” Lucius looked over the selection of biscuits and decided, “Get the shortbread ones. I like those best.”

Hermione picked up a packet of the shortbread biscuits and then selected some chocolate ones for herself.

Lucius looked at her choice and queried, “Should you even be having biscuits?”

Hermione ignored him and strode over to the next aisle, searching for the toasters. She found one very similar to the one Lucius had destroyed and slung the packets of biscuits onto the toaster box, starting to carry them both to the counter at the front of the store.

“Really, Hermione, I don’t think you should be eating biscuits in your condition. They’re nothing but sugar without any nutritious value. That can’t be good for the baby – or for you.” Lucius reached for the chocolate biscuits to return them to the shelf, but got his hand slapped away.

“Touch them and get hexed, Malfoy. You want me to remove all that pretty, straight hair you’re so proud of?” The expression on Hermione’s face said she meant business and Lucius was seconds away from looking like Yul Brynner.

When Hermione had slapped his hand, he went cold inside, seeing his forced exodus from her home in the physical action. And she had hit him. He had a very low tolerance for being abused after his experiences with Voldemort and that wizard’s fondness for handing out crucios as punishments for perceived infractions to his rule - Lucius had garnered several due to his own dominant personality. “Are you threatening me?” Lucius’ icy eyes would have frozen Hermione into an icicle if she hadn’t been so ticked at his dictatorial attitude.

“You bet your sissy hand lotion I am,” Hermione lowered her voice to whisper fiercely, noticing that the proprietor was becoming an interested audience to their spat.

“Sissy! Are you impugning my manhood now, too?” Lucius’ temper was fraying as he sibilantly whispered his affronted question to the little witch who dared to question his authority. He couldn’t believe his wife was questioning his masculinity – and she had hit him!

Hermione stared at the big, blond blockhead. Where did he get these crazy ideas? First she didn’t want his baby, now she was assailing his manhood. Was he less confident than he appeared?

“Of course not,” she retorted, subverting a small smile - his huffy attitude was starting to tickle her, “I’m impugning your hand lotion. Why? Do you use the stuff on your ‘manhood’ too? Well, I must say, that’s rather kinky. Trying to keep it nice and soft, are you? Sorry, but that’s a lost cause.” She suddenly twinkled at him, throwing him completely off his stride as she put the chocolate biscuits back on the toaster box with a superior smile.

Lucius rather lost the thread of their argument at that point, being sidetracked by a possible new use for his hand lotion. But he gamely attempted to advance his grievance even though he was now slightly mollified, “You hit me. That’s unacceptable – ever!”

“Well…well…I apologize. I reacted before I thought. And I merely slapped your hand off my biscuits, I didn’t really hit you. But you’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. I need to warn you, though – don’t ever get between me and my chocolate. To me that’s unacceptable.”

“Duly noted.” Lucius was relieved that she wasn’t really angry. It was frightening there for a moment when he thought he’d stirred up an impossible situation and his tidbit was furious enough with him to send him away.

She took off toward the front of the store to pay for her merchandise, but Lucius followed more slowly, needing a moment to recover from his unsettling contretemps over the biscuits. He wandered down another aisle and grew curious about several of the strange items on the shelves, but when Hermione turned to him, cocking her head in impatience, he left off his dawdling and came forward to place the two bottles of wine on the counter with the toaster and biscuits. He watched in some chagrin as his wife paid for the merchandise, but he quickly lifted the carryall of their purchases before Hermione could make him look even more useless.

Smiling weakly at the proprietor, he followed Hermione out the door, but again grabbed onto her coat collar when she showed distinct signs of heading onto the icy pavement alone. “If you can’t take better care of our child, I’m going to apparate you to my estate today and you can spend the rest of this pregnancy in confinement until your confinement. Is that clear?” He glared at his headstrong bride. “I mean it, tidbit. I will not tolerate any careless behavior. Now take my arm.” He released her collar and held out his forearm waiting for Hermione to take it.

Hermione glared right back, “Stop treating me like I’m a congenital idiot. I wasn’t going to go out onto the pavement. I would have stopped at the edge of the store porch.” She hissed in a low whisper, “If I had wanted to lose this child there is an easy Muggle procedure I could have done months ago.”

Lucius stared, stunned, “Are you saying you considered it?”

“Of course not. I’m saying that all Muggles know there is a way to terminate a pregnancy. And that’s all.” Hermione took hold of Lucius’ arm and they stepped off the porch of the store and turned up the street back to her cottage.

“Too bad more Muggles don’t take advantage of your terminations,” muttered Lucius, “there would be a lot less of them in the world.”

“Can we abandon this extremely unpleasant conversation?” Hermione was holding tightly to her husband’s arm as they trod through a light sprinkling of snow while he swung the package with the toaster, cookies, and wine from his other hand.

Lucius changed the subject, “If we go to any more Muggle places, I want to be the one who pays. You’ll have to teach me about Muggle money, so I can count out the correct change. I dislike standing by while my wife pays for everything. The man should pay for his wife. I am not a penny pincher and it makes me look bad.”

Hermione looked up at her disgruntled mate, wondering why it was she loved him so much. Maybe it was the eyes? Or that firm butt? No, it was probably his sharp mind. That was his most seductive attribute. Really, where was her good sense?

“It’s a bit different in the Muggle world, Lucius. The proprietor probably thought you were making me, the ‘little woman,’ pay for those items out of my allotted household money, given to me sooo generously by you. Why should you pay for items that you have given me money for?”

“Truly?” Lucius looked thoughtful, “Muggles give their wives money for various household expenses just like magic folk? That means they expect the wife to stay within a certain amount for a certain length of time, does it not?” He walked on for a few steps, “I did give Narcissa an allowance for running the household, but she usually spent it on herself. She always outran her clothing allowance too. Maybe this world has managed to accomplish something better than the magic world. I could never get Narcissa to stay on any kind of budget.”

Hermione would have loved to be able to point out something the Muggles did better than Lucius, but she had to tell the truth, “Sorry to disabuse you, but Muggles don’t have any better control of their wives than you did… do… did.” She frowned darkly and trudged through a small snow mound, kicking up a flurry of powdery snowflakes.

Lucius smiled craftily, “I’m planning on doing much better my second time around – with you. You’ll have to stay within your clothing allowance or you’ll have to wear the same dress over again to a function.” Lucius thought that was the worst punishment a witch in his circle could be given, but he was soon jerked back to reality by Hermione.

“Okay,” she said unconcerned. “I don’t mind wearing the same dress lots of times.”

“OKAY??” Lucius pulled her around to stare into her face, “Are you mad? Our social standing would suffer immediately if you did that. Rumors would start that I had lost my money.”

“So – I need to get this straight - you don’t want to spend money on dresses but you want me to wear a new dress for each event. Do you have to wear a new robe to each function?”

“No, of course not, that’s different, and I don’t mind spending money on your dresses, I just don’t want you spending all your allowance on one dress shot through with moonbeams and then tell me you have nothing to wear.”

“Are moonbeams very expensive then? It sounds like Narcissa knew just how to slide around your rules and finesse you for what she wanted. Poor Lucius.” Hermione snickered at his glare, “I’m afraid you haven’t married a connoisseur of clothing this time around.”

Lucius snorted insultingly, “Oh, I’m well aware of that. One look in your closet was enough to give me heart palpitations. But Madam Malkin will take care of you.”

And that’s that, Hermione shrugged philosophically to herself. You need to pick your battles, my girl, and complaining about being beautifully dressed isn’t one of them.

Silence descended during the rest of the walk, but it was mostly a relaxed silence between the couple as Lucius made sure he provided all the support Hermione needed to traverse the icy patches on the concrete. They arrived back at her home just before noon and decided they were both hungry.

“I can fix us some sandwiches if you like.” Hermione offered.

“Sandwiches?” Lucius wasn’t enamored of the low class fare, but he knew he would be courting a fast trip to his empty estate to say so. “Er, what kind?” He thought that question was innocuous enough.

“I have some sliced turkey. My only other choice is peanut butter – oh, and marmalade if you like.” Hermione looked up at him as she was helped off with her coat. She tucked her gloves in the pocket along with her little cap and hung it up on the hall hook.

Lucius shrugged out of his cape and hung it up also, admiring the shiny, brown curls his wife had disarranged with her cap. He had always been drawn to her unruly hair – it represented the antithesis of his own need for neatly combed hair and he stared, finding it almost compelling, wishing desperately that the dratted housekeeper lady weren’t coming that afternoon. He had much, much better things to do than wait patiently in the parlor with Hermione while the old woman had the run of the place.

“First let me ring my parents,” Hermione said, “then I’ll come in the kitchen and we can get lunch started.” She went into the parlor to use the telephone while Lucius went on to the kitchen.

Lucius had a vague idea of avoiding the clean-up if he could be useful enough at the lunch preparations because he hadn’t yet learned where everything went, making his wand magic less useful than Hermione’s. He hunted down the turkey and bread and put them on the counter. He stood there thinking. Plates! And knives? Lucius started opening drawers and cupboards till he found nearly everything he thought might be needed, all of which he neatly placed on the kitchen counter together.

Then, feeling vindicated from clean-up, he opened up the gateleg table and sat down. He rested there for thirty seconds before popping up again for drinking glasses (the cheap juice glasses like she’d given him for his firewhiskey, he noted with disgust – well, she had one less now) and settled them on the table. Lucius sat again and waited for his wife, who bustled in not a minute later.

“My goodness, Malfoy, you’ve definitely got a talent for being Mother.” She smiled mischievously, “Shall you pour?”

Lucius merely gave her a long-suffering look, “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, Malfoy, what did your parents say? Leave out the bad language, please.” He held his breath for the news that he was going to spend an evening with two people who hated his guts and would probably like to spay him even if it was after the fact.

Hermione said, “I quote, ‘We’ll trust you to do what you think right. Thank you for telling us some of the history between you but it’s your marriage and your decision. Please be prompt so the roast isn’t overdone.’ Unquote."

“That’s it? I’m not going to need to dodge any pointy objects?” Lucius was joking, but he felt a bit of relief that his ordeal might not be so very difficult.

“Lucius, your trial isn’t over when my parents allow you in their home. You still have me to get through. So far the sex is first class, but your skills at obsequious repentance stink."

Lucius’ pale eyes narrowed on his wife - she wasn’t kidding. He bridled indignantly. He had never been obsequious in his life – well, maybe a little with Voldemort. And possibly a near miss with Scrimgeour. But for his wife? Wives were beholden to their husbands, not the other way around. He’d had enough of his deep infatuation and wrenching misery being left in prison while she went free. He was not going to court that dependence again. No matter what she wanted.

Lucius gave his wife a charming, ‘not-on-your-life-witch’ smile and blandly replied, “We seem to have arrived at an impasse for now. Shall we have lunch and discuss this difference of opinion later?” Lucius waited for Hermione to make the sandwiches as she had promised. He was getting rather hungry and wanted to be out of the kitchen before that servant showed up. There was a certain lack of respect there and he wasn’t inclined to repeat his unsettling experience with the old woman.

“It was very thoughtful of you to assemble the things for lunch while I was on the phone. I suppose your helpful attitude doesn’t have anything to do with cleaning up? Remember, Aggie will do the clean up today. Neither of us has to do it.” Hermione grinned at Lucius’ sudden scowl. He’d forgotten that the older woman would clean the dishes and he’d done the kitchen work for nothing.

“I really do appreciate your helping me, Lucius. I’d rather be off my feet than stand for too long on this flagstone flooring. My extra weight makes my feet ache if I stand too long. Our small shopping spree was enough for the present.”

Lucius was a little contrite that he hadn’t thought of his wife so much as himself when fixing the lunch ingredients. He wanted to be back in her life but it was difficult overcoming a lifetime of putting himself first. In the world of the Purebloods, self-interest was imperative for survival in the competitive upper echelons. But I’m smart. I can do this and when we move home, things will be normal again. She’ll have her place as my wife and I will be her husband and master, he vowed silently, expecting that the changed environs would support his supremacy. It was getting all too easy for his tidbit to lose sight of their respective positions in this lowly atmosphere. The sooner he could install her in his home, the more obvious his superior role would be to her. She had likely gotten a skewed view of their relationship in prison when he had magnanimously granted her a modicum of equality in the small space. Having a dominant position there would have been rather futile. Out in the real world, it was entirely different, of course, and he would need to make that clear – perhaps after some weeks of solid sex first.

“Then sit down and let me do the sandwiches.” Lucius’ eyebrows rose in dismay as the words left his lips. Really, he groused silently, where do these flashes of insanity come from? He saw that Hermione was staring at him like he had sprouted horns. As well she might. Is this lowbrow backdrop starting to affect me somehow?

“Do you know how to make sandwiches, Lucius?” She hid a smile at his total befuddlement with his own words. Apparently he was as surprised as she at his offer. Sometimes he really was adorable – when he wasn’t being a Slytherin snake.

“Is there some secret to slapping meat on two pieces of bread?” He muttered, completely irritated with himself.

Hermione heroically stifled her grin and merely got out some mayonnaise and salt and pepper, putting them on the counter. She set some milk on the table and poured a little for herself. “None at all, Lucius. Have at it. I’d like just a couple of slices of the turkey with mayo please. And a bit of pepper. Do you want any milk?” She sat down at the table and hitched her chair a bit so she could watch Lucius with his preparations without twisting her rounded form too much. Oh, I’m going to love this, she crowed to herself with glee.

“What? Oh, yes, thank you. “Lucius carefully laid out the pieces of bread on the counter, deciding he wanted two sandwiches. He opened the turkey package and methodically pulled each thin slice off the clump, tenderly placing them on the bread slices. The turkey didn’t fit exactly on the squares, so Lucius got a knife and cut the edges of the turkey slices off where they overlapped the bread, then he looked around for where to put the trimmings. He finally decided to get out a separate plate for them and set them aside.

Hermione was going bonkers trying not to laugh out loud at his finicky, over-organized sandwich-making. When he looked around at her suspiciously at hearing a suppressed snort, she merely gazed back at him limpidly, trying to look encouraging. Only her eyes twinkled with suppressed merriment.

Icy gray eyes slitted at her too-innocent look of nonchalance, but Lucius merely turned back and opened the jar of mayonnaise, assessing what tool to use for retrieving the white goo. He settled on a knife – smart man – and dipped the knife into the jar, coming up with a good amount of mayo on the knife but also all over his fist.

Hermione couldn’t help her giggle – she knew mayonnaise jars were notorious for getting their contents one’s hands, but Lucius didn’t know enough to avoid the mouth of the jar.

Luckily, Lucius failed to hear her because of his own vicious cursing. He grimaced in disgust at the greasy concoction all over his fist, but couldn’t set the knife down with the mayo on it, to wipe off his hand. Huffing in vexation, he globbed the mayo onto the carefully organized, thin turkey slices which promptly stuck to the mayo on the knife. That meant he had to unstick the mayonnaise with his other hand and got both of them full of goo. By this time Lucius was gnashing his teeth in frustration and rethinking his tenure in Muggleland.

He slammed the bread pieces together and stacked the sandwiches, carrying them over to the table where he gracelessly plopped one on Hermione’s plate and the other two on his own plate. Then he lunged for the sink and squished some blue liquid on his hands to wash off the annoying mayo. Unlike his expensive hand lotion, mayo didn’t sink in, but just sat there making him twitch. The feel of the grease on his hands was incredibly aggravating to him - he hated the feel of the greasy gunk on his hands. There didn’t appear to be anywhere to dry his hands so he used Hermione’s curtains to remove the water and residue.

The witch’s own eyes narrowed at the crumpling of her pretty curtains, but decided her husband didn’t need one more aggravation right now and instead merely asked, “Lucius, can you bring over the pepper, please? I’ll sprinkle a bit on my sandwich. Did you want any?”

Lucius swept up the pepper from the counter, a little embarrassed because he’d forgotten Hermione’s simple request for pepper, and set it down gently in front of her. Well, it was the fault of that damned mayonnaise he excused himself, soothing his perfectionist feelings. How can I be expected to remember details when my hands are full of grease? He savagely bit into one of his masterpieces, not worrying about keeping anything for posterity this time and started doggedly chewing. A look of surprise lit his pale eyes and he looked down at his half-eaten sandwich and smiled in wonder, his mood changing with his happy taste buds, “This is rather flavorsome, tidbit. Perhaps I have some blossoming talent for cookery. Most of the world’s greatest chefs are men, you know. I might become rather adept in the kitchen.” He swallowed the rest of his first sandwich and started on his second.

Hermione blanched, Not in MY kitchen and not if I see you coming first. He might have a reputation for financial acumen, but as a chef, he made a good Death Eater. Hermione woefully considered that she may just have been hoist with her own petard. Lucius in charge of meals? Oh, sweet Goddess, he’d bankrupt them if he didn’t manage to set her kitchen on fire.

Finishing her one sandwich about the time he’d finished his second, she downed all her milk, then waited patiently for him to finish his. Together they took their glasses and plates to the sink, leaving them there for Aggie.

“I suppose we can’t have a lie down while Aggie is here?” Lucius enquired walking with Hermione toward the parlor and trying to advance his own libidinous ideas by slipping his fingers into her hair and massaging her nape.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Hermione looked up at Lucius through her eyelashes, not thinking for even a second they would get any sleep and she’d rather not have Aggie listening to them in the throes of their usual noisy sex. Neither of them had a talent for being quiet in bed unless they were asleep. Anyone listening at their bedroom door would get a blow by blow account of their activities from Lucius’ very vocal sexual enjoyment and her responsive screams, all of which turned her on but weren’t at all suitable for sharing with outsiders.

Now why did she have to think about that? Her knickers weren’t going to hold up against Lucius’ determined nape massage and those little kisses he was now lightly dotting across her forehead. “Lucius, I said not now. Perhaps you don’t realize that your verbalizing during our lovemaking would be audible all through the house. Do you want Aggie to know that you like me to drag my fingernails over the tip of your penis?”

Lucius frowned at her words, rolling the idea around in his mind before reluctantly deciding even he wasn’t that much of an exhibitionist. He sighed with regret for the lost opportunity and opened the door into the parlor. “We could do a silencing spell,” he wheedled and only got a frown in return. “No? Oh, very well, have it your way, but an elf would be so much less of an imposition than a nosy servant.”

He eyed Hermione’s small fireplace across the room from the open door where they stood and his mind ticked over with a new idea. “Hermione, we need to enlarge your fireplace so we can at least floo to my home occasionally. That wouldn’t be like apparating, I’m sure. You could tell your cleaner that you had it rebuilt and she would never know any differently. Give her a week’s paid holiday and I’ll pay your servant’s wages. Tell her you are having some work done on the fireplace and you won’t need her for cleaning.” Lucius stood back and smiled with a superior air as though he had just solved world hunger.

Hermione’s pursed lips and frown worked on him like stinging nettles in a bouquet of roses. His mood shifted to annoyance and he growled, “You keep harping on my compromising with you, but since I’ve been here it’s all gone your way. No elves, no apparating, forcing me to live in a place no bigger than a shoebox. I’ve learned to clean dishes and make tea. Just look at my dry hands. My fingernails are a disgrace. These digits are what I make money with and I’m sacrificing them to your pleasure. When does a compromise work for me?”

Hermione couldn’t decide if she was miffed or entertained at her husband’s newest attempt to redirect their lives. Dry hands, indeed! A fireplace large enough to connect to the floo network would take up nearly one entire wall of her snug parlor. It would look ridiculous in the small room. She reluctantly acknowledged to herself that she didn’t want to make any compromises with him any more. He had that much right. A floo connection would make it much simpler to go to his home occasionally and that was another large part of her resistance to the scheme. She didn’t want to go to his home, not before she was forced to.

Maybe she was being too rigid and she needed to relax the reins a bit on their current living conditions, but she knew this man pretty well and any ‘compromise’ would be a signal to him that he could take control. “Let me think about it,” she demurred. “That large a fireplace would be a complete eyesore in my home and would make the architectural details out of balance.”

Lucius snorted, “What architectural details? Those discolored whitewashed bricks fronting your current fireplace? The warped casements on your windows?”

Lucius saw tears spring into his wife’s eyes and realized he was thoughtlessly degrading something precious to her. A stab to his own heart silenced him and he sighed, regretting his sharp speech. “I…I…uh, apologize. I know you like your little burrow and it does have charm. I’m being unfair because I want more. But, Hermione, I want more for you, too.” He pulled her into his arms, tightening them around her as she made a bit of struggle against him. “Shhh, please, tidbit, I’m sorry.” He rested his head on her springy curls, inhaling the perfume that now acted on him like an aphrodisiac. He knew there was no chance of sex for the next few hours so he eased his arms from around the little witch, looking down at her with concern etched into his fine features.

“Lucius, would you like me to install electricity all over your mansion so I can have some Muggle toys and appliances for my entertainment?” Hermione needed him to understand how she felt about him constantly trying to redesign her home for his own convenience.

Lucius drew a deep breath and let it out in a gust of resignation, “No, I would not. But will you really think about the fireplace?” His eyes pleaded with her to make good on her statement.

Gods, what was she going to do with him? She suddenly saw the funny side of her struggle with the bullheaded, pushy aristocrat. This was just Lucius and she adored him, ego and all. He would never change and if she wanted sanity in her marriage she would need to choose her battles. “I’ll think about it. Why don’t you think about some way to enlarge the fireplace without ruining my parlor if you want it so badly? You’re the all-powerful, all-knowing wizard. Figure it out – WITHOUT spoiling my house.” She wandered on into the parlor and sat in her chair, reaching for a small pillow to brace her back and pulling the quilt over herself.

Lucius was met by a gust of heated air as he entered the parlor behind her and his mind was diverted upward from the little head in his trousers where it had sunk, drunken with the scent of that stupid perfume, “Merlin’s robe, but I love your warm house. How do you get that little fireplace to heat all the rooms?”

“I don’t. I have central heating. See that vent at the top of the wall?” There’s one like that in every room. I have a furnace at the back of my house that uses gas to generate heat and then it blows the warm air to all the rooms through those vents.

Lucius walked over to the vent and put his face up, feeling the warm air brush against his skin. “There is something to be said for a warm house. I’ll have to give this heating plan some thought.” He saw Hermione slowly settle herself in her chair with her quilt and immediately pick up one of the books he’d brought from home for her. Loosening the collar on his shirt, he followed her, only stopping to put a small needlepoint-topped footstool nearby before lifting her and resettling them both on the cozy sofa, snuggling her onto his lap. He put his feet on the footstool and raised her legs over his thighs, silently motioning her to continue with her reading. Lucius laid his head on the back of the sofa and almost immediately dropped off to sleep, drugged by the delightful heat and full from lunch.

Hermione read a few pages, but the correct way to clip dragon toenails without getting singed couldn’t keep her interest and her eyelids drooped. Slowly the book sagged onto her lap and she, too, slept wrapped in her husband’s comforting arms and gentle snore.

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Aggie let herself in the front door as she always did and went straight to the kitchen where she began clearing up the dishes and doing her routine of sweeping, dusting and doing a load of laundry. When the kitchen was done she went along to the parlor to ask what special things Hermione might need doing this time and opened the door to find the inhabitants sunk in slumber. Hmmm, the housekeeper mused, I hope he’s the father of that baby. At least it should be a beautiful baby, if he is. He’s not a patch on my Henry though. Aggie gently closed the door and got to work on Hermione’s bedroom and bathroom. When she was finished, she let herself out as quietly as she had come.

The two sleeping lovers never stirred from the comfort of each other’s bodies, each finding a deep solace in the other’s presence as both their dreams starred the one they had each missed so wretchedly for so long.


tbc...

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Lucius and Hermione are meant for each other. I think Lucius' quirks are growing on her - slowly. Very slowly. She's up to his weight in any contest of strong wills. She'll certainly need it to rein in her arrogant husband's wild ideas of their respective places in this marriage.


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