Beyond the Veil -- COMPLETE

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Updated 6-22-08

Oh, the theories generated. So many fascinating ideas on the Veil and the time travel problem. I'm amazed. Now to answer - or not:


meankitty69 – I’m sure your nose thanks you for not drinking tea while reading LOL. I think Lucius just didn’t like hearing Hermione talk about his prison time. He’d prefer to forget it and wished she would forget it had ever happened.

sisterae – All the murky hints about the Veil will, of course, sloooooowly become clear. Lucius’ ego is mostly dent-proof, but occasionally…it depends on how much he cares for another, I suppose. Their new magical world and its denizens will start to emerge.

Rini – Early days yet for this couple to be secure with each other. He didn’t like the word ‘team’. Does he not see them as equals as she apparently does? Who does he think is in charge? One guess… Oh my, yes, the new slobby clothing of the juvenile male with boxers visible and pants dragging never was attractive and is now somewhat passé in my area. Thank the Gods.

Jocy – I updated the second time more quickly than normal. It is important to know if the story is TOO confusing. I hope the chapters will reveal more which presently confuses as we go along. And I appreciate your compliments. Thank you!

Snape_Goddess – As you probably read at the beginning, I don’t do unfinished stories, so you are safe. I hope your children are well and your husband is okay.

Pittwitch – For now Lucius is behaving and coaxing Hermione into more adventurous sex. Can’t talk about the Master right now for obvious reason. [grin] Glad you liked bathtime! Oh, and the sex, too. 8-)

Heidi191976 – Thank you Heidi. Here’s more.

-AJlove- - Lucius in the Dept. of Mysteries? Why? Read on. Yeah, most of my stories don’t wander too far away from sex or UST. Lucius’ middle name is Conniver, but your questions may be soon answered. Hate to say, but Lucius’ charges for lap dances are outrageous. Unfortunately, he’s booked till the end of Summer already. I do think Hermione will loosen up with regular doses of Lucius’ specialty and it looks like you agree. Yes, you will learn more about the Master in due time.

Citten – I’m glad you aren’t confused. This story does have anomalies due to the time travel.

Scary Bear Hair – I can’t seem to keep those two from throwing darts at each other occasionally. I do try, but they are both very strong-willed. Oooh, Virgo and Gemini, no wonder they bicker. There are insecurities and to spare in this relationship. Can’t discuss Malfoy relatives. Sorry. But here be lemons!

tambrathegreat – Ah, what you said…Lucius is the consummate manipulator and Hermione may like rules, but perhaps not in the bedroom, hmmm? The pictures? You may envision them to suit yourself, either plain oils, or Impressionist, or even Picasso or Dali. I just see them as precise, color oils of men and women doing what comes naturally (and unnaturally). Hustler seems as good as anything. Go for it.

Damiana – Bedtime took awhile to arrive, but I just couldn’t get those two between the sheets any faster. It will be better from now on. Promise. Eek. I can’t discuss the Master yet. There are some very interesting theories floating through the reviews. I wish I’d thought of some of them. Lucius and Hermione may take you up on your idea to learn more about the Veil. Hermione is a bookworm after all. And thank your for my birthday greetings. Much obliged!

blue artemis Yup, Lucius really doesn’t like to be reminded of his incarceration, especially by Hermione. That upsets him, poor ex-con. Lucius isn’t always horny, just, oh say, 85% of the time. More on the Veil as we progress.

Muffy – Ahhh. Can’t discuss their ideas or plans at this point. 8-)

bLondpierogi – Thank you. I loved writing it. I do hope you enjoy this next chapter.

RhiannonoftheMoon – You said it! Time travel plots are very dicey. Which weekend did you want Lucius? His first available weekend is the mid-Autumn.

LadyBlueEyes – I hope the confusion will start to clear with additional chapters. I’m keeping my fingers crossed. Keep me posted.

Gryffindor_Slytherin – I see from your profile you like time travel and the Regency era. This story should be tailor-made for you, then. Your “recommended” section is so organized – a lady after my own heart. Which ‘everyone else’ did you mean?
Jesse – Thanks Jesse. I’m relieved. Hermione, however, might not have wanted to get to know Lucius quite so well in the loo. LOL.

PutrescentQueen – And I love that you love the words. I do go overboard sometimes with my word choices. I just get tired of the same old words and want to use my vocabulary in the stories. I hope it doesn’t stretch too many readers past their comfort levels. I see your name is an intriguing vocabulary term.

Lady Miya – I always review as I read, too. Soooo much simpler. Can’t discuss their movements in the rest of the story, but you have quite the philosophical theory. I think the Dept of Mysteries gets examined this chapter. It’s not the only thing that gets examined (snicker). Your idea that good or evil requires sentience is fascinating. I’m not perfectly sure what I think about time travel. It’s so complex; it really requires cosmic laws like anything else (read Einstein or Newton). So lacking an understanding of those laws, I’m just floundering around like everyone else. If you can find the URL for the Makani animation, I’d like to see it. If Lucius were Mary Poppins, I wouldn’t be writing this story. [grin] I try to stay away from slang for my characters. I’m American and the story is in England so I’m going to make enough mistakes anyway. I don’t need to jar everyone worse with modern slang.

jw – Lucius and Hermione are still coming to terms with each other. Neither wants to appear too eager to give their all to the relationship quite yet. I hope as you read, the confusion you feel will clear up. Let me know.

Utopia – I don’t even go on vacation and I get mixed up on where I am with reviewing fics. Where did you go to get rain for your holiday? I don’t want to go there. You’ll need another drool rag I’m afraid. As for sharing the bathroom, different strokes for different folks. Heh, heh. And Lucius doesn’t want to share HERMIONE, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t shared in his past. Say hi to Bob. Does every man have a name for his doohinky? In the Lethal Weapon movies series, Mel Gibson’s was called Mr. Wiggly. The Veil is not a simple concept. I had trouble, too.

Sheherazade – Yeah, those green paisley bed sheets were getting to me, too. Do you REALLY think you’d be squicked if Alan Rickman walked in on you in the loo? If he were naked like Lucius was? We’ll get to find out one painting Hermione chose in this chapter. Ah, can’t answer about the Veil. Well, actually I won’t answer. That just seems so bald, though. I don’t think for Hermione it was ‘True Love Waits’ so much as ‘Wham, Bam, Thank you, Ma’am’ that Hermione was worried about. She’d been down that road twice already and her estimation of Lucius was he would be just the same.

Lemonade time...

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Chapter Twenty-Six


The Orb


Hermione’s body was finding new levels of ecstasy with every pass of that talented masculine tongue through her pink folds. The painting she had chosen had turned out to be a spectacular success for her. Watching the painted male figure open the painted female’s thighs and kiss his way to the top, then stay there had made Hermione all kinds of wet. Tonight Lucius was doing the same to her as though he’d done it many times before.

A faint frown clouded her brow for a moment at his obvious expertise before she remembered he had been married for many years. A sudden gentle nip on one of her outer petals distracted her from her worry. Ye GODS, that felt good! Marrying someone who had been married before came with some terrific perks.

Lucius had been gone most of the day doing whatever a wealthy wizard did, and Hermione had taken to studying a history of the wizarding community up to the time they were now in, trying to find any unsettling events or people or places that might be a clue to what they were to do. She was faintly perturbed that Lucius hadn’t answered her question about knowing the Master’s name. He had seemed a little secretive to her.

When Lucius came home and dinner was over, he had hustled Hermione into the bedroom for his expected treat. They were now both deep in the throes of the promise of Hermione’s choice of paintings.

His witch-wife’s private wellspring had never felt so swollen and wet before and Lucius knew she was finally learning to bask in her woman’s pleasure as she opened her thighs more fully, offering herself like a flower to the touch of the sun. He was her sun, he was her source of all the lascivious light and heat she could bear and he wanted her to come to that knowledge consciously.

Gentle kisses on her mons had given way to devouring her inner leaves with hard sucks and forceful flutters that made her cry out. Hermione gave herself over to the escalating bliss and was rewarded when that delectable tongue found a new playground; probing thrusts of his tongue slid into her seeping sheath, hitching her breath in her throat and tightening her restless hands into little fists in his hair. Her eyes avidly fastened on the scene of her husband’s total absorption with her delicate femininity, soaking up the decadent scene of her spouse’s beautiful face buried between her legs and his fingers stretching her apart. She moaned her enthrallment, still shy, but needing to pay homage to his artistry with small words of encouragement such as ‘yes’, ‘ohhh’ and ‘please’ as her body was wound tighter and tighter.

She wasn’t bold in her utterances, but those few escaping sounds of appreciation were like a symphony to Lucius. He was out to bind her to him body and soul. They were not a team. To him it was much more than that puerile term. They were a married couple who had committed themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. He wanted her to understand he wasn’t going to leave her or share her.

Lucius had traditional ideas about the married state, especially for his wife. Hidebound wouldn’t have been an inaccurate term. If he ever occasionally lapsed and had a brief encounter with another female, he knew he wasn’t going to stray far. His priority would always be his wife. Narcissa had understood that and they had been comfortable with each other.

Hermione, unfortunately, had been exposed to two young men who had made her leery of any male who couldn’t commit himself to her. Lucius was clever enough to know if he did have an assignation with another woman, he had better make sure Hermione never found out. His even owning the brothel was going to be a monumental stumbling block to marital bliss, but those were all problems for the future. Tonight, Lucius was absorbed with his tiny wife, thoroughly enjoying giving his woman more sexual pleasure than she’d probably ever had in her shriveled, short-lived, love life.

She was mindlessly pulling on his hair, then petting him, then pulling again, but he knew she wasn’t even aware of what her hands were doing to him. He blew on her spread-out petals before applying his tongue to the central, sensitive slot, stroking up and down, almost touching her clit, but not quite, then sweeping downward again to her seeping entrance and visiting the interior, plunging his tongue inside and curving upward to the upper vault, making her wild.

Up and down he repeated his erotic journey, every so often adding a tiny nip to the mix and listening as his little wife’s cries got higher and higher in pitch, until finally she was only capable of a high, keening, gasping wail. When she reached total incoherence, Lucius applied the coup de grace. He suddenly covered her clit with his lips and sucked hard, holding her thighs down with his elbows so he wouldn’t be beheaded by her reaction.

Hermione had never, ever felt anything remotely like Lucius’ tongue as he licked her secret woman’s place. She’d heard of it and the painting had been explicit, but the actual feeling! All her muscles had been tightening with each new tingling sweep of his tongue over her stretched skin. She felt like she was being wound up like a mechanical toy, her breathing hitching in her throat, her heartbeats nearly suffocating her and she never wanted it to stop. Her hands sifted aimlessly through her blond mate’s soft hair as the sensations curled around her body, invading her core and bringing her such blissful waves of pleasure it was almost more than she could bear. Her husband’s flaxen strands flowing over her sensitized inner thighs ratcheted her up to her peak - she didn’t even know she was wailing.

And then, without warning, Lucius slid up to the top of her cleft and clamped his lips on her nerve button, fluttering his tongue firmly on his target and she was lost. His unexpected hard suck knocked Hermione over the edge into freefall so fast she uttered one piercing scream and lost consciousness for a few seconds.

Lucius felt Hermione’s rigid jerking and high-pitched scream, then she went limp. He let go of her thighs and rose up onto his elbows, smiling over her belly at her slack little face. She was out like a snuffed candle. The blond wizard moved up onto his knees, wiping her excess delight from his face with a corner of the now-black sheet as he waited patiently for her to recover her senses, happily contemplating the next course; he idly stroked his tool from tip to root to keep it in trim for her next lesson in Slytherin sensuality.

A few moments later, a groggy Hermione came to, fluttering her eyelashes and whispering, “Lucius?”

“Hmmm?”

Hermione looked down her body at the handsome man kneeling between her legs, his masculinity on full display, “What happened?” she whispered groggily.

“The same thing that happened to me when I passed out on you. The little death.” Lucius began sliding his hands slowly from Hermione’s calves up toward her center, veering onto her hips at the last minute, “Let’s see if you can kill me again, shall we?” He began kissing his way up from her belly button, leaving a trail wet by his tongue up past her waist, meandering onto each breast in turn, taking his time adoring each peak with his mouth while one hand lowered to guide himself closer to her waiting sheath. He felt her fingers sifting through his hair again as he came up to her lips, delving into her mouth with his roaming tongue, challenging hers in a sweet duel. Lucius found her entrance with his penis and seamlessly pushed into his wife, feeling her stiffen at his penetration even as he stretched her tight channel with his body.

“Mmmm, so thick, Lucius. Oh…yessss, deeper, please, deeper.” Hermione luxuriated in the internal fullness that was swelling and tautening her so intimately, making her feel she was an extension of her husband’s body rather than a separate entity.

Each male glide found new territory as Lucius lengthened his strokes until he was pressing against the back of her swollen channel with each thrust, his butt muscles bunching and flexing as he slowly picked up speed, ramming himself into the little witch’s tight passage. Her warmth, her scent, her breathless gasps of pleasure as she clutched his straining shoulders all served to key him up to his peak, his soft, blond hair swinging wildly on either side of their faces as he stared down into his wife’s face, owning her with each plunge.

Her rapt expression as she stared back made their coming together so much more than the ‘no strings’ sex both had agreed to. Both lovers communicated silently as they watched each other and felt the physical connection of their slick bodies, belly to belly. Neither wanted to voice his or her feelings, but both knew their lives were twining together more and more with each loving collision of their corporeal selves.

Lucius’ sweat-dampened back was scored with tiny fingernails as his wife slid her hands down from his shoulders to hold on more firmly. He grunted with his increased arousal, the slight pain adding a welcome facet to his rising yearning for completion, but he held off, wanting his mate to finish first. He could feel the shimmering in her core and knew she was close.

Hermione didn’t realize her fingernails were digging into Lucius’ skin as she neared her climax. “Oh…oh…ooooooh, GODS! Loooocius!” Hermione’s body clenched and she flew apart into a thousand brilliant pieces, her head thrashing from side to side as her husband continued to thrust deeply and strongly, letting her experience the full orgasm her body was greedily enjoying. Her muscle spasms went on and on, making her gasp and moan, then emit faint sighs until finally she slumped under the hard male body giving her such heaven, a glazed smile on her face.

Lucius rode her until she was sated, then he let himself go, pulsing higher and higher into his own sudden, wrenching climax, his seed shooting into the secret depths of his woman, his big frame shuddering under the convulsive impulses of his sac, emptying his all.

After the cataclysm faded and they came to safe harbor, the intrinsic awkwardness between them re-emerged.

Oh Gods, where do I go from here? What have I done? Hermione was dismayed at her wanton behavior. She’d thought she was immune to men and Lucius’ unwarranted intimate exploration of her breasts at the brothel, while momentarily rousing her from her frigid stance, had been firmly stuffed into her subconscious as an aberration and a result of too many years of abstinence weakening her command of her body’s needs.

This! This was impossible to bury with denials. Her privates were still clenching from the massive orgasm the wizard had granted her. Her total immersion in the erotic haze Lucius had created for her was frightening to Hermione. Enjoyable sex was one thing. This was in a different universe. She had never wanted to be susceptible ever again to the heatbreak a man could bring. She didn’t want to be sucked into thinking this was anything at all special to Lucius – she knew it wasn’t. For him it was just convenient sex. As he said, ‘no strings’. And she’d delivered her body to him with bells on. She was well aware that the fear wasn’t that Lucius would expect a constant supply of sex now. Of course he would. They were married. It was that she would want more of this kind of sex. She was afraid she couldn’t just enjoy casual sex with this man.

Lucius was trying to get his heartbeats to find any pattern that actually repeated in some approximation of a rhythm. He smiled tiredly. His mind, his body and his libido had all come together in a magnificent experience with a woman. His wife. Now that was sex! He gently moved off his little witch and lay quietly beside her, his breathing still rather capricious as he blissfully contemplated the total relaxation of his mind and body. And maybe his soul.

“Well, um, thank you, Lucius. That was an excellent shag. You certainly know your way around the female anatomy.” Hermione wrapped herself in the covers and rolled over, burrowing into her pillow and effectively shutting him out.

Lucius blinked. He was ‘an excellent shag’? He explored that somehow hurtful phrase for the nuances of it and couldn’t find any. She had wanted casual sex and she was satisfied with it as long as they were married. Hmmm. Why did that not feel quite right? He lay there pondering just why he was annoyed. Then it came to him. He was classed as a thing. He’d been casually objectified, tossed a complimentary bone, and been abandoned without a backward sigh. She had used him without a care, not appreciating him as a whole person, just a human-powered penis.

It was slowly dawning on Lucius that although he had her body – thoroughly – he was no closer to having her… he tried to pin it down for himself…her essence, the spark that made her unique to him. As that thought took hold, so did an increasing anger that she should be able to just shut him out while taking advantage of his body, the sexual pursuits he was obliging her with night after night. The hypocrisy of his attitude came late to his mind and he shoved it away.

Perhaps he had taken her too fast, too thoughtlessly, dragging her into marriage. He’d been needy and had rushed his courtship, leading her to think he was interested in her purely as something to warm his bed. Well, it had been all she would have accepted from him, he thought. If he had displayed any interest beyond the purely carnal, he would have lost her.

Their intimate moment had disappeared and wasn’t to be resurrected for now. Maybe he would have to wait patiently like the Prince for Sleeping Beauty to awaken, although if it got any better than it was this time, even just kissing her could wake the dead. Making love to her was the most erotic feeling he’d ever had; it was always an extreme challenge lasting through the foreplay. Had the Veil orchestrated their explosive chemistry? To what end? If it had it also planned their entrance into the magic community as the expected Malfoy heir and his wife, again - to what end?

Lucius wasn’t ready to call it quits. Not even close. He was going to make his wife belong to him - mind, body, and soul.

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Two weeks later Lucius was getting desperate to find a way to break through his wife’s gentle but determined efforts to keep their lovemaking on a detached level. She responded to his body like a wanton, but never let him near her on an emotional level. He was beginning to despair of her ability to get past the scarring of her heart in her youth.

To get his mind off his feelings of rejection and because he had numerous duties and obligations as the Malfoy heir, he took up his days with all his various responsibilities, his lands, his investments and spent time overseeing his new business, the bordello, which was gaining a reputation for being of the highest class and very exclusive. Lucius had a very good understanding of what men liked and it wasn’t always just a quick shag. He taught his courtesans to listen to their clients and offer sympathy as well as sex and business was booming.

One morning after breakfast the Malfoys adjourned to the library to discuss any new thoughts on their quest they might have discovered. Comparing notes had been shelved somewhat while they were learning their new roles in this magic society with occasional dinners out, soirees, musical evenings, and the sundry ladies’ teas, mostly attended by Hermione in her position as wife of a prominent, wealthy wizard.

Lucius had discovered the musical evenings were as full of no-talent debs banging on the piano as in his own time and he had long since devised a slight charm to mute the noises as he sat in the uncomfortable chairs in someone’s drawing room and pretended to listen to someone’s darling daughter caterwauling for her captive audience. When he saw his wife wincing at one of the events, he gifted her with the charm and they both were relieved from suffering. Hermione was usually the only one called upon to endure the afternoon teas, which she found excruciatingly boring but she persevered, always hoping she would learn something to help what she considered their assignment.

“Lucius, most of what I can find in these books is about the Pureblood families. It strikes me that perhaps the Master or maybe his ancestors were Purebloods or had some connection with them. Perhaps some sort of bad connection. I’ve found several Pureblood families who were prominent in this time. Or I should say, ARE prominent in this time. If we were set down in this precise year, then I think this is an important clue. And we’ve been set up as one of those Pureblood prominent families for a reason. Do you know anything about Pureblood history in a general sense?”

“Basic information, only. Major events, genealogical connections between families, that sort of thing.” Lucius lounged on the sofa, his feet up on the coffee table in front of him.

“You know, I am finding it more and more an amazing coincidence that you were in the Department of Mysteries just in time to save me and send us through the Veil. You never answered me when I asked before. Why were you in the Department of Mysteries that day?” Hermione cocked her head, gazing at her mate fixedly.

Lucius’ mouth tightened in irritation. He didn’t want to say why and his wife saw there was something she didn’t know. Lucius got up and walked over to one of the tall windows, staring unseeing out at the blooming garden of roses wafting their delicious scent through the partially open casement.

“Lucius?”

A few minutes of silence ticked by as the tall, handsome wizard gazed outward while seeing something inward. Finally he gave a great sigh and turned to meet the curious and slightly alarmed eyes of his wife.

“I went there to fetch my prophecy,” he said quietly.

“What? You had a prophecy? How long had you known you had one? Why didn’t you retrieve it a long time ago?” Hermione was shocked at this hidden piece of knowledge her husband had kept to himself. “And why is it such a secret? Were you never going to mention it to me?”

“I saw it the night we were all in the Department of Mysteries when Voldemort was after his prophecy. I didn’t fetch it then because I had other duties, if you remember.” His mouth quirked in cynical amusement.

“Yes, murdering children.” Hermione accused.

“I could have killed Potter at the Department of Mysteries, but I didn’t,” Lucius’ wintry eyes flashed at her stark words.

“I heard you,” Hermione couldn’t let Lucius deny his culpability. “You gave orders to your fellow Death Eaters to kill us all.”

“Yes, well, that was later. By that time it looked as if I might fail and my own skin took precedence over yours. The Dark Lord wasn’t a very forgiving sort. Your little band of juvenile irritants had put me, my family, and our political aims in jeopardy. What did you expect? A round of ‘stupefies’ and let’s all be friends?”

Hermione pursed her lips in disapproval, but forbore to add further comment, which would only make the atmosphere more antagonistic. The incident had resulted in Lucius’ first stay in Azkaban, so there had been some poetic justice.

“And then I was sent to Azkaban,” said Lucius, unknowingly echoing her thoughts. “When I was broken out of prison by the Dark Lord’s order, I was expected to function as Voldemort’s creature once more. For obvious reasons, I wasn’t going to show my face at the Ministry and gaining access to the lower, more guarded levels was impossible. When finally Voldemort gained control of the Ministry, I couldn’t break away from him long enough to search for my orb. I was closely watched by my own confederates as being perhaps not quite trustworthy after my failure with Potter. That stretch of time when we nearly succeeded in gaining control of the English wizarding world ranks as the longest, most grueling time of my life. I was never allowed to have time alone with my family. I think Voldemort knew if I had a chance, I’d take them and run.”

Lucius could feel the reverberations of his fury twelve years later. His main hatred was reserved for Voldemort, the damned half-blood who had led him and his family into chaos and destruction. Lord Voldemort was going to lead the Purebloods into victory and restore the wizarding world to its previous construct, keeping the lines pure. Lucius had thought him the strongest wizard alive and a surety for reforming their world, but in the end Lucius had backed the loser – to a teenage nobody.

Lucius held a burning resentment against Voldemort for going insane and losing a battle he should have won, dying instead, thereby stripping Lucius of everything he held dear, including his family. The blond wizard had seen by the end of the war that he and Narcissa and Draco would likely not have survived Voldemort’s vicious purge, even had they won.

The blond wizard took a calming breath, sighed and came back to the present, “He was getting more and more erratic, his policies – if one can call them that – more restrictive and cruel. The new order I had envisioned, a political entity ruled by Purebloods and removed from any Muggle influence was crumbling into a dictatorial chaos. In the end, I was almost relieved to go back to Azkaban.” Lucius’ pale eyes crinkled at his little listener, a wisp of a smile lighting them, “Almost. But not really. It’s not exactly a spa.” He sighed again, “I never had another opportunity to find out if my prophecy had been broken or, if it was intact, to retrieve it. Until that day I found you in the deserted Ministry.”

“You found your orb intact? We must have broken a great many of them. I’ve always felt badly about that. Was it intact?”

“Yes. That’s where my story gets a little weird. The shelves were all rearranged and I had no idea where to look, or even if my orb was still there. But when I walked into that vast chamber, a very quiet, silvery chime began and I…I felt I needed to find the source. Not just wanted, but needed. Surprisingly, the sound led me straight to my prophecy. The minute I picked it up, the chime ceased. I shrank the orb and put it in my pocket to look at later and eased back into the darkened hallway - then I heard you scream. You know what happened after that.”

“What did your prophecy say?” Hermione was intensely curious. Prophecies weren’t common in her crowd, except for Harry’s and she was rather excited and a little awed by Lucius having one.

“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it.”

“WHAT? You got a prophecy and you haven’t opened it? Why ever not?”

“What good is a prophecy designed for the twenty-first century when we are now living in the nineteenth?”

“If that’s true, then why not open it?” Hermione shrewdly asked, “Is there some other reason you’ve been putting it off?”

Lucius growled, “I’m tired of being on someone else’s leash, that’s why. My prophecy mysteriously wasn’t broken when so many of them were. The damn thing sang to me so I would find it. At first I thought I was very lucky. But after arriving here and having pieces of knowledge trickling into my head, I find it extremely suspicious that the orb wasn’t broken and I’ve never heard of a singing prophecy. The Veil has its fine hand in this.”

Hermione giggled and saw Lucius’ mouth tighten with affront. “Sorry. I had a vision of the Veil with its ‘fine hand’ waving at you through the tattered curtain.” Lucius rolled his eyes at her inappropriate humor, but his face relaxed and she ventured, “All the more reason to open it. My Gods, Lucius, get over your aversion to being a puppet and concentrate on what we should be doing. Think of us as being on a mission instead if it makes you happier. You’re the one who said we should think like spies. What spy ever ignored clues to their mission? Lucius, we’re alive because of that Veil. You just hate giving up power to anyone else. I’m sorry, but I haven’t much sympathy, having had to do someone else’s bidding - including yours - my whole life.”

“You think I’ve been powerful all my life?” Lucius laughed without humor, “Hardly. First there was my father, then Hogwarts, and then, worst of all, Voldemort. Azkaban didn’t make me feel powerful either, if you wondered.”

“Is power so important to you?”

“Power? Not nearly as much as autonomy which has been elusive all my life.” Lucius came back to the sofa and sat down. “Very well. I accept that I do not have autonomy now either. Shall we open the prophecy? You can do the honors.”

“I’d rather you did it. It’s your prophecy so I think you need to do it. Do you know where the prophecy came from?”

“Not a clue. I only saw it for the first time when we all raided the Department of Mysteries. I had no idea there was one for me.”

Lucius drew a tiny orb out of his pocket and set his wand against it, enlarging it to its normal size of approximately an orange.

“Wait! Let me get something to write with so we can record the message. We don’t want to remember it incorrectly.” Hermione hurried over to her library table and retrieved her writing implements, then returned to sit beside Lucius again.

I’m ready,” she said, holding her quill over the parchment on her lap. “How do you open it?”

“I’ll try cracking it open like an egg.” Lucius looked down at his wife and she nodded. He held the orb and smacked it at the edge of the low table in front of them. The orb fell into two pieces and a wisp of green smoke rose from the pieces, rising slowly in the still air before them. The eerie voice intoned, “Time flies backward. Kill the root and the tree dies. By embracing the weak, what has come to pass shall not come to pass.”

Hermione furiously wrote down the prophecy as it was spoken, her quill scratching the parchment and splotching it. “I got it,” she said triumphantly.

“Very good,” Lucius said sardonically. “Now, what does it mean?” He looked over her shoulder at the parchment, reading the scratchy script. “I can make a guess at time flying backwards. We’ve already done that. Now we need to know what root to kill and what weak person to embrace and we’re done.”

“Well, that sounds simple enough,” Hermione taunted her mate. “As you say, all we have to do is kill a root and hug someone. And you were afraid to open your prophecy.”

Lucius’eyes slitted with disapprobation as he raised his chin and looked down his nose imperially at the little provocateur, “I was not afraid. I was angry at being used again. I told you that. Are you trying to wind me up?”

“But you’re so beautiful when you’re angry,” Hermione batted her eyelashes at the blond wizard.

“A stupid cliché if ever I’ve heard one,” he snorted. “Do you think so?” he couldn’t help asking. Her opinion of him was usually so negative it was nice to hear even that hackneyed compliment from her. He pursed his lips, annoyed with himself for caring what she thought. As compliments went it wasn’t much, only categorizing him physically, but so far he hadn’t had much more than that much from her. Now he was cute, beautiful when angry, and smelled good. The compliments were just piling up.

Hermione gazed thoughtfully at the man sitting at her side, “I don’t say many nice things to you, do I? That’s remiss of me and I’m sorry. You do a great deal for my sake, my safety, my comfort. I am grateful, you know. It’s just hard to tell you so. But I do appreciate you.” She put her hand on his thigh and squeezed.

Lucius didn’t know what to make of his wife’s sudden relaxation of her normal determined detachment. He almost didn’t know how to react, but his innate, formal good manners came to his rescue. “And I appreciate the acknowledgement.” He nodded his head regally, giving Hermione the feeling he felt uncomfortable with her praise.

“Well,” she said brightly, moving past the awkward moment, “I haven’t the slightest idea what root we are meant to kill, or whom we are to embrace. Why do prophecies never just tell you what you need to know in a simple, understandable way?”

“They are generated through Diviners. Have you ever known a Diviner who spoke in plain English instead of a confounding muddle?” Lucius’ sneer told her his feelings about that group.

“No, that’s why I hated Divination and wouldn’t take it in school. So, does anything occur to you about the puzzle words?”

“Not at present. But while we’re about our daily tasks, I would add that we consider the tree as well as the root. That’s part of the prophecy, too. We were knocked back in time, so we are meant to stop something from happening is my guess.”

“I think we should go to the Veil at the Ministry. It must be there in this time period. The worst that can happen is nothing. But maybe we should make the attempt. Perhaps if we are closer, we will have more information.” Hermione was ready to do anything more interesting than swallow gallons of weak tea and discuss some old biddie’s lumbago or worse, her love life, at those stultifying afternoon teas.

“I saw my prophecy on the shelf years ago,” Lucius mused. “I wasn’t able to retrieve it then. If I had, it would have meant nothing to me. How could I get a prophecy that means something only now with the horrors of the Master, if the orb was there all those years ago?”

“Oh dear. Do you realize what that means?” Hermione’s eyes went wide and alarmed.

Lucius stood up preparing to leave, “No,” he said baldly. “And I need to get on for the day. Can you sum it up in one sentence?”

“It means the Veil can see the future. I’ll go further. It is a gate to any time on the time-space continuum. So it might be the source of some of those prophecy orbs that get stacked up in the lower level of the Ministry. It would be simple to place the orb with information you would need in the future by having someone’s brain given the words, just like words are slipped into our brains. Maybe only Diviners’ weird brains are receptive to its instructions if everyone isn’t getting floods of mental information all the time. Is that concise enough for you?” Hermione saw she had his attention. “I’m guessing we’ve already seen the technology. The Veil is likely a gigantic time turner with vastly more abilities than the small ones I’ve used. Perhaps it even controls time. It knew we would be in the Department of Mysteries and be forced through it. So it prepared for us. Oh, Lucius, we’ve got to do what it wants.”

“You mentioned that before. It wants us to alter what it foresees for the wizarding world? I don’t think it controls time or it would have changed it. It certainly wouldn’t need our help. Perhaps all it can do is introduce new elements – that’s us - into a bad situation and provide help to change what may be dangerous to the wizarding world in the future. I hope to Hecate our brains haven’t been turned into diviners’. That would be the last straw.”

Lucius accio’d his cape, hat, gloves and cane and donned them. He walked toward the library door, but paused and looked back, “I’ll make arrangements for us to go to the Veil, if I can. I don’t know the political protocols in this time as well as I knew ours. In the meantime, there are some business accounts I’d like you to pay for me. They’re in my study. An elf will show you where that is. I have several appointments today, so I’ll see you for dinner. Tonight, I believe it’s my turn to pick a painting.” With that parting shot, a complacently smiling Lucius whisked through the door.

Hermione was left with her mouth hanging open.


tbc...

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I can't imagine what you all will do with this chapter. This new marriage hasn't hit its stride yet. Fear not, they will either find each other or kill each other (and anyone who's read any of my other stories knows I'm a total marshmallow).

So - review if you will. Much obliged to you all.

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