A New Order of Wizards - COMPLETE
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Lucius/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
30
Views:
51,768
Reviews:
424
Recommended:
3
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Lucius/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
30
Views:
51,768
Reviews:
424
Recommended:
3
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Epilogue – Eight Years Later
The characters belong to J.K.Rowling. I am only borrowing them for a while. No copyright transgressions are intended and no profit is made.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Updated 11-28-06
Thank you all for the reviews. I love getting them probably more than you like reading my chapters!
Bella asked, "Is Lucius trying to compete with Arthur now or something?" Sometimes you amaze me with how close you are to my chapters. Are you reading over my shoulder or something?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Epilogue – Eight Years Later
“Father, Darius hit me!” Alex, Lucius’ eight-year-old son, ran into the foyer and skidded to a stop in front of his father who had just returned from a dinner meeting at the Ministry of Magic. Lucius had tried to return as soon as possible but it was after seven. He sighed. It looked like things were a bit out of control.
Lucius looked past his and Hermione’s eldest son to see their second son, seven-year-old Darius sidle into the hall. Lucius carefully removed his black fur-lined cape and gloves and whisked them into the closet. He knew that his tiny tow-headed daughter Artemis was already asleep upstairs in her crib, clutching his cane. Little witch. She wouldn’t go to sleep without it. Lucius had mournfully had to file down the snakehead’s sharp fangs so his two-year-old wouldn’t hurt herself. He’d thought about getting another one after losing his to Artie’s tear-drenched, big gray eyes, but he hadn’t missed it as much as he’d thought he would. His wand fit in his cape pocket just fine. Lucius raised an eyebrow in silent demand as he looked at the accused, Darius.
Darius just looked at the marble floor, then at the central chandelier.
“What, no ‘he hit me first’?” asked Lucius, looking from Darius to Alex and back.
“No, father,” mumbled Darius.
“Then why?” asked Lucius reasonably. Really, couldn’t Hermione keep their children in line for ten minutes after he got home? The plaint of fathers everywhere.
“He just makes me so mad, sometimes,” said Darius, addressing the black, high-gloss leather of his father’s shoes.
“Brute force is the first resort of feeble minds,” Lucius said virtuously, thankful that his sons weren’t yet aware of his Death Eater past. “Can’t you find a subtler way of letting Alex know he’s being inconsiderate? Think about it before you use your fists, Dare. There are always better methods than physical pain for getting your point across.” Lucius tried to look intimidating, setting a slight scowl on his face.
Darius looked up at his father, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes that boded ill for his brother. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the fine black wool of his father’s trouser leg. So much for intimidation.
“What do you suggest for a punishment, then?” asked Lucius of his clinging seven-year-old.
Darius said, “No dessert tonight?”
“Done,” agreed Lucius. “Now where is your mother?”
“She’s in the yellow sitting room putting her feet up and trying to pretend we don’t exist,” Alex quoted proudly.
Lucius kept a straight face with great effort.
Darius piped up, “And she’s using a drying spell on Orion.”
Alex shushed his brother and gave him an I’ll-get-you look.
“Dare I ask why?” Lucius looked from one boy to the other once again.
Alex explained, “Because Dobby doesn’t let us have any fun.”
POP! Dobby appeared in the hall. “Dobby heard that. Hello Mister Lucius.” Dobby was now a paid employee assigned to child tending duties. Dobby and Lucius had an agreement that Hermione had negotiated after Darius’ birth when she claimed she needed help with the babies. She’d explained that Dobby took initiative and she needed that from a helper. Lucius still sometimes struggled to make requests rather than commands to the elf.
“Hello Dobby. Orion is wet because…?” Lucius sensed a story that was being hidden. He saw Alex slowly backing toward the doorway until his gimlet stare stopped the boy.
Dobby said, “It is not ‘having fun’ when Alex tries to sail little brother Orion across garden fountain in big old wizard’s shield! Little one could have drowned.” Dobby glared at Alex.
Lucius was riveted on one word, “Shield? What shield?” he said, very, very quietly, telegraphing to his sons that he was getting angry. No one answered. “What shield, Alex?” Lucius asked with deadly calm, his gray eyes flashing.
Dobby dove into the silence, “Big shield in your study. Ugly bronze, dented. Not in the study now, of course. Now it’s at very bottom of the fountain,” the elf said sadly.
“Why, how very enterprising of you, Alex,” Lucius said silkily. Neither of his sons was fooled; their father was not happy. Lucius put up one finger. “First, for putting your little brother in danger,” his second finger went up, “for taking something from my study without permission,” a third finger went up, “and for damaging or perhaps destroying an ancient relic, you will receive no desserts for a month, and I can assure you we will have chocolate cake a great deal.” Lucius knew it was Alex’s favorite, fond father that he normally was. He turned his arctic eyes on the elf, “And you were where exactly, Dobby?”
“Dobby was changing baby’s nappy, Mister Lucius. Alex was supposed to stay with Mistress while Dobby fixed baby.”
“Darius, were you involved?” Lucius looked a question down his trouser leg at his clinging son.
Darius shook his head. He was innocent this time.
“Very well, Alex, you have escaped stable chores, which I guarantee would have been added to your punishment had you involved Darius. Of course, your brother would have been shoveling right along with you.” Lucius gently disengaged the little hands from his trousered leg, saying, “I’m going to change and go to your mother.” He quickly kissed both boys, then apparated to his daughter’s bedroom to check on her. After he saw she was sleeping peacefully, he went to the master bedroom. He changed into a casual pair of black cotton lounging pants and a soft blue tee shirt Hermione had bought him and whisked down to the yellow sitting room.
His two boys ran into the room just as he got there and soon settled down to resume play on an abandoned game of chess at a far table by the French windows. They couldn’t apparate yet, thank Merlin, and had to get places under their own steam. Crookshanks looked up from a hassock, yawned, and sat up, hoping for Lucius’s lap. Lucius shook his head, so the cat settled back down, figuring he’d get his chance later. Lucius walked directly over to Hermione and bent down to kiss her, lingering a bit because she just tasted so good. He patted her burgeoning belly and then gently smoothed five-year-old Orion’s hair. He was curled up asleep next to her. “Hello, my love, you look blooming.”
“Cut the crap, Malfoy. I’m tired, I’m cranky and these devil’s spawn have been trying my patience all day. And my feet are swollen. This is the last one, Lucius. The LAST ONE!” Hermione was sounding whiny even to herself but being eight and a half months pregnant was a bitch. She’d missed him terribly and he knew it, dammit.
Lucius enjoyed the disgruntled look his wife gave him, but took pity on her and sat down, pulling her feet into his lap. He spent long minutes massaging her abused ankles and feet, listening to her escalating moans of pleasure, punctuated with commands on what to knead next. Hermione always threatened that each pregnancy was the last, so Lucius took no notice. He personally thought that eight would be a good number of children and, counting Draco, after this one he had two to go. He was certainly a better man than that doofus, Arthur Weasley. Lucius wisely didn’t mention his plans to Hermione, not wishing to be locked out of their bedroom. Instead he teased, “When you said ‘devil’s spawn’, were you referring to me as the devil who spawned them, my love? Or yourself?”
“If the cock fits, Lucius.” Hermione pressed her foot up against Lucius’ groin to demonstrate her point, digging in with her toes a little when she felt his growing response.
“Promises, promises, sweetheart.” Actually, Hermione was very generous to her husband in alternate ways of lovemaking when she was nearing the very end of her pregnancies and could no longer engage in regular intimacies. His wife had never lost her love for his cock and as a result he never had any complaints about sexual dry spells. In their entire marriage, she’d never tired of making him moan. It was an intimate joke between them. Between pregnancies he’d managed to get her to accept the role of spanking slave, although Lucius as Master preferred to use his hand, and she was willing to be tied up occasionally sans riding crop, pandering to Lucius’ need to dominate her, but they both more often liked it when she donned her little black thong and fishnet hose. They’d explored other ‘sports’ also, but liked those two the best.
Hermione laughed, “Remember the night I seduced you, when I was staring at your feet?”
“Hermione, you seduce me all the time. I’m fair worn out from it,” sighed Lucius theatrically, his voice warm velvet.
“The first time, Blondie. Don’t get smart. As I was saying, I thought your feet were your plainest feature, all bony. It made you human and gave me the courage to climb onto the bed.”
Lucius looked at her quizzically, not certain if there was a compliment in there somewhere or he’d just been insulted. He was pretty sure bony feet weren’t a fetish for her, but bless them anyway. He finished up massaging her feet while musing happily on a long-time secret from that first night. She never knew what had happened to her see-through yellow nightdress, but tucked in tissue inside a small inlaid ebony coffer in the back of his vault, a certain yellow item was hoarded preciously. He resettled his wife onto his lap, letting her tuck her head onto his chest just under his torque.
She murmured, “I love you,” and soon fell asleep, going boneless against him.
Lucius kissed the top of his sleeping wife’s head, whispering, “I love you more, my heart.” He idly stroked her stomach while he watched over his three sons. All of his and Hermione’s children had the Malfoy coloring with pale blonde hair and gray eyes, much to Hermione’s dismay. He’d warned her how it would be, but he thought she still had secret hopes of a brown-haired, brown-eyed baby. Never going to happen. She was up against a thousand years of prime selective Pureblood breeding.
However, she needn’t have worried, he thought. Every one of their children had his coloring, but they had her facial features: sweet smile, cute noses, and sunny eye shapes. They also seemed to have gotten her personality traits too, prickly and adventurous, the independent scamps. Well, part of the prickly could be from him, he conceded. Perhaps sometimes one’s own genes weren’t necessarily the best. Lucius could also easily detect signs of his own keen, serpentine, mental agility in his offspring, which kept him on his toes. It was gratifying - when it wasn’t hair-raising or maddening. Two and a half more years, then Hogwarts for Alex, thank the Gods.
All in all, his and Hermione’s genes were a successful combination. He still had a pang or two occasionally over the loss of his Pureblood dynasty, but time and a full life had dulled that small ache to a back shelf of his mind. The eradication of all Pureblood future generations also meant there was no one else to envy either. That was soothing to Lucius’ competitive nature, but he never got tired of secretly gloating that all of Harry and Ginny Potter’s children had flaming red hair. The concentrated Pureblood genes probably wouldn’t really die out for centuries.
Lucius Malfoy smiled to think of his life now. He was the new Minister of Finance for the entire Ministry of Magic, controlling all government funds for the magical community. People never understood why he always seemed to rise to the top no matter what the circumstances. Lucius always believed passionately in whatever he did, bringing to it his full concentration and keen intelligence. That, coupled with rather amorphous scruples only somewhat reined in by his strong-willed wife, usually bred success. Also, it didn’t hurt that his wife was still the Minister of Magic’s best friend and now a Cultural Attaché for Muggles herself. When she wasn’t pregnant, he amended, smiling wickedly at the curly hair tickling his chin. Lucius had resented Hermione at the beginning, but knew that he’d gotten the best of Minister Potter and the Magical World in the end when they had given him his extraordinary Muggleborn wife.
THE END
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I've very much enjoyed telling this story for you. I hope you all like the ending. Lucius turned into the complete family man, but he's still the Lucius we all know and love-hate. Thanks for reading! As usual, reviews are appreciated.
__________________________________________________________________
Reviewers wanted to know about Snape and Pamela, therefore, I've added a postscript. The rest is up to your imaginations.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Updated 11-28-06
Thank you all for the reviews. I love getting them probably more than you like reading my chapters!
Bella asked, "Is Lucius trying to compete with Arthur now or something?" Sometimes you amaze me with how close you are to my chapters. Are you reading over my shoulder or something?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Epilogue – Eight Years Later
“Father, Darius hit me!” Alex, Lucius’ eight-year-old son, ran into the foyer and skidded to a stop in front of his father who had just returned from a dinner meeting at the Ministry of Magic. Lucius had tried to return as soon as possible but it was after seven. He sighed. It looked like things were a bit out of control.
Lucius looked past his and Hermione’s eldest son to see their second son, seven-year-old Darius sidle into the hall. Lucius carefully removed his black fur-lined cape and gloves and whisked them into the closet. He knew that his tiny tow-headed daughter Artemis was already asleep upstairs in her crib, clutching his cane. Little witch. She wouldn’t go to sleep without it. Lucius had mournfully had to file down the snakehead’s sharp fangs so his two-year-old wouldn’t hurt herself. He’d thought about getting another one after losing his to Artie’s tear-drenched, big gray eyes, but he hadn’t missed it as much as he’d thought he would. His wand fit in his cape pocket just fine. Lucius raised an eyebrow in silent demand as he looked at the accused, Darius.
Darius just looked at the marble floor, then at the central chandelier.
“What, no ‘he hit me first’?” asked Lucius, looking from Darius to Alex and back.
“No, father,” mumbled Darius.
“Then why?” asked Lucius reasonably. Really, couldn’t Hermione keep their children in line for ten minutes after he got home? The plaint of fathers everywhere.
“He just makes me so mad, sometimes,” said Darius, addressing the black, high-gloss leather of his father’s shoes.
“Brute force is the first resort of feeble minds,” Lucius said virtuously, thankful that his sons weren’t yet aware of his Death Eater past. “Can’t you find a subtler way of letting Alex know he’s being inconsiderate? Think about it before you use your fists, Dare. There are always better methods than physical pain for getting your point across.” Lucius tried to look intimidating, setting a slight scowl on his face.
Darius looked up at his father, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes that boded ill for his brother. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the fine black wool of his father’s trouser leg. So much for intimidation.
“What do you suggest for a punishment, then?” asked Lucius of his clinging seven-year-old.
Darius said, “No dessert tonight?”
“Done,” agreed Lucius. “Now where is your mother?”
“She’s in the yellow sitting room putting her feet up and trying to pretend we don’t exist,” Alex quoted proudly.
Lucius kept a straight face with great effort.
Darius piped up, “And she’s using a drying spell on Orion.”
Alex shushed his brother and gave him an I’ll-get-you look.
“Dare I ask why?” Lucius looked from one boy to the other once again.
Alex explained, “Because Dobby doesn’t let us have any fun.”
POP! Dobby appeared in the hall. “Dobby heard that. Hello Mister Lucius.” Dobby was now a paid employee assigned to child tending duties. Dobby and Lucius had an agreement that Hermione had negotiated after Darius’ birth when she claimed she needed help with the babies. She’d explained that Dobby took initiative and she needed that from a helper. Lucius still sometimes struggled to make requests rather than commands to the elf.
“Hello Dobby. Orion is wet because…?” Lucius sensed a story that was being hidden. He saw Alex slowly backing toward the doorway until his gimlet stare stopped the boy.
Dobby said, “It is not ‘having fun’ when Alex tries to sail little brother Orion across garden fountain in big old wizard’s shield! Little one could have drowned.” Dobby glared at Alex.
Lucius was riveted on one word, “Shield? What shield?” he said, very, very quietly, telegraphing to his sons that he was getting angry. No one answered. “What shield, Alex?” Lucius asked with deadly calm, his gray eyes flashing.
Dobby dove into the silence, “Big shield in your study. Ugly bronze, dented. Not in the study now, of course. Now it’s at very bottom of the fountain,” the elf said sadly.
“Why, how very enterprising of you, Alex,” Lucius said silkily. Neither of his sons was fooled; their father was not happy. Lucius put up one finger. “First, for putting your little brother in danger,” his second finger went up, “for taking something from my study without permission,” a third finger went up, “and for damaging or perhaps destroying an ancient relic, you will receive no desserts for a month, and I can assure you we will have chocolate cake a great deal.” Lucius knew it was Alex’s favorite, fond father that he normally was. He turned his arctic eyes on the elf, “And you were where exactly, Dobby?”
“Dobby was changing baby’s nappy, Mister Lucius. Alex was supposed to stay with Mistress while Dobby fixed baby.”
“Darius, were you involved?” Lucius looked a question down his trouser leg at his clinging son.
Darius shook his head. He was innocent this time.
“Very well, Alex, you have escaped stable chores, which I guarantee would have been added to your punishment had you involved Darius. Of course, your brother would have been shoveling right along with you.” Lucius gently disengaged the little hands from his trousered leg, saying, “I’m going to change and go to your mother.” He quickly kissed both boys, then apparated to his daughter’s bedroom to check on her. After he saw she was sleeping peacefully, he went to the master bedroom. He changed into a casual pair of black cotton lounging pants and a soft blue tee shirt Hermione had bought him and whisked down to the yellow sitting room.
His two boys ran into the room just as he got there and soon settled down to resume play on an abandoned game of chess at a far table by the French windows. They couldn’t apparate yet, thank Merlin, and had to get places under their own steam. Crookshanks looked up from a hassock, yawned, and sat up, hoping for Lucius’s lap. Lucius shook his head, so the cat settled back down, figuring he’d get his chance later. Lucius walked directly over to Hermione and bent down to kiss her, lingering a bit because she just tasted so good. He patted her burgeoning belly and then gently smoothed five-year-old Orion’s hair. He was curled up asleep next to her. “Hello, my love, you look blooming.”
“Cut the crap, Malfoy. I’m tired, I’m cranky and these devil’s spawn have been trying my patience all day. And my feet are swollen. This is the last one, Lucius. The LAST ONE!” Hermione was sounding whiny even to herself but being eight and a half months pregnant was a bitch. She’d missed him terribly and he knew it, dammit.
Lucius enjoyed the disgruntled look his wife gave him, but took pity on her and sat down, pulling her feet into his lap. He spent long minutes massaging her abused ankles and feet, listening to her escalating moans of pleasure, punctuated with commands on what to knead next. Hermione always threatened that each pregnancy was the last, so Lucius took no notice. He personally thought that eight would be a good number of children and, counting Draco, after this one he had two to go. He was certainly a better man than that doofus, Arthur Weasley. Lucius wisely didn’t mention his plans to Hermione, not wishing to be locked out of their bedroom. Instead he teased, “When you said ‘devil’s spawn’, were you referring to me as the devil who spawned them, my love? Or yourself?”
“If the cock fits, Lucius.” Hermione pressed her foot up against Lucius’ groin to demonstrate her point, digging in with her toes a little when she felt his growing response.
“Promises, promises, sweetheart.” Actually, Hermione was very generous to her husband in alternate ways of lovemaking when she was nearing the very end of her pregnancies and could no longer engage in regular intimacies. His wife had never lost her love for his cock and as a result he never had any complaints about sexual dry spells. In their entire marriage, she’d never tired of making him moan. It was an intimate joke between them. Between pregnancies he’d managed to get her to accept the role of spanking slave, although Lucius as Master preferred to use his hand, and she was willing to be tied up occasionally sans riding crop, pandering to Lucius’ need to dominate her, but they both more often liked it when she donned her little black thong and fishnet hose. They’d explored other ‘sports’ also, but liked those two the best.
Hermione laughed, “Remember the night I seduced you, when I was staring at your feet?”
“Hermione, you seduce me all the time. I’m fair worn out from it,” sighed Lucius theatrically, his voice warm velvet.
“The first time, Blondie. Don’t get smart. As I was saying, I thought your feet were your plainest feature, all bony. It made you human and gave me the courage to climb onto the bed.”
Lucius looked at her quizzically, not certain if there was a compliment in there somewhere or he’d just been insulted. He was pretty sure bony feet weren’t a fetish for her, but bless them anyway. He finished up massaging her feet while musing happily on a long-time secret from that first night. She never knew what had happened to her see-through yellow nightdress, but tucked in tissue inside a small inlaid ebony coffer in the back of his vault, a certain yellow item was hoarded preciously. He resettled his wife onto his lap, letting her tuck her head onto his chest just under his torque.
She murmured, “I love you,” and soon fell asleep, going boneless against him.
Lucius kissed the top of his sleeping wife’s head, whispering, “I love you more, my heart.” He idly stroked her stomach while he watched over his three sons. All of his and Hermione’s children had the Malfoy coloring with pale blonde hair and gray eyes, much to Hermione’s dismay. He’d warned her how it would be, but he thought she still had secret hopes of a brown-haired, brown-eyed baby. Never going to happen. She was up against a thousand years of prime selective Pureblood breeding.
However, she needn’t have worried, he thought. Every one of their children had his coloring, but they had her facial features: sweet smile, cute noses, and sunny eye shapes. They also seemed to have gotten her personality traits too, prickly and adventurous, the independent scamps. Well, part of the prickly could be from him, he conceded. Perhaps sometimes one’s own genes weren’t necessarily the best. Lucius could also easily detect signs of his own keen, serpentine, mental agility in his offspring, which kept him on his toes. It was gratifying - when it wasn’t hair-raising or maddening. Two and a half more years, then Hogwarts for Alex, thank the Gods.
All in all, his and Hermione’s genes were a successful combination. He still had a pang or two occasionally over the loss of his Pureblood dynasty, but time and a full life had dulled that small ache to a back shelf of his mind. The eradication of all Pureblood future generations also meant there was no one else to envy either. That was soothing to Lucius’ competitive nature, but he never got tired of secretly gloating that all of Harry and Ginny Potter’s children had flaming red hair. The concentrated Pureblood genes probably wouldn’t really die out for centuries.
Lucius Malfoy smiled to think of his life now. He was the new Minister of Finance for the entire Ministry of Magic, controlling all government funds for the magical community. People never understood why he always seemed to rise to the top no matter what the circumstances. Lucius always believed passionately in whatever he did, bringing to it his full concentration and keen intelligence. That, coupled with rather amorphous scruples only somewhat reined in by his strong-willed wife, usually bred success. Also, it didn’t hurt that his wife was still the Minister of Magic’s best friend and now a Cultural Attaché for Muggles herself. When she wasn’t pregnant, he amended, smiling wickedly at the curly hair tickling his chin. Lucius had resented Hermione at the beginning, but knew that he’d gotten the best of Minister Potter and the Magical World in the end when they had given him his extraordinary Muggleborn wife.
THE END
__________________________________________________________________
I've very much enjoyed telling this story for you. I hope you all like the ending. Lucius turned into the complete family man, but he's still the Lucius we all know and love-hate. Thanks for reading! As usual, reviews are appreciated.
__________________________________________________________________
Reviewers wanted to know about Snape and Pamela, therefore, I've added a postscript. The rest is up to your imaginations.