Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 3: Lessons Learned

Hermione rubbed her right shoulder, wincing. She was in the middle of her third lesson with her etiquette coach. Today’s lesson involved navigating a sea of moving obstacles whilst carrying an overly filled martini glass and a plate of canapés. The posture cord was back, and Madame Metcalf, as she preferred to be called had tightened it even further, refusing to remove it even when Hermione had nearly dropped the martini glass.

Part of it was her own fault; she had insisted on wearing the stiletto style heels common to muggle formal events instead of the more practical court style shoes Madame Metcalf insisted “real ladies of elegance” wore. Hermione’s argument was, Lucius stood head and shoulders over her, and she felt like a child in low heels. Unfortunately, the higher, thinner heel changed her center of gravity, forcing out her hip in a way her coach claimed was “more bedroom than ballroom”. Her calves were tight, her shoulders were tight, and she wanted nothing more than to lie in a bathtub, or have Lucius massage out the knots.

The clock in the foyer chimed five, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She helped Madame Metcalf to the door, and practically threw her out of it. When the elderly woman had descended the stairs, the posture cord evaporated and she nearly fell over. Lucius was supposed to be home by six, and they had plans to go to the muggle shops tonight. On the list was “grossly inappropriate lingerie”, as he fondly referred to the items that he removed rather indelicately from her body in a fit of lust. She was looking forward to his eyes as she played dress up for him.

While it all sounded rather un-Hermione like, she had an ulterior motive: to put Lucius in a muggle situation he would find pleasurable and (if the gods at LaPerla smiled on her with extremely inappropriate underwear)get him into a pair of denims.

She gulped the muscle relaxing potion on the way to the bathtub, soaking until she felt like she was going to prune. Charming her newly relaxed and wavy hair (thanks to her appointment with the top British magical stylist), she slipped on a pair of thigh high stockings with lace tops, then a tiny pair of bikini pants in emerald silk. Finally, she fastened herself into the black bustier she had worn only once on a blind date. She straightened the matching emerald ribbons and looked at herself.

Her normally rather modest cleavage was overflowing in the garment, and she grinned at the sight of a love bite on her collarbone. Lucius was clearly what Lavender Brown would refer to as a “breast man”, spending what felt like hours licking, massaging and otherwise worshiping the fleshy globes. He confided that Narcissa’s had been artificially enhanced, and had felt very unnatural. He obviously much preferred her natural assets.
Makeup applied, she slipped on her old kimono and walked slowly down the stairs, carrying the four inch black stilettos with her. Walking confidently into the library, she settled herself on the infamous fainting couch and waited.

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Lucius looked at his pocket watch and tried not to seem impatient as the school governor’s meeting once again ran late. It was now after seven, and there was no way they would be able to get home in time to go into Muggle London. Hermione would be furious, and he was not looking forward to an argument when he finally did get back to the manor.

At the front of the room, Pompous Percy Weasley (as Hermione called him) was banging on about the benefits of Ministry involvement in the school. Privately, Lucius remembered the disaster that was Umbridge. As he looked around the room, he could see the other governors getting restless.

Finally, the McGonagall cut Percy off and dismissed them all for the evening. Snatching up his cloak and walking stick, he was nearly the first one through the door, silently praising the Headmistress for cutting the pompous arse off, and hoping she couldn’t read minds. The thought of what he hoped to be doing to her favorite former student later would probably finish the old woman off.
When Lucius had been late without owling, Hermione had been livid. She had created elaborate arguments about respect, responsibility and how the altered the amount of oxygen she could possibly take in while wearing this tight damned bustier could effect long term planning. Then she stopped. She knew where he was, and she knew it was probably out of his control when he could leave.

Still, he had made her wait and worry. He needed to be punished. That was when the lesson began to take form.

She could hear Lucius when the elves opened the door to him and took his cloak and walking stick. She had made sure the house was darkened and silent, uneaten dinner for two on the table. She could hear him calling her name, a note of panic in his voice. She bit back a laugh, and began to stroke herself, moaning loudly. After a minute, she could hear footsteps approaching, and increased her efforts. When he pushed the library door open, his mouth dropped.

His goddess was in his Queen Anne chair, legs spread wide apart, stroking her wet cunt, a bustier and pair of emerald kickers discarded onto the floor. He was stripping immediately, layers of clothes joining her knickers. He moved closer to her, when she held up a hand, That hand.

“Lucius, you don’t get to play tonight. I waited forever, and then had to start without you.”

He looked stunned. “My love, I was in a horridly boring meeting. I couldn’t get away. I would have owled, had I been able.”

He took her hand, locking eyes with her as he sucked her cum soaked fingers into his mouth. Clearly, he intended to turn on the charm in the hopes that it swayed her. It wouldn’t work; she needed to stand her ground. She pulled her fingers away from him, and slipped one inside of her inner lips. He moaned.

“My love, let me do that for you. You’re all wet and sticky. Let me clean you.”

He knelt between her legs, and she sighed as he put his clever tongue to work, bathing her with kisses, nips and long languid licks. She loved this; no other man she had been with loved oral sex as much as Lucius: giving or receiving. Hands clad in leather gloves parted her further, revealing the pearly nub of nerves. He attacked it, and her hands curled in his hair as he brought her to completion crying out his name.

“My love, I am truly sorry. Don’t deny me pleasure because of a boring meeting that ran late, I beg you.”

He apparated them into their bedroom, where she resisted his more blatant advances and slipped his aching cock between her lips. Within a few minutes, he had come and she was curling up on her side, intending to sleep. He had no choice but to comply, cursing Percy Weasley with every breath he took.

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The next day, Lucius was avoided by most of his employees, his foul mood following him like a storm cloud. By lunchtime he had fired two employees, destroyed two vases and had disconnected his fireplace from floo calls. When he had awakened earlier than usual this morning, it had been to an empty bed. She had not been at the Manor, nor anywhere on the grounds. He had meant to apologize to her; and the chance for make up sex had been a high priority in his mind. Yet she was nowhere to be found. He was contemplating the best way to reassert his dominance in this twisted little relationship when there was a knock on the door.

“Lord Malfoy? A Hermione Granger is here to see you.”

She strode in, dressed conservatively in a cream cashmere twinset and knee length suede skirt. He stood and glared at her. The last thing the secretary heard before she shut the door was an angry “what do you want?, and the silencing charm click into place.

Hermione approached, setting what smelled like lunch on the entry as she approached him. She took in the floor to ceiling office windows as she approached, peeling the outer sweater off.

“I came to see if you had any plans to stay late tonight.”

“No.” He scowled.

She walked around the desk and straddled his lap. Leaning into him, she kissed him gently.

“No meetings scheduled for this afternoon?”

“No. Not that it matters, you’ll probably have started without me again.” The pout was fading, replaced by a small smile as he lifted her sweater, running his fingers lightly along her ribcage.

“That was all about learning a lesson.” She admitted playfully, leaning forward to nibble his earlobe. “Besides, it’s not like I left you with nothing. You still fell asleep satisfied.” She reached for the top button of his robes, then pulled back with a wince.

WARNING: SKIP TO THE NEXT CHAPTER NOW IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO A PERSON BEING ASSAULTED. I’LL BRING YOU UP TO SPEED IF YOU DON’T GO FURTHER.

Lucius’ fingers were digging painfully into her ribs, the loving touch long gone. “You do not teach the lessons here. I give the lessons” he hissed into her ear, pushing her off his lap. He was being excessively harsh, he knew. He just felt the need to regain control of the situation, to reassert his control over her.

She tried to kiss him, but he shoved her away. She tripped over her heels, falling to the floor with a crash. She yelped in pain.

His eyes softened and he began to reach out to help her, then forced the weakness back. He was one of the last living Death Eaters for Merlin’s sake. When had he become such a Hufflepuff? His voice hardened.

“Miss Granger, we are not equals in this arrangement. You will do as I say when I say to do it. If I tell you to walk around nude and serve my friends scotch poured over your nipples, you will do it. If I want to fuck you in the middle of a meeting with Scrimgeour himself, I can and will do just that. And if I come home from a meeting a mere one hour late, you do NOT have the right to get prissy and attempt to manipulate me like a little tease. You do not simply give me a blow job and roll over to go to sleep when I need more attention, leave me to wake up alone and then try to win me over as though nothing has happened. This is about me, damn it. Not you. Do you understand?”

She shook her head. “No, Lucius. I know you’re frustrated, but this is not like you. You said we were equals in this; you can’t just treat me like garbage. You need to calm down and we can talk this out. I realized this morning, I may have come across cold, and I wanted to surprise you.”

“I am not playing games with you, Granger. Play the tease with me and I will tear you apart.”

She was crying now, clutching her ankle and trying to get to her feet. She looked pitiful; her face streaked with mascara and her nose running. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pristine white handkerchief, knelt and handed it to her. She looked at it doubtfully, then pushed it away.

“Take it my love. I am just foul tempered right now. Things are not going well, and I’m barely holding on. Please don’t push me right now.” Hufflepuff! His mind screamed, sounding suspiciously like his father. Didn’t want the society wife, and now you can’t control a jumped up mudblood who doesn’t know her place. Pathetic, Lucius!

“Lucius, you don’t have the right to say all those horrible things and then do something nice. Tell me what’s wrong, I can help you. We can work it out, we’ll make it right. I make a lousy drone, but I swear, I make a really good ally.” She reached out for him, her eyes pleading with him.

His tenuous hold on his control snapped and he yanked his hands away from her.

“You, help me? You can’t even help yourself. You spend your life doing nothing of great importance, allowing yourself to be groped and pawed at by your boss. I have tried to show you a better life, but you just can’t accept it. You don’t want to be treated well, you want to be treated like the mudblood trash you think you are. Well, fine. Go!”

She reached for her wand, now visible as her fallen purse lay on the floor. She inched herself toward it, planning to stun him, then make him talk to her. Almost there…she reached her fingers for it.

SNAP!

She looked on in disbelief as he snapped her wand in two with his boot. Hermione scuttled backward toward the fireplace, hoping to get away from him. He had gone from shouting to a deadly quiet, like a weaving serpent. She chanced a look at him, and that was when he struck. Moving toward her, he activated his floo, shoved her into the fireplace, dumped floo powder on top of her until she started to choke, and called out “Pegram’s office!”

The moment the green flames engulfed her, he realized what he had done. She’d be lucky to make it out of there alive. He hurried to the floo, but the grate to Pegram’s office was blocked, and he could hear screaming. Jumping out of the fire, he tried to formulate a plan, but everywhere he looked were her things: her sweater she had seductively peeled off in a clumsy but rather adorable attempt to seduce him, the lunch she had brought for them to share, her fallen purse and broken wand on the floor. It made his stomach lurch, and he barely made it to the trash bin before he vomited.

Wiping his mouth, he looked around frantically. What should he do?

Finally, he made the fateful decision. Pouring floo powder into the grate, he shouted, “Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts office, Professor Severus Snape!” Slicing his finger with his wand, he allowed the blood to drip into the flames. This allowed his message to overcome the blocked floo and contact his closest friend on the other end.

A wary Severus Snape came into view. He surveyed the scene in Malfoy’s office, looked at the regal Lucius Malfoy, now sobbing and rocking in place.

“Lucius, what in the hell have you done?”
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Mr Pegram was not a happy man. His latest wife had just filed for divorce, his potions department was not doing well; amid allegations of mismanagement of funds and the failure of the department to produce one fucking useful potion. More than that, several of his more lucrative donors had abandoned him, and he could lose the whole kaboodle. He snorted at the thought of the word. What was a kaboodle anyway? The only thing he had going for him was the promise of the New Malfoy wing. If he lost that, he could kiss twenty years of ass kissing and ladder climbing goodbye. He would be ruined.

The fireplace registered a delivery of a parcel from Malfoy, Inc. Leaping from his chair he approached the fireplace. What was it? Money perhaps? Blueprints he could take to his meeting with his supervisor? Something, anything that could help him impress the other department heads? He tapped the fireplace mantel in anticipation.

A filthy, crying, woman scraped her knees as she crawled out of the grate. As she fell over in exhaustion, he recognized the woman. Hermione fucking Granger. His apparently rejected gift from his patron. It was all over.

For the second time in an hour, Hermione faced a man of power whose control had broken. Unlike Lucius, who was now blurting the whole story out to a stunned Severus Snape, and securing a promise that he would help his friend try to find her; Mr Pegram was not at all conflicted about his feelings toward the woman on the floor begging for mercy. Both his inner voice and his outer one were in complete agreement.

“Granger, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

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Lucius Malfoy was running.

Following his confession to Severus, he was going to get to Pegrams office and find out where she was; using force if necessary. Severus and Bill Weasley (ex-curse breaker and current Charms Professor at Hogwarts would be accompanying him, the redhead’s combat medic training during the war possibly meaning the difference between life and death for the woman he now realized he wanted more than anything. He would prove to her he cared for her. He would give her anything she wanted, anything at all. He would be a better person, he swore. Just please, please, don’t let her die.

He turned the corner, passed an alley where he heard his name called. Backtracking he looked into the alley, he was suddenly grabbed and dragged toward a dumpster by a furious Severus Snape.

Apparently Bill had been attracted to movement in a dumpster after they took their emergency portkey. The smell of blood, once hidden by the smell of garbage had grown stronger until they had gotten to the dumpster. A thing, barely recognizable as human had been trying to crawl out of the filthy mess, covered in trash and dirt. Once the top half had made it over the ledge, Bill had caught her before she fell.

Broken and battered, tortured and left for dead, Hermione Granger had managed to survive.

Bill carried her toward them, tears streaking down his cheeks, they watched as a fading Hermione touched Lucius’ lapel. He bent toward her, tears dripping down his face and watched her blackened eyes, barely able to open focus on him.

“Lesson learned.”

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All right, everyone. No rotten tomatoes! I originally planned on Hermione surprising Lucius for some wild office sex and take out disguised as foreplay; this came out instead.

Remember, this is a love story first and foremost. However, this isn’t Disney-these are two war-weary adults who have made questionable choices in their lives. If they intend to build a real relationship, Lucius has to truly overcome his impulsivity and his temper. Hermione has to learn when to back off, and both of them need to learn the ebb and flow of a healthy relationship.

Next chapter: Lucius’ explanation and a decision made to involve ancient magic to heal Hermione and save her life.