Prisoners of Love - A Mystery - COMPLETE

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Updated 7-11-07

Hugs to all of you. Your reviews are fantastic. I've already been adjusting my storyline a bit to add some of your ideas. This format just works so well for all of us. Thanks!

Some questions answered:
Donavon You had many questions about her friends. That will be covered a bit later. And you wondered, if Sirius could escape why not Lucius. After Sirius escaped, the prison wards were tightened so much even the fleas couldn't get out. (Sterling fanwank if I do say so myself.) Lucius knows he was railroaded back into Azkaban by Scrimgeour to get rid of his far-reaching influence even in the Ministry. Snape's role in this story will be covered later.
Crissy Our hero and heroine will NOT be incarcerated for their full terms. I didn't want to write years of a dismal jail cell or skip to five years later, either.
ForgetfulLove See above about Hermione's friends. Sorry, no threesomes in this story. Getting Lucius and Hermione together is hard enough work.

And so to the story...

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Chapter Four

Lucius Has Designs

Hermione was feeling a bit better after her unpalatable meal and jabbed back to puncture Lucius’ previous braggadocio about his assertion of being important enough for the Ministry to keep their eye on, “Well, even though they didn’t send me to spy on you, apparently they weren’t so bumbling that they didn’t manage to send you here, where you belong I might add.” She gifted Lucius with a superior smile.

“They sent you here too,” Lucius said slyly, relieved that she was stabbing at him again. “I suppose that was a clever piece of work also?” he snorted, tossing his head in cocky derision and playing to his audience, his silver blond mane sliding forward down his chest. He hadn’t been able to keep it trimmed in prison and its length was now almost covering his pectorals.

His gaze ricocheted from the little witch to his dark stone for a second and back to make sure the guards were gone from the corridor, “No, the Ministry is overrun by servile, brown-nosing snivelers who are tied to Scrimgeour’s wagon, hoping for advancement. He’s the only one playing a deep game in that whole rat’s nest of underachievers on the Magic Council.”

“How do you know for sure that I’m not a spy?” Hermione enquired, beginning to be somewhat fascinated by the twists and turns of her felonious comrade’s mind. If she had nothing else to occupy her for the next few years, listening to his inventive ideas and seeing how his well-ordered intellect worked at firsthand would be an entertainment in itself, but it was just sooo unfair that he got the pretty hair while hers was all but unmanageable.

Lucius smiled, unaware that his hair was currently being coveted more than his brain, “The minute you discovered the secret of my dark rock, what did you do? Did you cleverly pretend that you knew nothing, so you could relay the information to the prison officials at the first chance? Alas, no. You instantly told me you knew. What sort of spy – except an incredibly stupid one and I grant you a modicum of intelligence – would tell me I’d been found out?” He actually did privately wonder if she had been put in his cell for some purpose which was not yet clear, but he kept his conjecture to himself. Lucius casually pulled out the real spoon and changed it into a ratty, torn, unobtrusive piece of ribbon, which he used to tie back his hair.

“That’s not an illusion! That’s transfiguration and don’t try to tell me differently.” Hermione was livid at his trickery, all thoughts of petting his hair dissipating. She had thought they were attempting to be civilized, but he obviously was playing with her, lying for his own amusement. She felt more isolated than ever. He didn’t want to try to behave in an honorable manner even with a cellmate he was stuck with for years.

“My, my, your powers of observation quite take my breath away.” Lucius saw he had alienated her with his casual display rather than building a more solid bridge between them and sought to correct his error of judgment, “If I hadn’t wanted you to know my abilities, I could have waited until you weren’t looking, changed the spoon, and then pulled this ribbon from under my pillow, pretending it was there all the time. Showing you my magic was meant to be a show of trust, Hermione. Not disrespect. Please try to keep up.”

“You’re such a bastard, Lucius,” Hermione huffed, embarrassed by her rush to judgment and humiliated at being castigated like she was a child.

“Tidbit, you’re starting to repeat yourself. I’m certain there must be other, more colorful names you can call me. That particular one is quite inaccurate. I’m perfectly legitimate and wouldn’t like any rumors to be started smearing my name.” Lucius favored her with his first real frown; his one abiding sore spot was his heritage and having her malign his family reputation went past verbal sparring to vicious sniping in his mind. “I haven’t been calling you a Mudblood, now have I, although that name is quite accurate as far as I know.”

Hermione grinned like a first-year magic student in the Diagon Alley Candy Shop, learning Lucius had a weak point, even if the term Mudblood rankled. She had been feeling overwhelmed at Lucius’ greater knowledge of her dismal environs and his formidable, if calculating intelligence, currently being used to help her (sort of) but with the capacity for any kind of treacherous enterprise. Lucius was devoted, body and soul only to Lucius and she’d better not forget it. Any sort of advantage she could grasp would be beneficial with one of the most guileful Slytherin personalities ever to (dis)grace the halls of Hogwarts.

Lucius saw her suddenly cheerful attitude and inquired with suspicion, “Now why should my minor rebuke make you happy?” A tawny eyebrow rose in an irritated arc above one ice-gray eye as he analyzed her odd reaction.

Hermione thought fast, “Because you just said I could call you any name I wanted. Give me a few minutes and I’m sure I can come up with some truly ignoble ones.” She smiled brightly at her intimidating companion, her wholesome happiness striking at his hardened, dark-hued heart for a few brief seconds.

“You mistake me, I believe. I didn’t give you permission to call me names.” Lucius halted, his mind turning over their discussion with more care as he absently rubbed the slight ache near his heart. “Ah, you’ve seen I don’t like slighting references to my dynasty. What a clever girl you are, to be sure. Shall I now be bombarded with nasty little comments belittling my family? Do you think you have found a way to serve me a bad turn if I do something to make you angry?” Lucius favored her with his most insincere, cold-blooded smile, “I haven’t put my mind to making you uncomfortable in this cell with me, but I could, my dear. Don’t try me too far.”

Hermione gave him an ironic stare, “I’ve already been tricked into allowing you to touch my entire body; at this point it will have to be something painful or much more humiliating to make me take notice.”

Lucius merely shrugged in unconcern, “I’m quite capable of both so I do believe we should have a truce on the name-calling altogether. And to be precise, I haven’t touched your entire body.”

“Well as they say, beggars can’t be boggarts, so truce,” said Hermione, flushing with embarrassment at his earthy observation, but giving him her best crocodile smile, believing their little treaty as much as Lucius probably did; she rated their mutual show of trust about as high as Snape’s opinion of Hawaiian shirts - dismal.

“So to business.” Lucius changed mental gears to a topic of more intellectual fascination to him, “I don’t know precisely why they railroaded you into Azkaban, but your landing in my cell is extremely odd, intoxicating I admit, but odd. He saw her feminine suspicions about his intentions resurface on her mobile face and he sighed, “If I said I had NO designs on such a young, lovely woman who for all intents and purposes looks to be my cellmate for many years, would you believe me? If so, then I retract my statement about your intelligence.”

Lucius’ lips twisted sardonically, answering his own question, “Of course, you shouldn’t believe me and rightly so. My main problem with you is to overcome your current lack of interest in me as a potential lover. Not to appear vain, but I think time and loneliness and a lack of an alternative sexual outlet will accomplish that for me. In the meantime I can be patient. Forcing you would only make me vulnerable in a small cell with a woman who would thereafter want me flayed alive. I’d have to sleep sometime and I’d rather not be parted from my skin while I slept. So there are my cards on the table - minus the table, unfortunately. Can we move past that subject now and consider the ramifications of your strange incarceration?”

Hermione’s mouth nearly hung open at the intricate amount of planning and thinking Lucius had already done in conjunction with her arrival. She wasn’t so naïve as to think he had laid everything out for her. Witness his inspired ‘plan’ for touching her all over to give her sores. She had to admit his plan had worked to perfection.

The two guards had taken her no further than a broom closet – how had Lucius known? – crammed all of them inside and then one of the guards had held her while the other one had lifted her nightgown and inspected most of her skin, turning her to look at her back, too. They had looked at each other in dismay, muttering about her disgusting disease and not wanting it on their own bodies. Then they had marched her back to her cell and thrown her into it, leaving with the food cart. They hadn’t even retrieved the supper trays, which were now serving as towels carefully hidden under each of their pillows.

Hermione gaped at Lucius’ bald announcement of his intentions before deciding there was nothing she could do about it. Although he currently wasn’t a candidate for her bed in her mind, he did have a point. If she stayed in prison for the entire five years, she would likely be the oldest virgin witch in Great Britain when she got out. And even thinking about those horny guards made her…hmmm, an idea crossed her mind, flew down to her mouth and emerged from her lips uncensored, “So, Lucius, have the guards ever dragged you into the broom closet?” She shrugged, “You’re pretty enough to appeal to those - and I quote – men stuck on an isolated rock.”

Lucius' first impulse was to snap at her for her insult to his manhood, but upon reflection he realized it was perhaps a fair question. “I will accept your question as a compliment,” he nodded toward her graciously, “and no, they haven’t approached me. I think the debilitating physical jolts they get from my body each time they touch me in any fashion might have something to do with it. But it could also be that they aren’t partial to blonds. I’m not completely sure.”

“But I didn’t get any jolts when you…er…made the sores.” Hermione was perplexed and wondered how he had accomplished that feat. She wanted to learn how immediately, but caution whispered to her not to put herself in his debt any more than she had already.

“I can create the hex when I need it. It’s actually a hex on the other person, not me, but it feels as though it’s my skin that causes the pain. Very useful spell that’s been, especially when…ah… well, my Death Eater past is of no interest now, I’m sure. It’s coming on for dark now, and there won’t be any light soon. Better get ready for bed while you can still see. Try to memorize the position of the loo, won’t you? Otherwise you may trip and accidentally fall into bed with me.” Lucius grinned at her glare, but got up and carefully turned down his bed.

Hermione had noticed that his cot was very neatly made and the few items he possessed were in carefully arranged order. Just what she needed, a lecherous, Slytherin neat freak. She sighed and tried to slap out the gritty dust from her blanket, earning an irritated growl from her cellmate when the dust flew over on his side of the room.

Hermione’s memory returned to the dust on Lucius’ hand and she inquired, “Lucius, how did your fingers get so dusty earlier? Were you using my blanket before I came?” She didn’t expect his sudden cessation of movement before he resumed fixing his bed. She admonished, “You must be slipping to telegraph information like that.”

“Telegraph? What information?” Lucius continued his evening preparations avoiding Hermione’s interested gaze. “What does telegraph mean?"



“I mean you’ve told me by your stillness that this dust is important somehow. Wait… for… it…Hah! You’ve been digging something on my side of the cell.” Hermione instantly pulled her cot away from the wall and looked carefully down at the floor under it. It took her a few seconds, but she found a faint empty crack between stones in the floor. “Would you like to explain this or shall I start removing the stones with the possibility of the guards coming for a return visit and seeing me?” Hermione straightened up and crossed her arms in a miniature imperious stance.

“Ah, tidbit – what in Merlin’s name am I going to do with you? I could probably have lived with that fictitious male felon for years without him ever seeing what you’ve discovered in one day. In my defense, I could have cleaned up the dust had I been given any warning of your imminent arrival. The guards told me my new cellmate was due next week, more fool me for believing the dolts.” He granted himself fond absolution for his carelessness, “Well, it was only a matter of time anyway, unless I was willing to abandon that particular plan, which I am not. I was using your blanket to kneel on while I dug into that crack between the stones. I will have to work on my telegraph though, whatever that is, if it gave me away to you.” He started unbuttoning his striped top.

“What are you doing?” Hermione’s interest in his project veered instantly to worry and was focused on Lucius stripping off his clothes rather than some insignificant dust on her blanket.

He looked around at her in feigned surprise, “I always do my calisthenics at this time. I’m actually being kind as I usually do them in the nude. If my bare chest disturbs you, then you may turn your back. It won’t offend me at all.” He took off his top and went to the end of his cot, using it as a low bar, and began a series of angled pushups with his legs straight out behind him.

Hermione knew she should look away and she was shrewd enough to figure Lucius was hoping she wouldn’t, so he could entice her just a bit more with his undeniably attractive physique. His stripes had disguised his upper torso for the most part, but now she was getting the full effect of a man who kept his body in tiptop shape and she admitted she was enjoying the view immensely.

The male body was a work of art when kept in good shape and Lucius’ body could have adorned the Tate Gallery. Trying not to be drawn in by his handsome face all day had been hard enough, especially the few times he had smiled at her. There was a certain sorcery in his smile that was so beguiling she wondered if he employed the dark arts to make himself so magnetic. If so, then her puny efforts at resistance would be laughable. But she didn’t feel like laughing.

Her breathing started to hitch with each new pushup and she decided she had to look away or be caught like a bug on a pin and frozen in place, hypnotized by his strength and male beauty – and those bunching muscles in his arms. She would look away – any moment now. Any…any… mo… ment… Okay, that wasn’t working. Perhaps she could watch but not stare so avidly. That might work.

Hermione affected a yawn and suddenly it was a real yawn, striking her with desperate strength, and her eyes started to close without her permission. The day had been long and brutal, forcing her into situations that would have felled a lesser witch. Without warning she slid down onto her bed and was deeply asleep in seconds.


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A small announcement for all you rabid Jason Isaacs fans. On my AFF author's page (you can click on my name at the top this chapter or go to):

http://hp.adult-fanfiction.org/authors.php?no=1296799417

I have posted a short, fun story using five of his characters all living together. They are Colonel William Tavington, Lucius Malfoy, Captain James Hook, Lord Felton, and David 'Percy' Sledge. I listed their movies in the story. I hope you enjoy it.

And, of course, for both this story and that one, pleeeeeease review. You don't know how much I suffer from being a review junkie. Just a moment of your time eases my addiction and lets me write. You want me to write, don't you? (sob)
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