The Taming of the Shrew - Wizard Style - COMPLETE

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7-1-09 W


I am basking in your wonderful reviews. I appreciate the time you take to respond to the story's plot and characters.


Don’t forget to check out this new chapter’s pic at my LiveJournal. It's Lucius.

http://labibliographe.livejournal.com/44129.html


Magalena – Your feeling that Lucius is wading into deep waters is so true, but then that’s what makes the story entertaining to me. And yes, I wouldn’t be surprised if his middle name weren’t ‘conniving’.

Terpsichore – Erm, the wedding night will happen, of course, but they aren’t a blissfully happy couple yet (they don’t need to be for a wedding night, though, do they?) Anyway, the wedding night must wait a bit. Too bad I can’t give out souvenir jade columns to all who’ve read about them in “Beyond the Veil”. Our Lucius couldn’t be anything but kinky.

Damiana – It’s my considered opinion that the chartreuse horklump was always destined for the evolutionary garbage dump, what with its blatant coloring being absolute rubbish for camouflage, poor thing.

Lilashannah – Thank you for the lovely ‘5’ rating! Lucius has perfected slyness as an art form. Wait a few chapters before you volunteer to take Hermione's place. It might be a little uncomfortable while she learns to live with her new husband.

blue artemis blueartemis07@gmail.com - Yes, Hermione is naïve about human sexual relations, if not about the horrors of war. Lucius enjoying introducing her to eroticism? Well, yes…as long as he keeps away from her nails and teeth (just kidding, maybe). She doesn’t really garner any intense sympathy about her legal mistake since she got Lucius in her bed LOL.

Happybunny – I would like to explore Lucius’ reactions to Muggle inventions a lot more than I do, but I don’t want to lose the wizarding flavor of the stories, so I try to be a little circumspect. I figured the turkey baster wasn’t too outré for canon and I couldn’t resist using it. Lucius freezing his sperm? Now that would have been a scene to write LOL.

Rainie – Don’t tell anyone, but Hermione may do a lot more than piddle on his carpets. But then so will he. Such a lovely couple – snerk. I’m thrilled you love the story so far.

jw - Hermione learned in a hard school not to take oppression from anyone. I wanted to give a glimpse inside Lucius' mind to his beliefs. Perhaps he should buy a turkey baster for his kink collection. I’m sure he has one. Azkatraz? I’ve not heard of it. Do tell.

BeaBibliophile – Don’t be modest, Bea. I got your name from Turkey Basters Anonymous and put up the pic to titillate you. LOL Lucius’ tongue has a definite oratorical facility, but as we all know, it isn’t the only function. As Hermione will learn, mwaahhaa. Snape will appear very briefly in this chapter, then more and more often later. It was great fun to write him with Lucius.

Mariteri – I shied away from Lucius using the word, ‘honey’ to Hermione in any sense for the song lyrics. I labeled it an aphorism and adjusted the concept to suit Lucius’ snooty character. I suppose I could have left it out… Apologies.

Rini – Bless you for finding that typo. When I type in the chapter title to upload, most of it disappears in the small box and I never saw the mistake. Yes, Severus’ relationship is of interest to quite a few readers. Hermione is off the floor here in chapter four. She may wish she were back there… Giggle - a few shags with Lucius? A few thousand, maybe. Hmm, that’s a good point, that she could find dark arts material in the Malfoy library. I’m just hoping she doesn’t succumb.

Diamond-Helen – Their jousting with whip smart jabs is probably having a predictable effect on Lucius, but then what doesn’t? For him, ‘use it or lose it’ is a tenet to live by.

BillsBedroom – Thank you for the lovely compliment. You’re not late at all. I do hope this story lives up to your expectations. It will be gripping (or at least Lucius will be…leaving fingerprints all over our witch).

Margaritama – After Snape, Lucius is the least shallow person I know in canon with his background, views, and many agendas. He’s such fun to write. And your surmises are spot on for him. It will show up more and more. Very insightful! Hermione, powerless? She feels impotent right now, but I think her middle name in this story is ‘havoc’. Is there just the tiniest niggling of attraction she’s denying? Someday, Hermione may be wearing those dragonhide boots LOL. Did you see the turkey baster pic?

Angeles – As you say, three good words to describe their initial relationship as newly marrieds: fights, passion, and regrets. Of course, I always have a happy ending – it’s the journey there that I love to write.

Tambrathegreat – Yes, these are both very strong-willed people. They will have to find their balance with each other. Neither is a quitter.

Jesse – I’m excited for you to read this story and the primal war of the sexes – as you say, a ‘clash of worlds’. Such a difference of status, politics, emotional baggage, and sexual experience.

Scary Bear Hair – Lucius certainly does talk a lot, doesn’t he? He has the gift of gab. Mr. Manipulation. But Hermione has a finely developed sense of knowing equivocation when she hears it. Lucius has his work cut out for him, becoming a husband to nearly a stranger; same for Hermione. And, um, (giggle) I agree Lucius’ thingy wouldn’t fit in the baster. (As an obscure point of punctuation, if the next paragraph starts with the same person still talking, no quotes should go at the end of the previous paragraph.)

meankitty69 – Oh dear, I don’t want to put back your recovery, but their plan will have to be unfolded after Lucius spends some time trying to figure out a way to co-exist with Hermione. And yeah, I don’t see Hermione holding out for a long time against Lucius in bed either (what kind of story would that be?)

T Stevenson – Lucius is a master of misdirection. He’d have made a good Muggle magician, except he doesn’t need to pretend to make things disappear LOL. Hermione may turn out to be different from what he expects, but perhaps what he needs. What has Snape finagled for his friend?

CoCo.M – What idea is not so ludicrous? Confused here. Glad to see you on board!

Longish chapter ahead - you might want to get a snack.


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Chapter Four


Malfoy Manor


Taken by surprise as she was led into the registry office, Hermione saw Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy waiting to stand as witnesses for the couple. Hermione blinked at the odd assembly, but was forced to accept the two men as witnesses as she hadn’t foreseen the need for them and had no one whom she wanted at this travesty of a wedding in any case.

Lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, like a row of rigid, tin soldiers, Hermione was placed next to Lucius while Draco stood on the outside by his father and Snape stood by her side. The ceremony was mercifully brief. To a man, they all skillfully avoided Hermione’s glare, even the wizened Ministry clerk officiating. Bitterly, she wondered how many marriages the officious little weasel had performed where one of the participants hadn’t been willing. It was quite apparent they all knew she wasn’t there by choice.

Lucius had obviously chosen witnesses who would ignore her reluctance to wed him; his forethought was meticulous where hers was nonexistent. She had been given no time to react to the hasty arrangements and her solicitor hadn’t held out much hope for her to avoid prison if she reneged on the contract, anyway. Some of the wizarding laws were absolutely archaic. Hermione stood quietly fuming between the men as the clerk droned the fateful words in a monotone. Draco had reached his father’s height and, flanked by the three tall men, she felt like a Lilliputian among Brobdingnagians.

The minute the short spate of legal words was recited and rings were placed upon fingers (another thing Hermione hadn’t thought of), both Snape and Draco shook hands with Lucius, quickly signed the marriage certificate, then whisked themselves out a side door as though they were in a hurry to get away. Hermione gazed after them, feeling invisible.

Probably guilty consciences, she thought sourly, although maybe it was the pungent smell of singed goat hair, which now permeated the small room. Funny that neither of them had mentioned a word about Lucius’ ruined robes. Draco did shoot her a sneer of intense dislike on his way out, which she ignored, but that was nothing new. Did he think she’d angled for this marriage? No, he’d been primed by his father about it, or he’d have said something nasty to her. It was merely his standard enmity, then. Would he be living with them? Hermione shivered; another ugly possibility.

The wedded couple signed the registry and Lucius guided his new wife out of the room to the main floo connections in the central atrium of the Ministry, sending them instantly to his home.

Wobbling on her feet from the sudden, unbalancing transport, the newly married Mrs. Malfoy realized she stood by the hearth of the main drawing room in the Malfoy mansion. She sucked in a trembling breath, trying not to shudder. She hated this room. Abhorred it. Why had he apparated them here? Didn’t this barn have another public room they could have gone to? How could she survive living here, suffering the persecuting visions that ran through her mind, let alone being manhandled by the tall, ex-Death Eater who was firmly holding her by the elbow and shooting those unwelcome sparks up her arm? Having to hold hands with him during the stock, terse marriage ceremony had made her almost faint with reaction – repugnance, she was sure.

She looked around and bit her lip to keep from whimpering her increasing fear aloud as the past became more and more real while the present faded from her consciousness. Her breath became labored as the past and her memories of unbearable pain washed over her in a tidal wave of remembrance.

Lucius stepped away from the little witch who unaccountably had lost her voice and apparently her backbone somewhere between the Ministry registry office and his home. She was actually shivering. Folding in on herself and refusing to meet his eyes hadn’t been even a remote part of her repertoire for the last three hours of this ordeal. In the waiting room her tongue had been flaying him with a flair seldom found in his contemporaries. Was she suddenly worried that he was going to jump her the minute he brought her home? Lucius mirthlessly chuckled to himself - she was going to need an ocean or two of firewhiskey down her gullet before she’d let him do that.

He might need that firewhiskey, himself. Rape had never appealed to him and this contracted marriage wasn’t headed for much more than that. He admitted, if only to himself, that he hoped she would at least try to experience him as a lover before taking a stance against him. But common sense said she was probably going to fight him every inch of the way and unfortunately there were quite a few thick, long inches of him for her to fight. Why was nothing ever easy for him? And damn that Severus for his insensitive reaction when he saw Lucius’ charred robes. The git had coughed so he could cover his smile with his hand, but his black eyes were laughing out loud. If that wasn’t enough, Draco had to lean over and whisper, “Father, you stink!”



The Senior Malfoy gestured to one of the stiffly upholstered sofas, “I assume you had dinner before going to the Ministry. Why don’t you sit for a moment while I have your room prepared for you?” He observed her dispassionately as she stood with her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the floor. Maybe the grandeur was too much for one of her lowly status to feel comfortable in. He had chosen the Grand Drawing Room hoping to overawe the little firebrand into some semblance of malleability, but he hadn’t meant to completely cow her.

All the shining marble and gold leaf topped by the glowing crystal in the goblin-made chandeliers would be enough to cow anyone – or blind them. Narcissa had gone a little overboard with the décor, but they had both been young and dazzled by ostentation and their decorating had reflected their puerile pretensions. He grinned at the thought of his ex-wife’s new accommodations, which didn’t have anything but candlelight and magic orbs. Lucius grimaced, mentally backing up. He had given her an obscenely large chunk of Galleons at the divorce so she probably had chosen to live that way – or her new mate was controlling her money. She was such a pushover. A cynical smile surfaced before a negligent shrug ended his trifling concern for his ex-wife’s new lifestyle.

Lucius frowned at the far end of the drawing room where the ceiling no longer was adorned with the fourth matching chandelier. Damn that Dobby for dropping it and shattering the priceless ornament. He couldn’t get another. Too bad the light fixture hadn’t found its mark, though. Lucius would have liked to see the last of Bellatrix and would have counted the chandelier well lost if she had died under it.

The elegant wizard looked back over his shoulder at the little witch; he didn’t know quite what to make of Hermione’s sudden submissive behavior. It was oddly not what he wished for. He castigated himself for finding any pleasure in sparring with the touchy little female, but he was rather missing her waspish tongue.

Maybe Snape was right and he hadn’t sold Lucius a load of rubbish. Was she acquiescing to their marriage already? He wanted to believe it, but thought his hope was premature. The platinum-haired wizard shrugged; he wanted to get out of his ruined robes immediately. He wasn’t presenting a very pleasing appearance to his new bride.

Lucius disapparated and the minute he was gone Hermione tried to disapparate, too. Nothing happened. She tried again with the same results, becoming increasingly frantic. Her mind began to crumble with her inability to get away from the evil room and, not knowing what else to do, she ran for the double doors that she assumed led out of the nauseating place. She slipped out of the door and ran blindly down a long hall for several paces before crumpling into a ball on the carpet runner under a tall side table, covering her head and shuddering while her mind began replaying the excruciating pain she had suffered years before.

She had hoped she’d finally put that bad experience behind her. The nightmares had faded over a year ago. Now she was certain she would have them back again. Hermione’s mind was inexorably revisiting the horrific pain of the Crucios and she mentally barricaded herself against the recollection, closing herself into a tiny, protected place deep in her mind as the Healers had taught her to do. She began slowly, gently rocking against the hall wainscoting, desperately attempting to block that hellish room from her mind.

Lucius returned to the drawing room minutes later sans robes and tie, wearing only a lounging robe over his shirt and trousers to find – nothing. The echoing room was empty. The little witch was gone. Damned, rotten little actress, he fumed, pretending she was submissive in her new accommodations. Now he would have to track her down. It was good he’d foreseen she might try to escape and had warded against her disapparating anywhere off the estate. Stupid little girl! He wasn’t going to eat her. Well, maybe later on, he grinned, his frown chased away by the lascivious thought. After feeding her those firewhiskeys. Horny trumped hate in his book.

He searched the room eyeing all the corners from where he stood. She’d been here once before. It shouldn’t have been that overwhelm…ing…to… Suddenly Lucius’ icy gray eyes widened in alarm. Galloping Guinevere on a Grindylow, what had he done? He looked around at the large, ornately decorated room, finally seeing it through her eyes. She’d been here before, all right. She’d even mentioned it at the Ministry. She had probably run as far away from here as she was able. If she hadn’t hated him before, she probably did now.

He hadn’t meant to punish her by bringing back her memories of that awful time. They had been awful for him, too, although he knew she would never believe that. He had designed an entirely new dining room in a different wing because his own terrors had caused him to completely raze the formal dining room where Voldemort had presided at his ‘meetings’. The space was now a cleansing conservatory. Crazed, cunning Bella hadn’t done the torturing merely to gain information. She’d delighted in the screams of her victims. Yes, he was extremely glad his lunatic ex-sister-in-law was dead.

Now he had a runaway witch wife to find and he had no idea where to look. This was his fault, he acknowledged. His general level of distraction with the entire proceedings had kept him from the understanding he should have shown. Mudblood or not, she was now his wife. Her fears and hopes, her desires, and especially her cooperation were now paramount to the success of this experiment and the ultimate safety of his family’s wealth.

Lucius called for a house elf. Three minutes later he was squatting down beside a traumatized, shrinking young woman who didn’t even acknowledge his whispered, “Hermione? Can you hear me?” He gently pulled her unresisting body from under the side table.

St. Arthur’s arse, he mourned. She’s like so many Bella tortured. He knew Hermione had retreated to a safe place in her mind for now. A brief attempt at legilimency showed him nothing but a blank wall. The fact that she had been so vibrantly alive just moments ago at the Ministry was a good sign, but Lucius knew her recovery now would take time – hours, if not days. Lucius tried not to worry that it could be longer than that. He had royally messed up, not remembering her association with the room where she had suffered untold pain.

Lucius picked up the small woman in his arms and apparated her to a room different than the one he had initially selected. The first selected room was grandiose and echoed some of the look of the drawing room. The room he apparated her to was simpler, softer, and more casual. In daylight it offered a sunny view of the back garden and was done in soothing white walls, light cherry wood furniture and light green accents which he quickly adjusted to rose hoping the closer association with Gryffindor colors would be pleasant for her. The other main feature of the room was its proximity to his own. This sitting room and attached bedroom connected to his suite through a private door between their respective sitting rooms.

Lucius sat down on one of the overstuffed cozy chairs in her new sitting room and just held her on his lap as she kept her body curled into a ball and rocked herself. At first he was quiet, dozing some as he let her comfort herself, but after almost an hour, when he felt her relax minutely, he began crooning in nonsense words, dredging them up from years ago when he had rocked a very young Draco to sleep. The words were a litany of spells with funny names that slipped off the tongue and when said together formed an unusual but effective lullaby.

The third time through the odd lullaby, Lucius felt slim arms slide up his chest and cling tenaciously around his neck. Hermione buried her face under his chin, now breathing a little more easily and he took over the gentle rocking until he realized from her limp, relaxed body that she had fallen asleep in his arms.

Should he tuck her into the bed in her new rooms? Would she wake up alone and be frightened? Should he bring her into his bedroom instead? If she woke up and found herself in bed with him, that might be even more traumatic.

Lucius compromised and had the elves settle a small second trundle bed in his room and he carried her through, tucking her into it, clothes and all, minus shoes. He reluctantly changed into a pair of pajamas given to him as a gift, settling into his own bed. He didn’t want her waking up to find him wearing his normal sleepwear – nothing.

Lucius lay back on his pillow and worried. He would have to explain to the young woman his other reasons for backing her into the union and soon. A few weeks or so leeway to soften her up for his and Snape’s agenda was probably all he had. He sincerely hoped she was altruistic enough to see the problem and help him. Otherwise, goodbye marital sex and goodbye children. Then he may as well enroll in a Seniors’ Mah Jong Club because he’d be left with a lot of time on his hands and nothing else to do with his fingers but turn tiles when he wasn’t wanking himself off. He had been pretty much lying when he’d told her he would stray. He was many unlovely things, but unfaithful wasn’t one of them – Voldemort’s oppressive regime aside.

He had married Hermione with the expectation that he was now monogamous. It was the way of his society even though he was something of an outcast at the moment. Frankly, the idea of having sex in his own home with his own wife warmed him from the inside out, Mudblood or no. If this marriage did what both he and Snape hoped, he certainly wouldn’t mind being married to one of the most outstandingly intelligent witches to come along in years – except for her unbelievable stupidity with the open-ended marriage contract. She wouldn’t be making any more of those mistakes with him as her husband.



He didn’t think Hermione would really have chosen prison over marriage to him, but the doubt dragged at his mind. Aside from the stigma of everyone knowing she had gone to Azkaban rather than marry him, he would still be lonely and it would be even more difficult to find a good mate. Such a disdainful defection by a Mudblood would make him a pariah, money or no. What Pureblood witch in his social circle would want to take a Mudblood’s leavings?

Also, if they didn’t manage to tolerate each other in bed, he didn’t know quite how he felt about losing the possibility of more children. Given time he could possibly have found another witch to marry and have more children – maybe even a Pureblood; his own ingrained bias would prefer that. But several things held him back.



In the three years he’d been a bachelor, not a single Pureblood witch of childbearing age had appealed to him. All of them were just like Narcissa – gracefully obedient to the point of nausea. He’d had that for more than twenty years and he knew he wouldn’t put himself in that position again. They were willing to let a husband control their very breathing if he chose. They were also very conscious of his wealth. It was one of his main attractions for that set. Money did have its downside, not that Lucius would contemplate being poor for a minute.

Also, it was common knowledge he and Narcissa had jumped sides right at the end of the war and several old Pureblood families with sons or fathers or uncles incarcerated in Azkaban because they had followed Voldemort were now shunning the Malfoys.

None of their females had fought in the final battle except crazy Bellatrix and the disgusting Alecto. The fashionable, Pureblood females were too subservient to have protected themselves in any conflict and would have been mowed down where they stood shivering in their Jimmy Choos. Fashion transcended all cultural barriers to those hypocritical bitches, especially as the shoe elves had never quite mastered the necessity for the unending parade of high fashion styles demanded by the haughty Pureblood witches.

Many also wondered at Lucius’ ability to stay on whatever side gained him the most freedom and prestige. While Voldemort had been gone for those thirteen years, Lucius had prospered, protesting he had been Imperiused. His bank account was still high for the moment but his credit with his stratum of society was now low.

His being a divorced man hadn’t been much of a drawing card either; parents of young daughters were reluctant to allow them to be the next Mrs. Malfoy. He was immensely wealthy, but he wasn’t in the first flush of youth and that limited the possibilities some more – not much more as Lucius was considered an extremely handsome man, but a few of the youngest witches stalled at his age.

All in all, given his recent increasingly precarious financial circumstances and his own apathy at the spineless, sheltered creatures of his circle, he had decided that marriage to Hermione Granger had more benefits than drawbacks.

The fear that he would grow older with no one for companionship and have only potential grandchildren to look forward to in a lonely old age spurred him; he was also somewhat perturbed about his masculine power to attract and his virility after being so potently skewered by his new wife. Hermione had unerringly found a true weak spot in his ego.

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That night both Hermione and Lucius had nightmares.

Lucius was tossing on his bed, moaning in his sleep, seeing the giant wand of time aimed at his privates, turning his dick into a chocolate broomstick. Lucius was awakened by a piercing scream and he sat straight up in bed, jerked out of his nightmare vision of a chocolate broomstick melting to nothing between his legs.

Hermione was gasping with imaginary pain, twisting on her small bed, trying to evade the Unforgivable in her mind. Suddenly she felt cool hands settle on her cheeks and heard that same soothing voice she remembered crooning to her that she was safe now. That deep, smooth, comforting voice kept giving her reassurances that it was over, she was safe, safe, safe… Hermione clung to the arms lifting her, not awake but knowing those arms would help her survive the terror in her mind. As she was brought close to a solid body, she clutched it and burrowed her face into the soothing warmth.

Lucius didn’t know what else to do with her gripping him so fiercely, so he settled her in bed with him and let her wiggle under him until she relaxed and fell into a more normal slumber. She never let go of his torso and he had to find some position where he could go back to sleep without hurting her. He tucked her more firmly against him with her face in his chest and curled his body around her. He wanted her sane and functioning, not living in some horrific past.

Her presence was having a soporific effect on him too, and he smiled. Maybe he didn’t have to worry about melted chocolate broomsticks. Maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about drowning her in firewhiskey, either. His broomstick was currently feeling pretty frisky and definitely not melted. Lucius fell asleep easily.

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Hermione slowly woke to a furnace-like warmth that was very pleasing to her small body. She nuzzled her face into the warm comfort and felt it rise against her cheek. What was that? The sheet was moving? She opened one eye and saw she was looking at a virulent pattern of green snakes on a black background of some silky material. The material moved again, rising and falling. As her sleep-drugged mind came more awake she realized she was cuddled in something warm nearly surrounding her. Seconds later she came to full alert. What was twitching under her hand? Her fingers automatically closed around the warm, hard, thick… Hermione pushed out from the warm cocoon and saw the blond wizard was her blanket. And she’d been fondling his… Holy Hecate!

Hermione’s heartbeats escalated to doubletime and her brain scrambled. Why was she in bed with him? What had happened? She looked up into his face and saw he was still asleep. Her heartbeat slowed down to manageable proportions again as she assessed where she was and tried to work out what to do.

It was very lucky he hadn’t woken up to her touching that personal part of him – that very large, personal part. That part was supposed to fit into her? Her heartbeats sped up again in agitation. The man was a whole head and shoulders taller than she was, but did he have to be so much bigger everywhere? Perhaps if she explained the size difference to the Ministry they would relent and nullify the marriage. A few seconds cogitation on the memory of their sour faces and she knew that defense wouldn’t help. If anything they would probably gloat. Prurient, old farts.

She must have been touching his morning erection and it was responding to her while its owner slept. He would never know. Even now he was breathing deeply, and his eyes were rolling under his eyelids in rapid eye movements. He was dreaming. So that was okay. But why was she in bed with him? Vaguely, as in a fog, she remembered some crooning and rocking, but otherwise, after she had run from the hated room, she didn’t remember much. She knew it was his arms holding her, though.

It had always been the same way when she mentally disappeared into her waking nightmare, reliving the torture she’d been put through in that room. Retreating behind her protective mental barrier as the healers had taught her caused most of her memories of the painful recollection to fade, but her memories of what went on while she was shielding her mind also faded somewhat.

Hermione checked herself for any sign that she had… that they had…. She considered for a moment and decided that if she and Lucius had consummated their marriage, she would undoubtedly be sore from that personal part of his. She hadn’t been joking when she had asked him to Stupefy her, but now that idea took on a new urgency.

Hermione gently slid away from her sleeping… uh, her husband? Was she now a wife even if they hadn’t done anything? Probably. How odd that felt, to be a wife - and to be his wife was even stranger. Hopping off the mattress the little witch stood up on the opposite side of the bed from the sleeping wizard and realized she was wearing all her clothes. The rush of relief nearly made her dizzy. If she was wearing all her clothing they must not have done anything.

Hermione looked around the room absently, her eyes wandering over the various furnishings; the drapes and various cushioned chairs were done in a dark green with deep red accents. The furniture itself looked to be a dark oak and the plank flooring had several Persian carpets gracing the dark wood. The walls were painted in an eggshell ivory. A few pictures of obvious, blond Malfoy relatives including Draco sat on a bureau. A landscape of some medieval fortress in a valley graced one wall. The small, metal tag under the painting said ‘Malfoy Castle’.

Looking back at the sleeping man, she frowned, her forehead furrowed in puzzlement at the size of the bed she had just left. She would have expected such a wealthy wizard to have a bed at least half an acre in size. But it was no more than a comfortable, roomy size for two. Cozy. Odd, but then what did she know about Purebloods and their rich lives?

All in all, Hermione approved of the décor. It was masculine and rather somber but very appealing in its way. Then she saw the small bed by the wall. Was that for her? Was the other bed only for Lucius? If so, why had she found herself snugly ensconced under Lucius in his bed? Did he expect her to use that small bed or sleep with him?

All the questions were starting to give her a headache and she was very hungry. She didn’t know anywhere to go in the mansion, if that was where she still was, and she had no idea how to get any food for herself. Her ‘husband’ was still soundly sleeping and she was hungry!

Hermione strode over to the other side of the bed and carefully pushed one of Lucius’ arms, trying to gently wake him so he could feed her. She was stuck in this house with him and the least he could do was get her some breakfast. The blond wizard snorted and rolled over onto his stomach, but he didn’t wake up. She pouted. That was all she needed – a husband whom one couldn’t wake with a bludger.

And his choice of pajamas was enough to send one screaming into a dragon’s den. Maybe Lucius was colorblind and had to wear black to coordinate his clothing. But why was he so beautifully dressed during the day, yet had such execrable taste in sleepwear? If she spent any time in the bedchamber with him, those pajamas would have to go or she would need sunglasses. They were nearly fluorescent. Were the snakes actually writhing or was it a nauseating optical illusion? Ugh.

Hermione tried again to wake her male sleeping beauty. “Mr. Malfoy…uh, Lucius,” she pushed harder, this time on his shoulder, shaking him a little. A grunt and a slurred “lemmealone”, was all she got for her pains. When she pushed again she had to step back smartly to avoid a wildly flailing hand aimed at slapping the annoyance away, but still he slept on. Now Hermione had her dander up and she hauled off and smacked him in the head.

“Wha…? Who…?” Lucius groaned and turned over, looking up into the irritated brown eyes of -- oh, shite, he was married. And the virago had returned. Lucius tamped down his first reaction of retaliating with the back of his hand and instead gathered his wits enough to ask, “Why did you hit me? Couldn’t you have been a little more gentle?” He sat up and rubbed the back of his head where she had clobbered him, his pale eyes flashing with ire.

“I tried several times to gently wake you. You sleep as soundly as a Basilisk victim. If there is a better way to get you up, tell me. Otherwise, I guess your head is going to be sore every morning.”

“So why did you wake me up? Just to tell me I sleep soundly?” Lucius groused, sifting his fingers through his unkempt locks to make the tresses fall straight again. His fingers got caught in a snarl and he carefully picked the tangle apart, trying to see it as he worked. His eyes went a little crossed focusing on the knot that was too close to see.

Hermione sniggered at the wizard’s vain preoccupation with his admittedly beautiful, shiny hair. Then she raised a hand to her own curls and hissed in dismay. It felt like she was wearing a sheep on her head. “Where is the bathroom?” she wailed.

“Dammit, you could have just tried a couple of the doors if that was all you wanted. You didn’t have to hit me.” Lucius negligently flicked his hand toward one of the doors.

“I didn’t want the bathroom. Oh, well, now I do, but originally I wanted breakfast. I missed dinner and I’m famished. I’ll be right back.” Hermione scuttled through the door into a sumptuous bathroom that she only noticed peripherally as she shot straight for the mirror above the sinks. “Gahh,” she groaned.

Her hair stood out in bushy spikes all over her head. Hastily she searched drawers until she found a comb and used it ruthlessly to attack her unruly locks with a vengeance; finally she managed to tame them into a semblance of order that met with her approval. That done, Hermione used the loo and returned to the bedroom to find her new mate had gone back to sleep and was lightly snoring with his head now protected under a pillow.

And this is the elegant Lucius Malfoy, Hermione clucked, her eyes assaulted once more by the acidic green and black pajamas. If she were ever intimidated again by him, all she had to do was remember his execrable taste in nightwear. It was even better than removing her fear by imagining him naked.

Hermione drew herself up short. Thinking about this handsome man naked wasn’t going to make her feel less intimidated. Horny, maybe, but still definitely intimidated. Hermione shook her head to dispel the sudden mental picture of what had overfilled her hand and took herself to task. Breakfast first. Dealing with a new husband whose physical assets were going to be a distinct liability to her diminutive size could come later.

tbc...

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