The Wedding - COMPLETE

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Updated 1-27-07

It's so nice when everyone likes lemon pie. (evil grin) I so much appreciate your reviews. I'm writing like a fiend so I hope no one wanders away... Liquidvamp - I do hope your husband survived his accosting with a smile on his face. For those who vote for a pregnant Hermione - well, I'll put the idea on my list of possibilities (another evil grin). To answer a few questions: My native language is English (American English) and I WISH I were fluent in two languages. I took German in school and the word verboten is kinda universal to me. This story is going to be loooong. I can't do character studies in a few chapters and that's what I like to write best. And I don't think Hermione is ever going to learn to keep her mouth shut - much to Lucius' delight. (evil grin - part three)

So on with the show!
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Chapter Five


Memories


Hermione left Lucius’ bed early the next morning before he awakened, extricating herself delicately from his arms. He was so heavily asleep he never moved.


Lucius slowly surfaced from his healing sleep an hour later and stretched and yawned, lifting the sculpted muscles of his arms above his head and sliding his fingers through his tousled platinum blond hair, registering a bone-deep satisfaction and satiation, as well as numerous little muscle aches and pains. The pain was satisfying in its way too, as he remembered the night before, making his wife come twice. He loved those screams. He was disappointed, though, to find she had left his bed, apparently sometime during the night.


The dark wizard got up and strolled naked into the loo, seeing with some surprise that the head of his cock was slightly red and feeling just a bit tender from vigorous use. That would be changed at the first opportunity, Lucius vowed. He felt a twinge in his backside and twisted his slim waist to see his bum in the mirror over the black marble sink. He laughed aloud to see numerous little red half moons decorating his butt muscles, most of them sporting dried blood. His tiny witch wife was going to be a tigress in bed. He could hardly wait. But his aching body told him it had to wait for a day or two. The laughter felt odd to him; he realized he didn’t do it a lot. Was his life so hollow? Lucius frowned and set aside the negative thought, pulling out the counter drawer to look for some antibiotic cream for his derriere.


At breakfast in the sunny morning room, Hermione sat gingerly, even after soaking in her bathtub. She was still sore between her legs, but she was absolutely reveling in it, trying to restrain a grin that threatened to escape anew each time she remembered her intimate relations with her handsome husband. She didn’t want Lucius to think she was getting addicted to him or anything, but it was already coming uncomfortably close to that. She had stuffed her little red robe under her pillow to keep his scent nearby; it acted on her in the most unusual way – rather like an aphrodiasiac. It was most unsettling, but she didn’t have the strength to put it away in the closet. He would never know. Her curiosity was working overtime wondering what other delights he could produce for her. She stared blindly out the window completely missing the new crop of roses down below in the garden as she drifted into a fantasy of Lucius begging for her favors. When Lucius finally appeared she found it necessary to keep her teacup close to her mouth, efficiently covering up her grin.


Lucius came late to the breakfast table with a suspiciously bland expression, apologizing for oversleeping, but after he sat down he merely opened the Daily Prophet to the sports page and started reading the latest scores. He wasn’t much of a morning person but today he was actually hiding behind the paper because he couldn’t stop smiling, remembering the night before. He finally mastered his facial expression after reading the same section twice, and dared a question to his wife. “Hermione, do you ever attend professional Quidditch matches?”


Hermione was caught with her mind in his trousers and it took a second or two to regroup. “Uh, actually no I don’t. Why?”


“I used to attend the local ones all the time and I wondered if you would be willing to accompany me so I can go to one?” Lucius rattled the pages of his Daily Prophet, refolding the paper to the financial section.


Hermione shrugged, “I used to watch the matches at school, but I haven’t seen any in a long time. It might be nice to go to one. Did you have one in mind?”


“I thought maybe the game tomorrow night – the Bristol Bombers against the Manchester Marauders. I used to attend all of Draco’s matches. I played, too, when I was at Hogwarts. If my father would have allowed it, I might have been able to play professionally. I had a couple of offers. But he required me to learn the family’s finances so I was never able to follow that path.” First he had been his father’s pet moneymaker, now he was Weasley’s. Lucius shrugged off the gloomy thought. “But I do enjoy going to games when I get the chance.”


“It sounds like fun.” Hermione set her rose-painted, porcelain teacup back in its saucer and looked at him, chuckling, “Somehow, I can’t see you flying on a broomstick, though, your hair flying all over as you went after the snitch. Of course you were the Seeker?”


Lucius smiled, “Of course. And I always tied my hair back for the games. I was happy then, when I was up in the air competing.” He stopped talking, seeing something in his mind’s eye that brought a glow to his face.


Hermione was quiet, respecting his reverie. He’d made it sound like that had been the last time he’d been happy. Hermione thought for the dozenth time in two days that he was a very complex and confusing man, but oh, so lickable. That was next on her private agenda.


Lucius surfaced from his fond memories, and she saw his eyes slowly fade from warm foggy gray to ice as he contemplated his wife, “I won’t be able to get tickets for us, I’m afraid. You’ll have to do that.”


Hermione was on the point of asking why, as she wouldn’t know the first thing about buying the tickets or what seats to get, when a chill went through her and she knew why. She looked at Lucius’ closed expression and quietly said, “I am so sorry, Lucius. I have been remiss again, I see. I apologize. I’ve caged you in more ways than I knew. Stupidly, I just didn’t think.”


Lucius looked back impassively, his eyes the only part of him showing any emotion and it was now a deep wariness, like the forgotten human animal he’d been reminded he was. He had tacitly refused from the first to ever ask her for any money for his needs - his own money that had been given over solely to her.


But she hadn’t noticed that she had left him completely without funds. The Ministry had taken away everything from him, his money, his home, and worst of all, his pride. It leaped out at her now that Lucius would never, could never have asked for money from her. Hermione was learning a painful lesson in being the victor in a war. The vanquished were still human, still had feelings, and had to be treated at least with a modicum of respect, no matter how one felt about their deeds. And to be completely oblivious of him beyond his animal magnetism, robbing him of all dignity was criminal. She was guilty of inflicting a great deal of unintended emotional suffering on her captive husband who had gone from millionaire to pauper by her heedlessness.


And she wasn’t out of the woods yet. How could she give him access to some funds without it seeming to be her generous largesse? She knew he saw the problem as clearly as she did. Hermione cringed at her insensitivity – obviously he’d been aware of it for the entire three months. “Lucius, help me. I never wanted to make you suffer. Please tell me what to do for you now. I’m so sorry,” she said again, putting down her teacup and reaching a pleading hand across the table toward her husband.


Lucius had been enjoying his reminiscences of his schoolboy days on the Quidditch field when he had come slap up against his captivity. And humiliation. “Perhaps you can pay me for the sex – if you think I’m good enough.” Lucius lashed out in defense, offering a travesty of a smile, his eyes frosty.


Hermione gasped, and her brown eyes filled with guilt and tears. She jumped up from the table, and ran from the room.


Lucius regretted his outburst, but he was not going to back down from his scornful words. She deserved that and more for making him feel so worthless, so helpless, knowing he hadn’t even been spared a thought for three months. So he guessed he wouldn’t be attending any Quidditch matches in the near future. And it was likely he’d have to get reacquainted with his hand as well. Lucius glumly walked down the halls of her mansion, up the marble stairs to the next floor and into his study to start his compulsory work for the Ministry. He didn’t see or hear from Hermione for the rest of the day and ate a solitary dinner in his study. He went to bed in a black mood only to lie awake staring at the ceiling for hours, tortured by the remnant of her hypnotic essence on his sheets. Mercifully, exhaustion finally claimed him as the moonlight climbed over the far side of his wall and faded with the edge of daylight.

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So, a twist in the road. Thanks again for the wonderful reviews. I would absolutely love to hear from a few lurkers also. The first time is the worst, honest! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Must retreat to my computer now. My muse is calling.