5

Written for my lovely friend, Dynonugget. Rawr!!!!

"Ms. Granger," my voice contains a bit of a rasp, but is still functioning, "has Severus Snape survived the war?"

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Ms. Granger jerks out of my grasp, and stands. I seem to have touched upon a nerve.

"Yes, Severus is alive. Why are you asking?" She is agitated, but why, I cannot ascertain. Our kiss, perhaps? Her eyes do not meet mine, and for now, I am too shaken by my own reaction to the kiss to press the issue.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to steady myself. "Ms. Granger, please sit down, it would appear we have much to discuss."

I wait until she returns to her seat. She twists and takes hold of some foreign device that is set on a side table. She speaks into the strange-looking handle and within moments, a tray of tea and scones appear on the low table in front of us. It must be some Muggle contraption. I am appalled that such a thing has found its way into what is supposedly my flat. Ms. Granger's idea, I surmise.

I push the thought back; I've no time for trivialities this morning.

"Ms. Granger, I've recently informed you that I've lost several years of my life. This morning, you appeared in my study as if this is an everyday, common occurrence. There are a million questions pounding my brain at this very moment, but I am attempting to maintain some semblance of rationality. Severus Snape is, has been, my closest of friends; so unless you are prepared to tell me that he and I have had some monumental Wizarding duel and are now mortal enemies, please do not act as if my inquiring after his welfare is some far-fetched notion."

With what appears to be a longstanding habit, she pours two cups of steaming liquid; that she prepares it exactly as I like is taken in stride. I have vowed to no longer be caught unawares by the foreign circumstances occurring around me. It is uncomfortable, yet comforting to see her pour my tea, and it is that contradiction that unsettles me.

"I apologize, Lucius. I was caught a bit off-guard." She composes herself, and the moment for me to inquire as to the cause of her distress passes.

As she settles back on the sofa, I begin asking her my most pressing questions.

Four hours later, I am mentally exhausted.

The sheer amount of information that has been laid before me is daunting. Ms. Granger began cataloging, in chronological order, all that has happened since my last memory. While there are many blank areas, I am able to piece together most of my life, as if reading a newspaper article or viewing one of those photo albums of which Narcissa is so fond.

I learn I have been acquitted of all charges relating to my activities as a Death Eater, as it had been made known that I was a Dumbledore sympathizer, passing information through Severus Snape. That they believed me a fan of the old man is laughable; but it appears people are willing to believe anything.

It was strongly suggested that, because I had been acquitted, I should set an example to the rest of the Wizard business world and liquidate some of my assets in Magical companies and invest in those Muggle businesses that service not only the Muggle population but the Wizarding one as well. The war, it seems, opened the floodgate for Muggle-borns to infiltrate our society and introduce 'modern conveniences' into wizard homes. Was I as disgusted then as I am now? I ponder briefly.

Ms. Granger informs me that was when we began our association. She apparently has taken a position within the new Ministry as some sort of Muggle liaison, to help facilitate the assimilation of those Muggle-borns into Wizarding society, and for those daring wizards adventurous enough to brave the waters in the Muggle world.

Not for a moment do I believe her preposterous rhetoric. While I can not deny she is no longer the bushy-haired, long-toothed, annoying chit she was at Hogwarts, She has grown up nicely, I'll admit, she is still idealistic in the extreme. If all she says is true, and currently, my instincts are content, I fail to see how she can possibly retain that idealistic quality and still navigate in the business world. More likely, a backroom deal was struck whereby I would liquidate some of my more visible assets, make nice with the new Ministry, then quietly re-emerge in Wizarding society after a few years, stronger than ever.

Remembering my wife's guest list, I ask Ms. Granger if I have a study in this flat.

"Penthouse," she corrects me softly, but stands and leads me to a study quite similar to my own at the Manor.

Crossing to my desk, I quickly scrawl the names of those on Narcissa's guest list from Friday evening. She snatches the parchment before the ink is dried, her eyebrows shooting up as she scans the list.

"Well, this was her most... ambitious dinner party to date," as she flings the paper back onto the desk.

"Explain."

Ms. Granger sighs as she takes the chair opposite my desk. She crosses her lovely long legs but squares her shoulders, as if preparing for a confrontation. I am both amused and curious at her posture. Surely the guest list was nothing she had control over.

"Mrs. Malfoy has been, for the past two years, cultivating friendships and liaisons with certain members of the Ministry, particularly those Muggle-borns wizards who have been newly elected to office. She has also been cozying up to Muggle businessmen whose young sons and daughters are or have been recent students at Hogwarts.

"Until now," she continues, nodding to the discarded list on the desk, "she had limited her sights on lower ranking officials and less-than-brilliant businessmen to promote her own agendas. It would appear with the newest additions to her guest list, she has advanced on to the major players."

"I do not recognize those names; they must have risen to a level of power or prominence in that past few years. Do I not have any interaction with them? Why did I refuse to attend my wife's dinner party, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione looks away, uncrosses her legs and walks to the window. She stands there, arms crossed as if to ward off a chill. She looks lonely, I think, and give myself a mental shake. Why should I care how she feels, I remind myself briskly. She is only a Muggle-born.

Still, I do not like the picture she makes. Before I can speak, however, she does, in a soft, low voice that could only be discernable in a quiet room such as this.

"We were to be in Dublin for a week. The buyout of CelticMicro by Malfoy Industries, while not a secret, was mainly kept under wraps for fear some of the minority stockholders would attempt to block the sale.

"Incidentally," she turns and points to the regenerated guest list once more, "three of the guests at Malfoy Manor on Friday are stockholders in CelticMicro. Narcissa, I believe, is attempting to undermine your newest acquisition."

And a few more pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

I stand and stretch. I catch a glimpse of interest in her eye as she quietly studies me. Interesting.

I join her at the window. My arms snake around her, drawing her backwards into my chest. She wraps her arms around mine and leans her head on my shoulder. My instincts are spot on, as usual. She fits perfectly in my arms. How easy it is to hold her. We stand this way for long moments, and I feel my life being re-written, moment-by-moment. She is comfortable in my arms. She has spent time with me, here in this flat, in the past.

"Why did you react as you did when I showed you the piece of parchment?" She clearly isn't expecting my question, for she pulls away and walks over to the fireplace to magically light the kindling laid out. She stands with her back to me.

I follow her slowly, giving myself time to acclimate myself to this newfound fascination for Ms. Granger.

"After Draco was almost kidnapped last year, you handed me a package and requested I safeguard it. You didn't explain further, and I didn't ask." She continues to stand before the fire, while I observe her, once again, from behind my desk. "I suppose I just reacted to what I thought was a dangerous situation. This penthouse is extremely secure; there is no one to... overhear us."

She thought this flat, MY flat, was safe for her. She meant to save me, as well. That thought circles my brain in a dizzying pattern.

"Do you think these incidents are related?" I am frustrated, not knowing how all the puzzle pieces fit together.

"Perhaps, but then, maybe not. You've made enemies in both worlds, Lucius. I can begin discreet inquiries tomorrow."

She notices the time on the mantle clock and lets out a surprised gasp. She immediately begins gathering up her belongings and makes her way, not to the Floo, but to what I presume is the flat's foyer and front door.

"I've a meeting with the Minister in a half-hour, Lucius. And I've made... plans for this evening." She says the last almost apologetically, as if confessing to some misdemeanor, and I am intrigued.

"Two quick questions before you leave, Ms. Granger. Do I live in this... penthouse, and do you still have possession of my package?"

Indefinable emotions chase each other across her face, but she clears her throat and answers. "Yes, for the most part, you live here. And no, I do not have your package. I passed it off to... Severus, for safekeeping. The Floo in your study is open to his. He is to return tomorrow."

With those parting words, she jerked open the front door and strode the twenty feet or so to the door of the lift. Instead of pressing the button, she turns on her heel and Disapparates.

Tomorrow. As eager as I am to Floo Severus now, to assure myself that he is safe and well, I will curb my curiosity and use my time more efficiently. I will explore the penthouse.

Later, after discovering the many secrets the flat holds, including hidden rooms and some interesting charms in certain rooms, and feasting on an exquisite dinner from The Fat Duck, Heston Blumenthal being an exceptional wizard in the kitchen, I relaxed in the library, amazed to find many of my favorite tomes. The evening passes pleasurably, and, after a Scotch, I make my way down the short hall to the Master Bedroom.

I wake suddenly, as if some noise has penetrated my unconsciousness. I raise myself on my elbows, trying to pinpoint its source. My bedroom door opens slowly; my wand is in my hand. Ms. Granger, Hermione, is standing there, backlit by the muted light from the short hallway. Her hair is loose and falling about her shoulders. I cannot discern what she is wearing, but it is soft and clinging.

She doesn't speak as she walks into the room and comes to a stop at the foot of the massive four-poster bed that dominates my bedroom. With a flick of her wrist, the door closes softly and candles are lit along the perimeter of the room. I see her now; she is wearing a negligee that clings to her softly rounded curves. It is made of sheer silk and is the color of the finest champagne. The color highlights the richness of her curls and the glow of her skin. She looks petal soft, and I am eager to let my fingers roam free.

She gracefully climbs onto the bed, stretching her body like a cat stalking its prey, stopping when she is above me. Her hair falls and creates a curtain about our faces. I cannot see her cinnamon eyes as she lowers her head. I lift my own off the pillow to welcome her mouth with mine. She tastes better than I remembered from this morning. Determined not to rush the interlude, I raise my hands to hold her, settling them gently on her hips while my thumbs caress the softly jutting bones.

Her tongue skims over mine teasingly, inviting me to join in her erotic dance. Her hand finds my face, tracing my jaw lightly as it makes its way to my ear, and then tangling in my hair. I let her set the pace of the kiss, but I feel every ounce of control she is exerting in holding herself up and away from my body.

In response, I pull her body so that she is lying on top of me. One arm wraps around her as the other cups the back of her head, moving her as I wish to deepen the kiss.

My cock is hard and hot as it presses into her soft body. I roll, taking her with me until she is lying beneath me in the middle of my bed. Her lips are pink and slightly swollen. She pants softly and her eyes are shining brightly. I bend to kiss those lips again, and then trail across her cheek to gently outline the shell of her ear with my tongue. I lick and nip my way down her neck, and she arches her head back, allowing me access.

Hermione's hands are roaming my naked back before sliding under my black silk drawstring pants. She squeezes my arse in her hands, pulling me closer, making my cock rock against her mound. I lift my body slightly, not wanting to end this interlude too quickly. My mouth finds her breast beneath the silk sheath, and with one finger trailing along her heated skin, I lower the shoulder strap until it is bare. Her pink nipple is rigid, waiting for my mouth to latch onto it. I grab a handful of her breast and bring it to my mouth so that I may draw on the nub deeply. She gasps and begins thrusting her pelvis upwards, determined to rut.

I shift to my side, letting my hand run up the length of her leg, gathering the negligee as I go. Soon, she is bare to my gaze. She parts her legs wantonly, and I am eager to explore her delicate flesh with my hands and mouth. I position myself between her lovely white thighs, my thumbs stroking her delicate pussy before pulling her open to expose her pert little clit. I lower my head and taste her. Her hips jerk, almost throwing me off. I lift myself higher, my shoulders spreading her legs wider. My hands clamp down on her hips so she is immobile.

I feast on her tender flesh, reveling in each quiver and shaky exhalation of Hermione's breath. Until now, she has been quiet except for her little gasps and moans, but now, as I lick and suck on her pussy, she chants my name interspersed with obscenities.

"Fuck. Lucius. Fuck. Fuck. Lick. Yes, there. THERE! Lick. Harder. HARDER! Yes. Lucius. Like that. More. Fuck me with your tongue. YES! Shove your finger in me. FUCK! Yes. Yes. More. MORE! Another finger. Fuck me hard. Fill me up. Don't stop sucking. More. Fuck. LUCIUS!"

She tries to fuck my face with her pussy. As if my painfully hard cock is buried deep inside her hot, wet walls. I can wait no more. I release her hips and push my pants past my hips and down my thighs. With one sharp thrust, I am buried to the hilt. My breath catches in the back of my throat. She is so hot, so tight, and I am too far gone to take my time. I snap my hips sharply while continuing to brush her clit with the pad of my thumb until she screams my name. I set a reckless tempo, beating mercilessly. The wet sucking sound of my cock being swallowed by her gorgeous cunt echoes softly about the room. I am slick with sweat. My hair clings to my forehead and the back of my neck. I grab the back of her knees, lifting her legs to my shoulders. I fall forward, bending Hermione in half and drive deeper. She is screaming incoherently then begins to shake violently and showers my abdomen with her juices. I scream her name as I burst inside her convulsing pussy.

I wake up. My hand is wrapped around my still-pulsing cock, and my belly is covered with hot semen; my pants are somewhere around my knees. I lie panting; not quite believing Hermione was just a dream. A delicious dream. I milk my cock slowly, savoring each shudder, every twitch in my stomach. Eventually I drop my deflating cock and bring my hand to my mouth to taste, imagining Hermione's sweet tongue. She was perfection in my arms; I can still feel her soft, small hands on my over-sensitized skin, her lush breasts against my cheek.

Sighing with disgust over my foolish fantasies, I turn to check the time on the bedside clock. Four a.m. It is early, but not horribly so. I throw back the sticky covers, vanish my pants and walk naked into the bathroom, intent on a hot shower and another wank.

Today, I shall visit Severus and retrieve my journals. I intend to ask him about Hermione's reaction every time she hears his name. And why she is so welcoming of my advances.

We shall see, I murmur to myself as I step into the steaming shower stall. We shall see.

A very big thank-you to my fantastic betas, Wildcatcdc and Sc010f!