Chapter 20

When Hermione woke up, it was to a most welcome feeling.

A warm, hard body was pressed against her back, and she knew, both from the wideness of his form and from some innate, instinctual knowledge that it was Lucius.

He'd never been in her bed before. Hermione decided she quite liked it and would do whatever was in her power to make sure he returned on a regular basis.

Rolling her shoulders in lieu of a stretch, which would dislodge Lucius' hold on her and that was something she absolutely did not want, Hermione slowly turned in his arms.

He was wearing only black slacks, and when she looked down under the covers, she saw even his feet were bare. It was strange, she mused, as she considered his long, pale, perfectly arched and pedicured feet, seeing a man of Lucius' magnificent power, barefoot. It meant something. It meant he was willing to be weak with her, to be off guard. He wanted her to see that he could be vulnerable, that he trusted her with his flaws and his foibles.

Or, she mentally amended, it could be that he was much too polite to put his shoes beneath her covers. But Hermione rather liked the first option better.

In sleep, Lucius was a kitten. Or at least a declawed, vegetarian panther. His face was completely relaxed, and in repose, not a wrinkle could be seen. His skin was flawless, in a way that made her teeny freckles and imperfect pores look like leprosy in comparison.

His chest, so broad and perfectly muscled, portrayed his power. It was lightly haired, the dusting so blonde it was nearly invisible, but her fingers felt the crisp strands, tugging them lightly and watching his face to see if he woke up.

She rarely got to see Lucius unaware. He was almost always completely in tune with everything around him. Not a wince, not a twitch got by him. But now he was blind to her scrutiny, and she knew it would irk him when he awoke, to have been caught slumbering in her bed.

So when he drew a deep breath that deregulated his even inhalations, Hermione closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep, giving him the upper hand.

"I know you're awake," he said softly, a smile evident in his voice even if she couldn't see it.

"I wasn't," she denied, cracking an eye open to see if he bought it. He certainly didn't.

Moving them both so she was lying on top of him and his arms wrapped firmly around her waist, he nipped her shoulder and said, "I could feel your eyes on me the moment you awoke. And I felt the blanket shift when you checked out what was underneath. Your disappointment was palpable."

Hermione struggled to get out of his grip. "I was looking at your feet! " she cried.

"And what possible fascination could you have with my feet? I assure you there are more palatable appendages for your... viewing... pleasure."

"You are so... so..." Hermione sputtered, wishing she had a little less Gryffindor indignation and a little more Slytherin wit.

"Hmm," Lucius hummed, arranging her body so she was straddling him and their groins were aligned. "All that and more, I assure you," he purred.

Giving in, Hermione decided, was not so bad when the reward was an absurdly hot kiss from Lucius Malfoy.

Though she was on top, he was clearly controlling the kiss. His hand was buried in her hair, tilting her head so the kiss could deepen. Whenever she went to take charge a little and guide the kiss, he would use his grip on her hair to pull her back, licking or nibbling on her lips until she was pliant and submissive again. Then he would lower her head and the impassioned mating of their mouths would begin again.

Lucius was quickly undressing her, and he did it so expertly that she barely noticed she was naked until a cool breeze from her open patio door licked her skin and gave her gooseflesh.

Hermione shimmied down Lucius' body to take off his trousers and pants, smiling at Lucius' soft moan when his cock was finally freed.

"Eager?" she teased, crawling back up his body to settle atop him again.

"For you? Always," he said softly, no trace of sarcasm in his words. He allowed Hermione to rule the kiss this time, but when she felt his cock slide through her folds and over her entrance, she suspected he only permitted it to distract her.

"I want you," he whispered against her lips.

"I want you, too, Lucius," she told him, kissing along his strong jaw line to his ear, where she nibbled lightly, delighting in his shiver. She moved her body down to take in his cock, slowly, to ensure they both felt every inch.

Hermione had never really been a fan of this position, preferring to be beneath that man she made love to. But something about having Lucius Malfoy beneath her, watching her every move and only lightly guiding her, gave her a blooming sense of power that was eagerly matched by their magic, travelling in soothing waves over their sensitized skin.

When she was fully seated, Hermione sat up straight and let her head fall back. Comparing Lucius to Draco was inevitable, but she was capable of nothing more cohesive than an impression of so different but so similar.

Placing her hands on his chest to steady herself, Hermione began to move. At first her motions were slightly tentative. She wasn't used to taking a more dominant position in bed. But at his encouraging noises and the sheer arousal beating down on her, she became more confident, moving higher off his cock before nearly slamming back down onto it.

Lucius' hands rested on her hips, letting her do all the work while he only watched and enjoyed. She found she didn't mind, though, because along with appreciation there was adoration in his features.

"Lucius, gods," she whispered when his thumb travelled along her hip to settle on her clit. To focus on that sensation, her movements became less frantic. She didn't rise high off of him anymore, but ground her body down onto his hardness, letting his single finger take her away.

She didn't notice her nails digging into his chest, but she felt the reciprocating reaction of his hand clenching around her side, sliding down to cup her behind and encourage her circular movements.

She came hard, crying out louder than she could ever remember doing, since last time with Draco her sounds had been muffled by kisses. She fell forward on Lucius, and he bore her weight easily.

He thrust into her from beneath only a few times before he let out a guttural, wordless exclamation and came deep inside her. She was panting against his chest, trying to absorb the strange tickling of his magic flowing over her and inside her. It felt like the deepest kiss, and though it only caressed her lightly, it penetrated into the depths of her being. Their magic was twining together inextricably.

"We should get up. I think we've rested much too long," Lucius murmured into her hair.

But Hermione was already drifting off again, and when Lucius gently placed her on the bed beside him, the only thing that she felt was missing was Draco.

Thello was a little friendlier when he came to visit Hermione and the Malfoys at the Manor a few days later.

But that was like saying a venomous snake only injected you with half a dose of lethal venom. Either way, you were going to feel it.

"So, what sort of conference are you attending this weekend?" Hermione asked, determined to kill the surly wizard with kindness, if he didn't kill her first for trying. Lucius and Draco were absolutely no help. They were sitting on either side of her, smiling patiently and looking at Thello with undisguised sympathy as she tried time and again to strike up conversation.

"It's a potions convention, actually. It will be the first one I've been able to attend, and it promises to be very informative."

Hermione smiled. The similarities between Thello and Snape were apparently limitless. She had no doubt her dour former professor would have enjoyed a great rapport with Thello.

"Why have you been unable to attend before? It sounds like something you find very interesting," she pressed, knowing she was being nosy when Lucius placed a hand on her knee as if to warn her.

"Conflicting schedules," Thello offered flatly.

Hermione sighed, surreptitiously looking to Draco for some sort of support or rescue. She'd wanted to meet with Thello to get a better feel of what made him happy, even though she had absolutely no idea what she would do with that information if he ever revealed it.

"So," Draco started congenially. "How are Celeste and Michael?"

Lucius stiffened beside her, and Hermione wondered why. However, even she knew that plaguing the young man with questions about the man he loved and the woman who kept them apart...even if they were all supposed to be together...was not the right way to make Thello feel comfortable.

"They are fine, thank you for asking," Thello replied stiffly, meeting Draco's eyes with a clear warning. Draco seemed to shrug it off, opting, instead, to search for more buttons in need of pressing.

"We're sorry they were unable to join us today. Why was that, again?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Thello started first. "They were unfortunately indisposed." Thello seemed to be of that school that believed politeness equalled amiability, that being strictly socially formal was the same as being friendly.

"Together?" Draco pressed, one last time.

Lucius stood, apparently having decided enough was enough, and for that, Hermione was grateful. She knew Draco wasn't trying to be rude; he was just trying to get answers the only way he knew how. But it seemed as though he'd abandoned Slytherin cunning for Gryffindor brashness, and Lucius probably took more offence to his approach than his intentions.

"Draco," Lucius said. "I need your assistance in the other room."

Draco duly stood and followed his father out of the room. None of them were fooled that Lucius actually needed some obscure form of assistance, but the facade was maintained and decorum upheld.

"I'm very sorry," Hermione said quietly. "I'm not sure what he was trying to prove..."

Thello laughed a little bitterly. "I do. And it would have worked, but Lucius is and always will be one step ahead of his son. Their cleverness is matched, but their methods vary greatly, and Lucius could spot Draco's obvious attempt from a mile away." He shrugged lazily, leaning back a little in chair, looking more relaxed now that the main antagonist was gone.

"What was he doing, then?" Hermione asked, a little baffled.

"A number of things. Trying to get me to admit that I love Michael. Or that I hate Celeste. Or that I'm jealous of the time they spend together. Or to point out that I spend most of my time alone, despite the fact that I am in a triad. Even the two of them sitting so close to you was a pointed jab at how different our relationships are."

Hermione shook her head in denial. "I don't think so, Thello. They aren't cruel."

"It wasn't cruel," he told her. "It was their way of being honest. You have to understand something about Slytherins, current or former. They almost never say what they mean, but their actions always speak louder than words. Rather than asking me why I put up with such a loveless relationship, as you no doubt intended to, they wanted to show me that there is something better out there. But the difference is I already knew that. I know exactly what I want and what I'm willing to do to get it. In my case, it just happens that what I want comes with a lot of extras that I don't want. But I will accept and deal with those extras if it means I get to keep what I do want."

"But how long can you live unhappily?" she asked quietly, trying to comprehend how he could be simultaneously selfish and selfless.

"Forever, Hermione," he said. "For Michael? Forever."

After that, the two struggled to find any sort of common ground between them. They were from entirely different worlds, literally, and did not have much to talk about. When Hermione brought up the fact that she now lived here with Lucius and Draco, he smirked knowingly and only just refrained from saying "I told you so."

She told him a little about her world, telling him about the Muggle television, DVD player, stereo system and game console she'd smuggled out of her apartment. He seemed very curious, asking all sort of questions about the game console, especially.

She would need to have Harry come over to set it up one of these days. Of course, that would necessitate she actually tell Harry where she lived now. She'd only written him and Ron brief owls saying she'd moved, since they had frequently Floo'd or owled her apartment and would have been very worried to have done so only to be blocked. But she hadn't given them an updated address, and she knew the day was coming. She wasn't sure what she was so afraid of, only that she didn't want to hear inflammatory comments about the men with whom she had chosen to share her life.

She wondered if they would care about her electronics. Draco might think they were very interesting, and she would bet ten Galleons that he would have a blast on her game console, if he let himself. Lucius might be a little harder to convince. He didn't exactly prescribe to strictly Pureblood traditions, but that's what they inevitably were, since the only families old enough in the wizarding world to even have traditions like that were Purebloods.

She could think of a couple ways to persuade him, of course.

Hermione promised to invite Thello over when she had the gaming system hooked up, and the first flash of smile she'd seen grace his features that day made her grin in response. She even said that maybe Michael could come as well, though Celeste would probably not enjoy it as much as the men would. She had no idea if that was true, since she herself had a blast on it, but it made Thello share a secret smile with her, and she felt like they were friends.

He even bore with quiet grace the hug she forced upon him when he took his leave. He didn't return the hug, but Hermione was very familiar with taking small steps.

After telling Draco and Lucius, who had been working quietly together in the study (giving her time with her "pet project" as Draco called Thello) that their guest had left, Hermione retired to her room.

She had a couple owls to write. It was time.

Dear Harry,

P.S. I now live at Malfoy Manor.

The Malfoys' beautiful and elegant eagle owl took the missive most delicately, raising its head as though it knew it had been charged with a very important mission. Hermione took a moment to give it the attention it deserved, and it positively preened under her ministrations.

After it flew out her open patio doors, Hermione stepped outside and sat on one of the decadently cushioned chairs. It was a beautiful night. The stars were glittering like they were underwater, a white glow suffusing the night. She loved spending time out here at night. There were never any insects to swarm her or make any noises; even the birds dared only make lovely songs and nary a warble or screech was ever heard.

She had told Lucius and Draco about telling Harry and Ron, and while Draco had jokingly asked if she had to tell them, Lucius had confided that he'd been surprised she hadn't earlier.

And honestly, she was as well. She should have told them before. It was only delaying the inevitable, and now Harry and Ron would feel she didn't care about their input. Which wasn't entirely untrue. She cared what they thought, but they wouldn't change her mind.

But after watching the graceful bird disappear with her tidings, Hermione had to wonder if this had been the right way to go about it. She could vividly picture the explosion, Ron's, especially, and she decided that the owl was really the only option. Doing it in person might have caused a serious fight.

When she ambled off to bed about an hour later, her intention to get a good night's sleep was waylaid by the return of the owl. Landing on her bedside table, it offered the rolled paper to her.

Hermione held her breath as she opened it, not honestly believing it could be anything other than bad news.

We are not coming there. You have some serious explaining to do. The Burrow, six tomorrow.