Chapter 6

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. Huge thank you to my betas...Glorioux and AmyLouise.

July 23, Morning

"It seems so," answered Lucius, tilting his head to kiss the soft locks. They were warm and smelled delectable. It was jasmine with a hint of vanilla and white rose. He knew this scent so well, so intimately. It was the scent of Hermione's wild curls...

Lucius woke with a start. It took him a few moments to understand where he was. He had fallen asleep on the chaise in the library, a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky standing nearby on the floor. Lucius grunted and stretched his numb limbs. Waking up on the chaise in the library in the company of an oh-so-hot, twenty-five-year-old bottle of Firewhisky wasn't healthy. The headache was awful.

He sat up with difficulty; his balance hadn't yet returned, and he ran his fingers through his hair. That motion brought the faint scent of jasmine into the air. He still wore yesterday's shirt, and Hermione's scent lingered. It reminded him of something, something extremely strange. Lucius huffed in an effort to remember, and after a few minutes of uneasy focusing, it came back to him. He remembered his odd (to say the least) dream: garden, child, woman's voice, and scent. The dream was decidedly disturbing; it was obvious that his subconscious was trying to tell him something. Alas, Lucius didn't have the slightest idea what to make of it.

He needed to see the girl, he knew that much. Lucius frowned. 'The girl' didn't seem quite adequate after the incident from the day before. However, he couldn't bring himself to call her 'Mrs. Weasley' in his thoughts either. Would it be 'Hermione', 'Granger', or still 'the girl'?

Lucius tried 'Hermione' a few times in his head, and then he even said it aloud (thank Merlin he was alone).

"Hermione, Hermione," he drawled, trying out various inflections. Finally, he settled on 'the witch' for now, leaving 'Hermione' as the last resort.

Her name, pronounced aloud, evoked the recollection of their previous evening's encounter. Lucius couldn't help but remember vividly how deliciously her petite body (Cissa was a bit taller and slightly bonier) had pressed against his. How fierily passionate she had been in fighting, struggling, hitting, and after (especially after), though she wasn't quite herself, but still... Even just a casual cataloguing of the event had stoked a fire in his groin.

"Shit," muttered Lucius. He didn't like where this was going in the slightest.

He knew for sure that the dynamic between them had changed. However, he wasn't sure exactly where they stood with their project. Their collaboration was quite crucial for him; hence, he was going to find out. Lucius was going to pay the witch a visit.

Hermione's Flat

Hermione sat on the sofa with a huge mug of hot tea in one hand and a bag of Walkers Prawn Cocktail crisps in the other. Her curls were wet after a shower, and she was wearing her joggers and a tee.

Yesterday, when she had stumbled home from the fireplace, everything had been groggy, and anguish was the only feeling she could identify easily. She was totally exhausted...both physically and mentally. She had collapsed on the bed, not having the strength to analyze anything, and fell asleep in seconds.

Hermione woke up to a sunny Saturday morning, feeling surprisingly refreshed. A whole night of sleep was rare for her nowadays. She stayed in bed for a long while, and thoughts filled her mind. She carefully analyzed the situation. She was angry with Lucius and even more with herself. She couldn't comprehend why her worse moment of weakness was destined to happen with him in the vicinity. It just wasn't fair; all of it just wasn't fair.

The intimacy of the incident, the way Lucius handled it, caused her to blush furiously. She couldn't remember the details but a general awareness of what had happened settled deeply in the pit of her stomach. Something was throbbing on her neck, but she didn't pay attention. With a slight shiver, Hermione recalled how strange and overpowering his animalistic, male force had felt. She'd never experienced anything even remotely similar; nobody ever introduced Hermione to the level of control he held over her yesterday. With Ron, it was never about power, force, or control; everything was built on the partnership and equality. Intimate moments they had shared were peaceful and gentle. Tame even.

Eventually, Hermione rose, took a shower, made herself a cup of tea, and grabbed a bag of crisps (her taste was rather peculiar these days). Concerning Malfoy, Hermione decided that the best she could do was to move forward. The bastards obviously bit the bait, the opportunity to make them pay was very near now, and that was what mattered. She needed revenge...now more than ever.

Hermione's musings were interrupted abruptly when, unexpectedly, her fireplace lit up, and a moment later, Lucius Malfoy stepped into her living room. She almost jumped in surprise.

"Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing here?" she breathed out.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Weasley," said Lucius, and his eyes focused on her intently.

Unconsciously, she immediately began to fidget under the questioning look of his pavement-grey eyes. Suddenly, Hermione became painfully aware of the lack of bra under her tee – the damn thing didn't even reach her belly button. Moreover, if the minutes of complete silence and Malfoy's intense gaze...which was slowly creeping from her face downward...were anything to judge by, he was also acutely aware of her attire.

"Hmm. It's half past one in the afternoon. I didn't expect to find you in your negligee," said Lucius in an unnaturally monotonous voice, after his eyes finally found Hermione's face again.

"And do you think it's wise to keep the Floo open in your situation?" he added.

"Well, you obviously found it useful, and I wasn't expecting company, let alone you. Why are you here?" Annoyance once again began to bubble in her.

"We need to talk," he answered. "Yesterday we didn't get a chance. Then, there is the matter of yesterday's incident." The unusually hesitant tone of Malfoy's voice forced Hermione to look at him. For the first time, she gave him a good, long look.

There was something comical in how utterly out of place this proud, aristocratic, and extremely handsome man looked in her living room. He simply didn't fit. In his impeccable robes, with his cane and his gloves, he was just a bit too magnificent for such a casual environment. Hermione even felt a wave of pity for him. The poor man was completely out of his habitat.

"Would you like to sit down?"

Malfoy looked around but, when he evidently didn't find anything decent to sit on, he uttered, "I'm quite comfortable as it is, thank you." Then he continued, "As I was saying yesterday, by circumstance, I was forced to take certain liberties with you," Lucius paused, swallowed, and then continued again. "Certain liberties with your body to be precise, and for that I apologize. Though I believe it was necessary."

Bewildered, Hermione glanced at him, blushed, and in order to calm herself, took a deep breath. "You could've slapped me," she muttered.

"That could have ended badly for both of us," answered Lucius quietly.

"You could've poured a bucket of cold water over me," exhaled Hermione, as the idea just crossed her mind.

He gave her a quick glance and then, not quite looking into her eyes, said, "That might have worked. Unfortunately, I was not composed enough to think of it. Therefore, I used other means."

After that, uncomfortable silence hung between them. Lucius was scanning Hermione's living room sceptically. His eyes found the bag of crisps. "Is that what you've been eating? No wonder you look pale and thin..." Lucius poked the bag with his cane. Then he came closer, took the bag with two gloved fingers, his expression of disgust obvious, and read "Walkers Prawn Cocktail crisps." He looked at Hermione with a questioningly arched eyebrow. "Are you sure this was intended to serve as food for a human being? It smells more..." and he crinkled his nose, "like something that a feline would eat. It couldn't be healthy."

Hermione had enough. She snatched the bag out of Lucius' fingers. "Stop it, why do you care? You're not my father." She glanced at him challengingly.

"I may assure you, Mrs. Weasley, that I most certainly don't harbour any fatherly feelings for you," and his gaze slowly caressed her body again. "You need to be fit for fighting, and that," he pointed on the bag, "is not a proper meal."

She felt nervous and, in order to distract herself, she decided to adjust her wet hair. Lucius was watching her intently and, suddenly, something caught his attention. He walked closer to her and looked on her neck with an odd expression.

"You didn't heal it yet?" he asked softly.

"Didn't heal what?"

"This." Lucius took his gloves off and lightly touched a throbbing spot on her neck.

Hermione had been so engrossed in her thoughts all morning that she had managed to miss the mirror completely. She had taken a shower and brushed her teeth, but she had no idea what he was talking about. And now, with Lucius hovering over her, she couldn't very well run to the bathroom and take a look.

"What is it?"

"You don't recall? No matter, let me fix it for you." He took his wand out and muttered, "Episkey."

Hermione felt a light tickling sensation on her neck. Lucius softly caressed the healed area with his thumb and then slowly traced the outline of her neck with the backside of his hand. Hermione's vision blurred and her breath hitched slightly. She shivered under his touch, and it seemed that Lucius had halted his breathing for a few seconds. Then, he stepped back and sighed.

"We need to discuss our actions. The attack most likely will occur close to next Friday. Will you join me for dinner tonight at the Manor to discuss?" asked Lucius.

Something in his eyes was different, and Hermione hesitated, trying to understand the change. But no, he hid it quickly under the trained coldness. She huffed in frustration and answered,

"Tomorrow, I will come tomorrow, and besides, I have enough food for today." She shook the bag of crisps in front of him.

"As you wish. Tomorrow at seven then," said Lucius with finality and began to move toward the fireplace. On his way, he noticed her books, spread on the coffee table, and stopped to inspect them.

"Are you working on 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'? Interesting. You know, I am sure you could find a lot of useful information in my library. We will discuss it tomorrow. Good day, Mrs. Weasley, and please secure this Floo connection after me. I am certain that you are quite capable of accomplishing it," and he left without a backward glance.

Hermione felt shaken. She took a crisp from the bag and munched it, deeply engulfed in thoughts.