Chapter 8

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.

Chapter 8

Malfoy Manor

Hermione was standing in the middle of Malfoy's library, knowing quite well that she shouldn't be there. It was almost midnight, and she honestly didn't know what she was thinking when she decided to come to the Manor at this hour. Apparently, she had not been thinking at all; it was just a spur-of-the-moment decision.

The week had been horrible. Her body didn't give her a break...the whole week alternated between hunger and nausea fits. In addition, Hermione sensed every odour, every scent around her. Who could have known that silk and cashmere, so fashionable these days, have different and actually quite annoying scents? "Forever-staying perfumes" were killing her.

Hermione's mood nowadays was as unpredictable as a sea breeze. The heavy burden of loneliness was slowly getting the better of her. Yet she didn't want to run and cry on Harry's shoulder. He was already overloaded by problems and guilt as it was, with the investigation totally frozen, Ginny pregnant, and all his other duties. The possibility of worrying Ginny was out of the question as well. She was already in the middle of her second trimester, and Hermione was convinced that an hysterically crying friend would be harmful for her.

Thus, Hermione was all alone. She tried futilely to lose herself in work and her translation project. Unfortunately, this particular week, it just wasn't enough. By Thursday, Hermione was sick of it; sick of tears, sick of flipping through her photos of Ron, and sick of loneliness. Hence, without any logical reason, she came to the Malfoy Manor.

When she stepped out from the fireplace, the Manor was dark and quiet. She went straight to the library, hoping to get there unnoticed. The doors of the library, however, were already opened, and a dim light was on. Evidently, her arrival had not been missed by the elves. Vigilant creatures, she thought.

Hermione stood in the middle of the library and tried to decide what she should do next. Clearly, she had only two choices...either run before the Lord of the Manor appeared (and she was sure he would eventually) or to be brave and stay.

"Sleepwalking, Mrs. Weasley?" A familiar baritone disturbed the silence of the night.

Hermione flinched, drew a deep breath, and then turned to face him. Obviously, it was too late to run now. Lucius was leaning against the library door, smirking at her. He was wearing soft velvet trousers and a simple white shirt. A few open buttons at the top of his shirt offered Hermione a good view of Lucius' still well-defined chest. It was the first time she had seen him in such casual and relaxed attire. His broad shoulders and firm muscles were palpable under the thin, white batiste and Hermione, to her horror, couldn't stop staring at him. It was a lost cause; she knew it. He was a flame, and she was a foolish little moth...hypnotized and dazed.

"I am flattered that you found my library useful, Mrs. Weasley," stated Lucius.

This tore Hermione from her stupor.

"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy. Yes, I looked for a certain book, which I thought I saw here. But, unfortunately, I couldn't find it. I probably made a mistake. Sorry for disturbing you at this hour and... ah... I am... mm... probably have to go now, good night."

Hermione knew she was babbling. She also knew that she was blushing furiously. Shit, she thought. Lying wasn't her strongest skill. She bit her lower lip and walked toward the door. Lucius, however, clearly wasn't willing to let her escape and moved to block her exit.

Hermione was forced to stop and look at him. He was watching her seriously.

"I don't think so, Mrs. Weasley," he drawled. "Not before you tell me why are you here. This time...truthfully. Your lying skills are still rather weak and obviously lacking practice. So, please, proceed," and he waved, waiting for Hermione to start her explanation.

For a minute, she jittered restlessly under his questioning gaze, not knowing what to say. Then suddenly her mood shifted again, and annoyance rose up quickly and filled her up to the gills.

"What do you expect to hear from me, Lucius?" Unexpectedly for them both, his name flew from her mouth. He arched his eyebrows but remained silent.

"I felt lonely and was sick of it! There, that's the only explanation I have!" The wave of annoyance subdued as suddenly as it had grown a few second ago, and she added quietly, "I don't really know why I am here."

She stood right in front of him and looked straight into his grey eyes. The muted light in the library made them glisten with dusty-silver opal flecks. She lowered her gaze to his lips. Hermione had never noticed how sensual his lips were. They weren't remarkably full or bright, but still fascinatingly inviting. Next, her gaze caressed his aristocratically sculptured chin and jaw line, the pale skin of his neck and partially visible chest. She felt hypnotized again. The foolish, foolish little moth couldn't help itself; this open flame was luring her, enticing her from safety to unknown, dangerous, but oh-so-captivating territory.

Slowly, she raised her hand and touched his lips. Lucius didn't move; his grey eyes were watching her intently, and only the slight hitch in his breathing indicated his reaction. Maybe he was afraid to startle her again. Hermione didn't know and right now she didn't care. She traced his lips and continued to his masculine jawline, then lower... to his neck, and lower again, to his collarbone and then down...

Hermione slowly parted the unbuttoned top of his shirt and caressed his chest. Her breathing became laboured. Incredibly, just light contact with his skin aroused her to an almost unbearable level.

Finally, Lucius sprang to life. Her solo exploration was over. He put his palm over Hermione's hand on his chest and guided her under his shirt. The tips of her fingers touched his nipple, and they moaned in unison. His breathing matched Hermione's now; they were both gasping for air. Hot waves of passion and lust were crashing in their chests, trying to break through and merge in one wild squall of emotions.

A few rapid movements, and they were both on a chaise with Hermione on Lucius' lap. His fingers were swiftly working on her button-down blouse, and his lips were on her neck...placing light kisses and nibbles. Hermione's hands were tangled in his platinum locks. She was grasping his neck with desperation, trying to align her body with his and to lose herself in his embrace. By pressing into his chest, she forced him to circle his arms around her. For a moment, he simply held her. She felt his passion; his desire for her and yet it wasn't enough, the most vital element was absent...love. It was too early for love.

Like a thunderclap, Hermione's broken sob disturbed the harmony of their breathing. Unstoppable tears were streaming down her cheeks, and heart-wrenching sobs were ripping her chest.

"Lucius, Lucius, I am so lonely, so confused, so tired. It's not fair, so bloody not fair. I love him; I loved him, Lucius. And now you. Why is it always you now? Why is it only you now? Tell me," sobbed Hermione into his outrageously expensive batiste shirt.

Lucius was desperately trying to calm her down or to calm himself down (shit, everything was so evilly tangled). He whispered to her, "Let it happen, Hermione, let it happen. Let me make it all better. We will both feel so much better, Hermione; let me." His lips launched on her collarbone, and his fingers began to pull her blouse from her shoulders.

Alas, Hermione's eyes focused on him and she whispered brokenly, "No, Lucius, no. Stop. It's not us. It's our desperation. We are not ourselves yet. It will ruin everything. We will ruin everything with it, whatever it is...now is not the right time. No, please, no."

Lucius growled but stopped. They looked at each other, Hermione still on his lap. Then he huffed, "Foolish girl," and smoothed her dishevelled curls.

"My proper little Gryffindor, are you going to resist for the both of us? Are you strong enough? I'll test your resolve continuously, make no mistake about it. It's all decided. It's destined to happen. It's a matter of time now, darling; you'll succumb to it."

Hermione felt utterly drained; she couldn't even hold her head up. Exhausted, she leaned on Lucius' shoulder.

"You don't know everything Lucius, don't be so sure... I am tired. Take me home, please. Tomorrow is Friday; we will need each other. Take me home, Lucius," whispered Hermione and closed her eyes.

Lucius stood up with her in his arms and Apparated them to Hermione's flat. He put her on the sofa in the living room, gave her a wistful parting look and left.