Chapter 13

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 beta...AmyLouise.

Hermione's Flat

This Sunday morning, the Daily Prophet and Harry popped up in Hermione's flat simultaneously. She didn't even have the time to give the owl with the newspaper a treat before a very agitated Harry jumped out of her fireplace.

"Hermione!"

"Harry?"

Her dishevelled, green-eyed friend took his time before answering. He needed to calm his breathing. Meanwhile, waiting for him, Hermione opened the Prophet and froze.

"Yes, that," breathed Harry.

Hermione didn't hear him. She hadn't even seen the headings yet. Lucius' photograph on the front page captured her attention entirely. Long platinum locks flourished freely around his face. An arrogant smile of superiority played on his sensual lips. The eyebrows...his perfectly trimmed eyebrows...were arched as usual. Thoughtfully, Hermione traced his features with the tip of her finger and sighed. She had tried desperately not to think about him for the last twenty-four hours, but now all her hard work had been in vain...

"Hermione! Are you listening?" Harry's shouting brought her to reality.

"Sorry, Harry... what?" Then she saw it.

Hermione Weasley...the Recently Widowed War Hero Is Pregnant with Lucius Malfoy's Child! True or False?

Hermione bit her lower lip and read again the flashing title.

"It looks like I wouldn't need to announce anything, after all," she muttered.

Harry began to babble, "This bastard Dolohov, it's all his fault. I have no idea how this information got out. We will fix this. We could arrange the interview and refute..."

Hermione interrupted his rumble. "Harry, don't. I will not explain anything to anyone. I simply refuse. The press will lose interest after a while; they always do. Besides, I had a crystal clear reputation for far too long. It's about time."

Surprisingly, Hermione wasn't furious. She wasn't even angry. Numb and indifferent were the right words to describe her feelings. These dirty, meaningless games of popularity, reputation, and other nonsense didn't worry her. It was nothing, nothing worthy.

"Harry, could you do me a favour and talk to Molly, please? Could you explain everything to her?" asked Hermione. "Will you?"

"I will." With that, Harry, reassured by Hermione that everything was fine, went to the Burrow. Poor him, he had to face and calm down the rest of the Weasleys.

Left alone, Hermione gave Lucius' photograph in the Prophet one more glance and then with a Reducto, blasted the damned piece of paper into ashes.

Looking thoughtfully at the grey flakes swirling languidly in the air, she sighed. Lucius' picture stirred feelings and emotions inside her that she decidedly strived to avoid. She recognized unmistakable longing growing in her heart and an urgent, aching craving in the pit of her stomach.

Bloody hormones...

Hermione jumped off the bar stool and darted from the kitchen. She needed chocolate. Now!

Six hours later, she was in her kitchen again. With a soft moan, she took another truffle from William Curley's "Framboise Truffle" box and put it in her mouth. Wearing only Lucius' silk robe, she basked in the last rays of the sun, sighing at their warmth.

Her heart was aching; her body was burning with desire. She craved him...his lips, his hands, his fire. Hermione did make an effort to suppress this all-absorbing yearning, but lost the battle. She genuinely hoped that the chocolate would soothe her longing. Instead, rich, buttery, bittersweet truffles melted in her mouth and only fuelled the raging fire inside her further. These wicked truffles tasted just like Lucius' kisses...irresistible, addictive and sinfully decadent.

Hermione drew a slow, shallow breath. Soft silk delicately caressed her skin. Lucius' scent still lingered on it, driving her even deeper into the pits. She moaned again and unable to contain her desire any longer, reached between her inner thighs. Hesitantly, she lightly touched herself through the robe's silk folds.

Malfoy Manor

Thirty-six hours... he had not seen her for thirty-six hours. He hadn't touched her for thirty-six long, torturous hours. He had not inhaled her scent for the tormenting thirty-six hours. The need to sense her was acute, suffocating. His treacherous body refused to obey and keep calm. His own eyes betrayed him, allowing her image to haunt him. His fingers craved her warm softness, aching and trembling in anticipation. It was inferno...pure, undiluted hell. Hot, savage flames of it licked and bit Lucius' heart. Raw fire burned his insides. He was burning for her, burning alive.

It was Sunday evening, almost twilight. Yellow-blue moonlight deviously crept into the room, coaxing away the last rays of the sun. Fluorescent flecks danced mischievously in Lucius' platinum locks. He sat at his desk in the library; the Sunday Prophet lay in front of him. His grey eyes were focused on the front page's photographs...one of him and one of Hermione. The heading was shouting,

Hermione Weasley...the Recently Widowed War Hero Is Pregnant with Lucius Malfoy's Child! True or False?

Shit.

Lucius read the heading again and swore under his breath. Damn Dolohov and his foul mouth...he should have killed him, that filth, that son of a bitch...and screw Potter and his plan. Damn the press, always ready to rummage in someone's dirty laundry. Damn the Ministry...even walls have ears there. Damn Potter again, ignorant fool...he warned him yesterday to silence his Aurors...

Lucius growled. Of course, he would pull strings and shut mouths at the Prophet. However, the damage was already inflicted, and now he would have to endure the brunt of it. Lucius frowned...Hermione and him, to be precise. The Wizarding Community did not forget scandals easily.

The only comforting bit in all this mess was his moment with Dolohov. It was an immensely satisfying moment indeed. Lucius hummed, recalling it.

A second later, he carefully regarded Hermione's photograph in the Prophet again. It wasn't the most recent one. She was smiling warmly in it. Her chestnut curls embellished her happy face. She was beaming at someone. Suddenly, he felt hot, steamy geysers of jealousy beginning to fill his already burning heart. It was ridiculous, he knew. Bloody thirty-six hours, he thought.

"I need to see her. Now!"

Lucius abruptly rose. The resounding crack of his chair meeting the floor echoed in the silence of the Manor. A moment later, he disappeared in the green flames of the Floo.

A soft, breathy moan met Lucius when he stepped out of Hermione's fireplace. He walked towards the sound. Soon, he stopped in awe...Hermione in his silk robe, with her eyes closed and her beautiful curls all wild around her face was perched on the barstool. The robe's folds fell open, revealing her long legs and creamy thighs.

Lucius drew closer to her, and realization hit him...his witch was pleasuring herself. The air became too hot for breathing, forcing him to loosen his cravat around his neck. Hmm, talking about perfect timing, thought Lucius as he crept even closer to her.

*****

Hermione was utterly lost in the sensation, when a big, warm hand covered hers, and the familiar baritone whispered huskily, "May I?"

Hermione's eyes flew open and met Lucius' shimmering, lucid gaze, locked on her.

"Lucius," she breathed.

The next instant her hand between her thighs was replaced with his much more skilful one. Her wet fingers were sucked into Lucius' hot mouth and licked clean. Then, only then, his lips were on hers. The kiss was slow, simmering. Gently but insistently, his lips and tongue dominated Hermione's. They were dancing the dance choreographed by him. Her body was singing the song composed by him. His masterful hand was steadily driving her into orgasm with precisely delivered strokes.

Suddenly, his lips left hers, and his fingers abandoned her pulsating, needy core. Hermione felt absolutely disoriented as she was lifted and laid on the cold, granite counter top. The silk sash of the robe was untied; its soft folds were thrown aside. A low growl vibrated against her bare skin, "Need more, witch; I need to feel more of you, much more."

And his fingers were inside her again, moving urgently. His mouth was everywhere, licking, biting, kissing. His free hand found her sensitive breasts and caressed gently, switching between them. She restlessly squirmed under his massive attack on all her senses. Her moans and gasps filled the small kitchen. She felt the hot wave begin to rise from the tips of her toes higher and higher. It was suffocating. Hermione was immersed in pleasure, consumed by it. Eventually, after one last precise swipe of Lucius' deft fingers across her most sensitive spot and his hoarse whisper into her ear, "let go now," she was gone. Lucius' lips covered hers right after she called his name in ecstasy.

*****

Lucius was leaning on the counter, watching and waiting for his witch to come down from her high. He gently stroked her damp curls and kept his other hand possessively on her rounded stomach. When her breathing returned to semi-normal and liquid, honey eyes focused on him, he said, "Good evening, darling. How are you?"

Hermione snorted weakly and answered, "Good evening to you as well, Lucius. I am fabulous, thank you." Hermione shifted and tried to sit up, but his warm, big hand on her stomach did not quite allow that. Lucius placed a series of light, gentle kisses all over her exposed body, fixed the parted folds of her silk robe together and retied the sash. Now Hermione was able to sit up.

However, the moment she did, Lucius gathered her in his arms and murmured softly, "I hope you would not mind, if I move us to a more appropriate location for our imminent activities."

"Imminent activities?" Hermione snaked her arms around Lucius' neck.

"Precisely, my dear. You could not possibly think that this was the end of it, could you?" With that, he once again Apparated them to the Manor.

One minute after they left, Hermione's fireplace lit up, and Harry stepped into the living room. He called, "Hermione... Hermione? Are you here?"

Only silence was his answer...