Oh, look at that, it's only been, umm, okay forever. In my defense, I was working two jobs 7 days a week for a little bit, and home life has continued non-stop.

So, I may or may not have tweaked the canon just a teensy bit, please don't hate me for that.

As always, concrit is kindly received if kindly given and a lovely and heartfelt thank you to everyone who has followed so far.

Expect tweaks and polishes after posting because, for some reason, that's only when I notice the glaring mistakes and messed up transitions. *lol*

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Chapter 3: "Incendiary Madness"

"And one day she discovered
that she was fierce,
and strong, and full of fire,
and that not even she
could hold herself back
because her passion
burned brighter than her fears."

– Mark Anthony

Lucius chuckled, the sound a pleasant rumble that set her synapses firing as he reached over to remove the champagne flute from her fingers. "Language, Miss Granger. It's quite unbecoming."

Hermione might have had a retort, but it died on her lips when his fingers brushed delicately over hers. She felt a catalyst of reactions sweep through her, every nerve alight with sudden tension as her instincts to fight or flee awakened within her. Or perhaps it was something else, if only she could analyse it more closely, but he was too close, her body responding to his nearness with an awareness that was more primal than conscious. It was too much to hope that the slight tremor that shook her went unnoticed, and by the way those grey eyes focused on her, she knew he had.

One pale brow rose slowly as Lucius looked down at her, the intensity of his gaze doing little to negate the rush of adrenaline she was trying to suppress. She stood motionless, closing her eyes against the sight of him, knowing that if she met his gaze, he would see beyond doubt the turmoil she was struggling with. She felt him shift, heard the gentle click of the flute as he set it on top of the piano, and then the press of his gloved fingers beneath her chin as he raised her face up, his thumb lightly brushing against her cheek. It was all she could do not to react, the simple gesture so intimate that she found herself yearning to lean into his touch. The reality of her thoughts made her eyes snap open, and she suddenly found herself helplessly gazing into the abyss that was Lucius Malfoy's silver countenance.

Merlin, the man was undeniably attractive. How, in all nine hells, could a wizard be so bloody attractive? She prayed Legilimency was not among his repertoire of magical talents because her mind was at war with the reactions he was eliciting from her body at a simple touch, not caring that this was Lucius Malfoy, former Dark wizard, Death Eater, a man who had once supported the extermination of her kind. She should be trying to pull away, to leave, to escape the absurdity of this situation and put kilometres of distance between them. But then she recalled all of their recent encounters, and despite her ingrained fears, she felt utterly enthralled by the power and sheer masculinity he exuded. And then there was her curiosity.

"Do you still fear me, Miss Granger?"

The question was spoken almost quietly, a silken whisper of words that made her blink, the confusion in her dark chestnut eyes flickering with an emotion akin to surprise. He wouldn't need Legilimency to read her thoughts, she thought faintly, as he was surely able to read the conflict in her eyes. He tilted his head slightly to the side, holding her gaze as if he were studying her response to him.

The silence between them stretched as he awaited her answer, a curious expression of mild concern gracing his aristocratic features, an appearance that was at odds with the haughty and cavalier personality he usually evinced. Rather than alleviate her emotions, it only served to heighten them to the point where she could scarcely breathe. She needed to get a handle on herself. She was a Gryffindor, was she not? Brave in the face of all adversity, even her own.

"Of course not," she lied, dropping her eyes to break the tension. But it was only half a lie, and she turned her face to the side, staring at the flames dancing in the hearth as she attempted to calm her racing heart. "But...I don't trust you," she added. "You seem to forget that I have very good reason not to and that you have placed me at a distinct disadvantage, entrapping me this way. Though to what purpose, I am uncertain."

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly before he replied. "Surely you don't believe I have dreamed up some nefarious purpose for putting you at said disadvantage?" He took her silence for affirmation and gave a dark chuckle. "I don't know whether I should be flattered or appalled. Do you truly think so little of me? And I had thought we were making such marvellous progress."

Hermione took a deep breath to steady her nerves as Lucius turned away from her toward a large, ornate cabinet. Upon opening, it revealed itself to be a cleverly constructed drinks cabinet with a diverse array of crystal cut bottles containing a multitude of different coloured spirits. Setting out a tumbler, he selected a bottle and pulled the stopper, pouring a generous amount of the reddish-hued liquid into a glass with a precision borne of long practise. He caught her eyes in the reflection of the mirrored backdrop as he stoppered the bottle.

He turned back to face her, taking a slow sip of his drink as he noted her discomfiture, evident in the way she held herself, her wand hand occasionally flexing in response to her agitation. "Tell me, Miss Granger, why is it you came here tonight?"

Hermione's hands stilled as she stared at him, clearly wondering if he'd gone daft. "You invited me. Surely, you remember?"

Again, the brow arched, amusement plain in his voice. "Yes, a pretty speech, designed to inspire compassion and create an opportunity to pay penance through acts of generosity. It was quite moving."

Immediately, Hermione's cheeks flushed. She knew he was baiting her, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep from snapping at him. She'd already made a fool of herself once tonight; she'd be damned if she disgraced herself twice in the same night. "Your arrogance knows absolutely no bounds, does it, Mr Malfoy?"

"It has nothing to do with arrogance, my dear. Please, sit, and I will explain." He made a grand gesture toward the piano bench with a wave of his hand. "It is not my wish to have you in the dark on this. However, it will require a bit of...faith."

Hermione tentatively sat back down on the bench, her curiosity piqued in spite of herself. Lucius set his drink down and began to remove his outer dress robe, laying it neatly along the back of a nearby chair followed by his gloves. Dressed in a dark grey waistcoat over a white dress shirt, he created a striking image of sartorial elegance before he reached up to loosen the emerald coloured silk cravat at his neck, candlelight winking off the polished silver of his family ring. Pausing to retrieve his drink, he moved to sit beside her, placing the tumbler and his cane along the front of the music rack.

Biting her tongue, she turned to face him, and he held her dark gaze with his own as he methodically began to loosen his cuffs, rolling them partway up his forearms. Smirking at the burning curiosity in her eyes, he let his fingers drift over the ivory keys before him. After a moment, he began to play a piece she was unfamiliar with, the opening notes heralding the piece denoting a deep and profound sadness, the emotion they evoked causing her to feel as if her very heart were breaking right from the start. The notes were regretful, sonorous, soulful, and just when she thought she could bear it no more, the music began to swell, the rising crescendo filling the room with a dramatic sense of hope, and she felt as if the very music itself were seeking redemption from some unknowable transgression.

It was beautiful and spoke to her in such a way that she could hardly believe that something so exquisite could be played by a wizard such as the one beside her. She couldn't help the slight smile that ghosted over her lips as she watched him play, his expression giving nothing away but the intensity of his focus. Ron would never have attempted to learn the piano, and even if he'd tried, he'd likely have bumbled anything he attempted. It took a certain amount of grace and was something she found she could admire and appreciate in this wizard. That the piano was not merely an expensive show of wealth even went a little way toward lessening her previously disdainful notions about Malfoy fortunes.

As she watched the way his fingers moved over the keys, she realised there was a kind of reverence in the way he played, and suddenly she knew, understanding that this was one of his great pleasures, and likely the reason Narcissa had taken its predecessor, merely to spite him. Glancing around the room once more, she suddenly found herself wondering if he was proficient with any of the other instruments housed within the Music Room, and as her eyes were drawn back to his hands, mesmerised by the sheer elegance of their movement, the thought that wondered what else he was proficient at came unbidden and she nearly blushed, berating herself for even thinking it.

His keen eyes observing the faint colour that suffused her cheeks, Lucius leaned close to her, his voice low as he spoke. "I have a vision for the future and you, my dear, are integral to the master plan," he finally revealed. He paused then, watching her expression as he let that sink in, waiting to see if she would begin voicing her objections before she even knew why she would be opposed to it, but a brief appraisal showed she was patiently waiting for him to continue. After a moment, as he focused on modulating the keystrokes, he continued. "Imagine, if you will, the Gryffindor princess, brightest witch of her age, and celebrated war heroine on the arm of a well-known and reformed Death Eater. It would be the crowning glory of my achievements."

As his words sank in, Hermione's eyes widened, not with fear, but for the sheer audacity of his proposal. She kept her composure as she saw him watching her, giving little else away as he waited to see how she would respond. It took her a moment to find her voice. Trust he could break the mood he set forth by speaking so brazenly. "Sounds positively Machiavellian when you say it like that."

Lucius smirked. "Yes, a real-life beauty and the beast."

Hermione hummed, pretending to think about the implications of that analogy. "And tell me, Mr Malfoy, why would such a vision interest me? What makes you think that I would be amenable to such an idea?" she asked, her tone even as her eyes shifted from his hands to his face.

He didn't respond right away, and she studied him in the glow of the candlelight, watching the way it danced over his patrician features, shadowed where the pale cascade of his hair fell over his shoulders. He allowed the music to draw to a close before he turned slightly to face her again. "Whether you realise it or not, Miss Granger, we share a similar vision. We are not so different, you and I."

Hermione barely suppressed her scoff of disbelief. "Aren't we? Your vision sounds like it goes against every one of my moral principles."

Again, that dark chuckle as he rose smoothly from the bench, grasping his cane in one hand and his drink in the other. He leaned down behind her, his hair falling in a silken shroud over her bare shoulder. There was something distinctly sensual in the way it caressed her skin and coupled with the masculine scent of his cologne and the spiciness of the firewhisky on his breath, she felt the unmistakable warmth of arousal unfurling within her. She closed her eyes and swallowed as his voice purred in her ear, velvety soft as he spoke, his tone low, deep, seductive even. It seemed to reach deep inside of her, vibrating against her insides until her breath caught, despite the words he uttered with devastating clarity.

"Morals, Miss Granger? Morals are so easily cast aside when the need arises, wouldn't you say?" He resumed standing, the brush of his hair sliding away from her shoulder leaving a trail of chills racing down her spine. "I daresay you've put your own values to the test, walked that fine line between darkness and light, all while telling yourself that the end justified the means. Were you not just as willing to set aside rules—your beliefs, even—to achieve your own ends for no other reason than because it was for the 'greater good?'"

She refused to answer. Saying yes would imply he was correct in his assumption, but if she said no, she would be caught out in a lie. Finally, she offered a small concession. "'All's fair in love and war,' Mr Malfoy."

"Ah, yes, love and war..."

Hermione reached for her champagne, taking a small sip to wet a mouth gone dry at the way he emphasised her words.

Amused by her discomfort, Lucius took a sip of his own drink and pressed on. "How do you suppose your supporters, your...friends, would view such a liaison?"

"To be truthful, they'd think I'd lost my mind," she muttered, hardly believing she was actually considering the merits of his proposition.

In a new world bent on eradicating past prejudices, it was a worthy idea, but...from Lucius Malfoy? The most outspoken and prejudiced bigot of them all? The sheer brilliance behind the notion was enough to garner her grudging respect. It would indeed propel them both into the spotlight as Wizarding Britain's least likely couple to put aside old hatreds and usher forth a new age of tolerance. That alone would cause the populace to sit up and take notice, from both sides of the fence.

He nearly smiled as he saw the implications of his proposal dawn in those dark chestnut eyes. "Hmm, perhaps."

Hermione turned so she could face him straight on, her eyes narrowing slightly as she observed his reaction to her next question. "So, you parade me around as your what? Trophy?"

One side of his mouth quirked upward at her query. "Hardly. It would be detrimental to us both if we were unmatched in other areas. I think you will find we share a fair amount of interests, my dear."

She very nearly scoffed. "Such as? Please, don't tell me you think a few charity events constitutes a shared vision."

Lucius didn't answer immediately. Instead, he moved closer to the fireplace, taking a sip of his firewhisky as he looked into the flames. His lean figure was bathed in the golden glow of the fire, and she had a bizarre impression of light attempting to devour the shadows surrounding him. "Think carefully, Miss Granger, in all the times we've crossed each other's paths, have you never wondered why each time we met, no matter how brief, I would take the time to ensure we spoke? Never been one thing, no matter how subtle, that piqued your interest?"

She looked at him sharply. Truth be told, there'd been several times he seemed to show an unusual interest in conversing with her, oft times about mundane subjects, but more recently, things of a more interesting nature that she wouldn't mind pursuing. In fact, she'd come to look forward to those snippets of conversation, despite her feelings against their originator, particularly that one instance...

She'd been perusing the new arrivals at Flourish and Blott's, a volume on the treatises of magical lore and its impact on Muggle history in her hands. She couldn't say why, but she'd sensed his presence before she saw him, like a prickling of the hairs along the back of the neck before a thunderstorm. Before she realised what she was doing, she had turned, raising her head to glance at the entrance. He'd swept into the shop barely a moment later, a small house-elf on his heels. He paused briefly in the doorway, surveying the shop with an air of calculated appraisal born of one used to scouting for strategic advantages.

He caught her glance almost immediately, briefly meeting her eyes with little more than a raised brow before seeming to dismiss her presence entirely as he turned to acknowledge the manager who shuffled up to greet him. They moved off toward the back of the shop, voices low as they carried on with their business.

Her eyes returned to the book in her hands, but her awareness of his movements left her feeling a curious aura of anticipation. Her concentration shattered, she placed the book back on the shelf and continued perusing, caressing the spines of the volumes with reverent fingers as she sought for something else to catch her interest and take her mind off the fact he was in the building. She supposed she should leave, but her curiosity burned far too brightly.

Before long, she found herself buried in the more obscure section of the shop, her fingers ghosting over a title on the origins of magic. Pulling it down, she scanned the contents, fascinated by the way the author drew parallels between the genuine magic of the wizarding world and the magic that was initially discovered and cultivated by ancient Mugglekind. She snorted at that terminology but had already decided to purchase the book for further analysis when a shadow fell over her shoulder.

She gasped, spinning around in surprise. She held her breath as the narrow aisle seemed to darken and shrink further. His eyes flicked down to the volume in her hands.

"A curious choice, Ms Weasley."

Drawing up her courage, she raised her eyes to his, a challenge hidden in the honey brown depths of her eyes. "Oh? Why is that?"

"Curious, because the magic of the Old World is little more than the raw, unchannelled energies felt by our ancestors."

Hermione scoffed. "Our ancestors? Mr Malfoy, are you actually claiming descendancy from lowly muggles?"

He smirked, raising his eyes above her head as he scanned the titles on the shelf. He stepped closer to her, engulfing her in the deep, rich scent of his robes as he reached over her to pull a book from the shelf above her head.

"I think you'll find this title more worthy of your keen intellect."

Taking the book, she glanced at the title. "The Origins of Magic: An Accounting of Magical Ancestry." She gave him a shrewd glance. "Please tell me this isn't about pureblood precepts."

"If you are so keen to understand how magic and blood status go hand in hand, one should, perhaps, be open to understanding magical inheritance, don't you think, Ms Weasley?"

Hermione couldn't help rolling her eyes. "It's not that I'm not open to understanding it, Mr Malfoy. It's the notion that only pureblooded individuals have the right to hold the majority of magical inheritance in their veins. If such were the case, then the most powerful wizards and witches in our world could only be purebloods. Forgive me for saying so, but in my limited lifetime, some of the strongest magical blood has actually been observed in half-bloods, lending credence to the theory of hybridisation."

He smirked, one eyebrow arching. "Muggles and their science. Science, for all its technicalities, cannot unravel the mysteries of magic. There is a fine line between magic and blood status, Ms Weasley. Perhaps it's something more." Lucius leaned closer to her, delighting in the shiver she tried to suppress as he whispered in her ear.

"Read the book."

And with that, he turned on his heel and swept away from her, barking a command to the small house elf who staggered beneath the weight of a stack of books nearly as tall as it was. She met the eye of the elf, who gave her a small wink as it followed its master out of the shop.

She looked at him now, steadying her resolve as she prepared to poke the proverbial beast, but it was, perhaps, the most crucial test he had to justify. "I'll concede your point. However, I'm hardly the type of witch who's naïve enough to believe you seek anything more than garnering public support by consorting with a mudblood."

Lucius sniffed disdainfully, turning back to face her. "Regretfully, that is a burden we both must bear, marked as we are. Abhorrent reminders of the parts we had little choice but to play."

Hermione snorted in disbelief. "You honestly expect me to believe that tripe?"

She wondered if, perhaps, she'd goaded him too far when she saw the white-knuckled grasp Lucius had on his glass, his face set like chiselled stone. He turned swiftly away from her, and she jumped, startled by the sound of glass shattering against marble, the fire momentarily billowing up in a fiery display of unrestrained fury before settling back into its previously cheerful blaze.

"Do you believe I enjoyed watching you writhe on my drawing room floor while my deranged sister-in-law carved into your flesh? You, a helpless young girl, and I, outnumbered and wandless by the Dark Lord's own hand—do you think I enjoyed watching him disgrace my home!" He didn't shout, but the force in the sudden, barely contained fury of his voice left her no doubt as to his feelings on the subject. Lucius leaned forward, bracing himself against the mantle, his head bowed toward the hearth.

Hermione rose from the bench and approached him cautiously, one hand raised as if to touch him. Part of her remained wary and somewhat fearful, knowing that she had purposely provoked him, but there was something in his posture, an unconscious hunching between his shoulder blades that spoke of a raw agony that was more evident in the whites of his knuckles where they attempted to crush the marble mantle in his grip.

"Lucius?" she questioned softly, his given name falling effortlessly from her lips even as she questioned her reasons for using it. But compassion was ever a deep part of her psyche, a complementary counterpoint to the brash courage so often evinced during the war. She let her hand come to rest on his shoulder, a gentle brush of her fingers against the expensive fabric of his shirt. She felt the tautness of his muscles beneath her hand, and she was torn between wanting to offer him comfort and stepping away in case he turned on her. Filled with indecision, she felt him take a breath, and so she simply remained as she was, waiting.

"Did it never occur to you that we were the only ones...the only ones, Miss Granger...who stood in opposition of the Dark Lord that day? Draco could have given away Mr Potter. We could clearly see he was the Boy Who Lived, but he refused. In fact, if not for my dear," he sneered the word, "sister-in-law's timely observation of the sword, he could very likely have died that fateful day. And later, it was Narcissa's own wilful defiance that ensured Potter had the opportunity to strike later. It is easy to forget those moments of deception when it is easier still to condemn every unfortunate soul that bore the Dark Mark."

"But...Severus?"

"Wasn't there, but rest assured, if he had been, he would not have betrayed our true allegiances any more openly than we did. We all had our parts to play. It was a finely-honed edge to walk, and unlike him, we didn't have the sanction of the Order to protect us."

Lucius straightened, his hand relaxing as it dropped from the mantle. Her own hand fell away from him as he turned to face her, his cool mask of superiority back in place but for the minute darkening of his eyes, the only indication of the strength of his emotions. "We were never more grateful that Potter saw sense enough to plead our case before the Wizengamot. How much do you believe blood status mattered to us then, when veritaserum corroborated by Legilimency could not hold sway enough to prove our lack of fidelity to the Dark Lord? When every name I gave up to the Aurors in good faith did little to sway my sentencing?"

Unable to answer, she shook her head, and he sighed, reaching for her right hand and extending it toward him. "You showed me what true conviction looks like that day," he said gently, and her breath hitched as he began to slowly roll down the crimson glove that encased her arm. Little by little, the faint, silvery scars were revealed, and as he pulled the glove completely away, she stared at him in consternation. Lucius rubbed his thumb gently up the inside of her forearm, the pad of his thumb making her arm break out in goosebumps as it ran over the barely-there ridges of her scars.

"Don't," she whispered, unable to hide the anxiety in her voice as she pulled her arm away, cradling it close to her body.

Lucius's jaw hardened, his hand closing into a fist around the crimson glove he still held, but his eyes were looking far away, and she knew he had not yet come to the conclusion of his story. "The Dark Lord was displeased when he appeared that day. To have had the boy so close and yet still escape the clutches of his most loyal followers..." he shook his head. "Precious few of those present survived his wrath, and of those that did…" he did not elaborate, but his grey eyes darkened further, haunted by memory, and Hermione could only imagine the horrors the survivors must have suffered at their expense.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise..." she murmured.

His eyes refocused on her, now a dark stormy grey, and he seemed to draw himself up, the imposing and seemingly unflappable mask she was used to seeing falling back into place. "Nor could you have. It is of little consequence now. While I still hold many of my beliefs, I am not incapable of seeing past them, or have I not made that quite clear these past years?"

"I... always assumed you were just seeking to regain your social status, nothing more," she admitted. "In fact, I'm still not certain this isn't just an elaborate ruse to bring about a means to an eventual end."

Lucius took her confession in stride; it was nothing less than he'd expected. "Assumptions are almost as dangerous as deceit, Miss Granger. As I stated previously, my proposal would require a bit of faith."

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? Hermione thought. Could she have faith in this silver-tongued serpent? Granted, the whole affair had merit, but what exactly would he be expecting of her to achieve it?

"If I agree to this hare-brained scheme you've dreamed up—which is completely mental by the way—what exactly is the role you expect me to play? The good acquaintance to be seen in public with, wining and dining among the Wizarding world's most elite to the shabbiest orphanages inhabited by the remnants of the war's most oppressed?"

"Don't be so obtuse, Miss Granger, it is beneath you," he criticised. "To be clear, I desire more than social obligations from you, quite more indeed." His eyes swept down her body, and she felt a flush of heat prickle her skin as those grey eyes lingered on the most revealing aspects of her dress, leaving little doubt as to his meaning.

Hermione swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "Are you always so forward with your intentions?"

"I've found it best to always be very clear about what my expectations are when entering into any arrangement, and in this case, I believe the benefits would be mutually satisfying."

Sweet Merlin, the man was insufferable. Double entendre aside, he was also not wrong. Despite his sordid past, he was willing to overlook their differences to promote a vision she only dreamed about: the breaking down of blood superiority to give every person of magical inheritance a fair chance, regardless of blood status. Doing so would go far in redeeming the Malfoy name in public opinion, paving the way for its eventual return to the status quo. It could also potentially put the Malfoy fortunes at her fingertips when it came to her charity work. Once the shock of their union subsided, they could very well become an iconic symbol of the times, but it just seemed so gauche. Her thoughts must have translated to her expression because his next words took her entirely by surprise.

"I assure you, Miss Granger, I can be a very generous lover, and I would treat you with the utmost respect a witch of your calibre deserves."

To say she was stunned by his words would have been a gross understatement. "How do you even know I can reciprocate in that fashion, Mr Malfoy? You don't even really know me."

"I believe that's the point, my dear, to get to know you very well indeed," he smirked. This time she did blush, disconcerted by the way he was looking so calmly at her, but he didn't relent. "Tell me, Miss Granger, have you ever felt passion?"

Surprised by the question, Hermione returned his gaze steadily, choosing her words carefully. "Of course, I have. I've felt passion for many things. Learning, books, my work."

One pale brow arched, a slight smile gracing his lips at her deliberate avoidance of the heart of the question. "Real passion, Miss Granger, the kind that makes your toes curl and sets your blood on fire."

She could barely contain her derision. "There's no such thing as that kind of passion. It's a pretty lie made up by lonely hearts seeking a fairy-tale romance."

"Is it?" He seemed amused by the thought. "Then you have never experienced true passion, my dear." He lifted a hand to her slowly, the tips of his fingers skimming lightly against her cheek. "Never felt your blood burn as it courses through your veins," pressed those same fingers beneath her chin as his thumb swept over her bottom lip, "or the sweet ache of dying as your soul catches fire from one moment of pure, unadulterated…ecstasy."

Hermione would have scoffed, but one look at the intensity of his eyes caused her to rein back her disbelief. Arousal was a given, she could get aroused, felt it now even, but passion such as the kind he was proclaiming was pure fantasy; it didn't exist.

Sensing her disbelief, Lucius dropped his hand and slowly circled her, the heat of his gaze as it roamed over her body causing a tremor of doubt to creep up her spine. He came to a stop behind her, and she felt a thrill of anticipation coupled with trepidation well up inside of her. She remained still, closing her eyes and swallowing as she fought down the apprehension overtaking her senses, struggling for a calm that was dancing just out of reach. And then she felt the slide of his hands over the smooth satin of her dress as he grasped her around the waist, his fingers splaying over her stomach as he gently coaxed her to relax against him. The heat from his hands was palpable, searing her flesh through the thin fabric of her dress.

He bent his head toward her, his silken hair cascading over her shoulder as she felt the heat of his lips press against her skin. "I can show you such passion," he whispered, his voice sliding like rough velvet over her senses. "I can make your blood burn as it surges through your veins," the warmth of his breath tickled the fine hairs of her neck, causing her to shiver, "and set your very soul ablaze." A final, tantalising brush of his lips against her ear.

Hermione's breath caught, her heart stuttering in her chest, and for one dizzying moment, she thought she might stop breathing altogether. She clutched his arm tightly to steady herself, the thrill of the seductive promise falling from those sensual lips causing a frisson of desire to spread rapidly through her body. If she didn't know better, she'd say he'd made her very soul shudder. Perhaps he was right, maybe all it would take was one sinful dance to prove to her that such notions as passion were not merely whims of infatuated fantasy. She'd certainly never been seduced in such a fashion, and the alarming effect of his words on her psyche suddenly had her tingling with a fierce need to know.

She turned her head toward him, her eyes searching his, and then she nodded, the movement slight, but it was enough. He grasped her ungloved hand, his eyes never leaving hers as he slowly raised it to his lips, pressing an intimate, open-mouthed kiss to the palm of her hand. Her lips parted as she watched him, overwhelmed by the sensuality of it, the slow burn in the pit of her stomach unfurling in a sweet, lustful ache that spread langorously throughout her body.

Emboldened by the action, she turned in his arms, her hands sliding over his chest, feeling the firmness of the muscle beneath them until her fingers twined around the nape of his neck, inviting him to lean into her as she pressed herself against him. He paused momentarily, his eyes like quicksilver as they fell from her eyes to her lips, and then he was pulling her more firmly against him, his mouth covering hers with a self-assured confidence and grace that left her feeling more than a little dazed.

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut as she surrendered herself to the sensation of his mouth on hers. The supple movement of his lips and the nip of his teeth coaxed her to open beneath him, and she parted her lips unreservedly, inviting him to take his first taste of her. The sinuous stroking and twining of his tongue against hers was exquisite, and she moaned softly as he deepened the kiss with a slow, leisurely precision that left her senses reeling. The taste of him was intoxicating, sultry, with just a hint of the firewhisky still on his tongue.

His hands had settled low against her hips, pulling her tightly against him, until she could feel the rigid length of him pressing against her belly. Something ignited deep within, liquid heat gathering between her thighs as a burning need unveiled itself. Sweet Merlin, she wanted—she needed—

A brief knock and a familiar voice interrupted them from the doorway.

"Father?"

Lucius's groan was nearly audible as Hermione startled and broke away with a gasp, but his eyes never left hers, his pupils wide and dark with suppressed lust. He smirked at the flush of embarrassment that crept over her features as she struggled for breath, her own eyes wide with dismay.

"Yes, Draco?" Lucius's voice was surprisingly steady, but there was a hint of displeasure in his tone, and the thumb caressing her jawline suggested he'd rather be finishing what they'd started.

Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Forgive the intrusion, Father, but the Minister was hoping to have some words with you before he departed for the evening."

She could see the frustration evident in Lucius's eyes, but then he closed them and took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose. When he opened them, he was once more his usual, impassive self, but his eyes betrayed his regret.

"Very well, Draco. Tell him I will be along momentarily. Please escort Miss Granger back to our guests."

"Yes, father."

She began to turn away from him, but he held her fast, and she raised her eyes to look at him, questioning as he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her knuckles before he spoke.

"You will stay at the manor tonight."

It was neither question nor command, merely a statement of fact. Hermione's eyes widened fractionally before she nodded, and he released her. Retrieving her glove, she joined Draco at the door, pausing briefly to look back at him.

Lucius was facing the hearth with his hands behind his back, his expression one of someone who was deep in thought.

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.

Was that a bucket of cold water? Why, yes, yes, I think it was. Next up, some more revelations and a night in the manor with Lucius. (Ooooh!)

I hope you enjoyed this crazy long chapter. If you have flames, be gentle, I never claimed to be a good writer. Passable, maybe. I'm working on it! :)

~*~ Lumionessence

Chapter posted 9/29/18