Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Quartet	By : OracleObscured Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 128263 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 20
- 21
- 22
A/N: LissaDream: Thank you very much! I'm glad you liked the change of pace. And thank you so much for the corrections. I was up till midnight racing to get that chapter done, and I knew it was going to be riddled with insanity.
DS: "Reminds me of that excellent line from Annette Benning to Kevin Spacey in American Beauty - 'Darling . . . don’t be weird.'"--Hahahaha!
"I love how we’ve both gone with the ginormous Snape cock this time. Actually I think I have done that just about every time come to think of it ;)"--That's how you know were psychic sisters: cock size synchronization :P
21—Serenade
“Je vois la vie en rose.”—Édith Piaf
(Hermione) 
Hermione came home from work Tuesday evening to find a bundle of roses on her doorstep. The blooms were orange, but the edges were tipped in blood red; the effect was stunning, as if the sunset had melted across each petal. She picked up the bouquet and discovered a card beneath the green florist wrapping.
Mr. Malfoy’s refined penmanship was immediately identifiable. Uh oh. Lucius was a bloody wonder in bed, but after her Sunday with Draco, she was more confused than ever. They’d spent the rest of the night giggling and kissing like a couple of hormone-addled teenagers, but it had seemed like more than just fooling around. Each time they slept together, Hermione felt a little closer to Draco, a little more attached. And she could swear Draco felt the same way, but when she tried to get any kind of definitive answer from him, he looked decidedly uncomfortable, as if he wanted to turn tail and run. Hermione didn’t want to ruin their friendship by pushing him toward something he wasn’t ready for.
Did that mean she shouldn’t see Lucius anymore? What about Snape? The thought of losing all that snarky grey matter sent her into a pedantic panic. Who else wanted to talk about obscure articles in research journals? How many men did she know who spent their free time with books and beakers? Where else would she ever find that caliber of mental stimulation?
And who else lent her books that left her wetter than Loch Ness? She couldn’t attribute all of Snape’s appeal to his mind—although that did certainly sweeten the deal. He had a lot to offer her physically as well. A whole lot.
Hermione didn’t know what was going on with Lucius. She didn’t feel as close to him as she did to Draco, and he didn’t have Snape’s intellectual draw.
But he was interesting . . . and exciting . . . and sexy as all get out. She felt a bit vain that she wanted a man for such a shallow reason. Draco was good looking too, but Lucius seemed to have been designed strictly for female pleasure. Was it wrong to find that so appealing? She had nothing against sex for the sake of sex, but with the confusion of Draco and Snape added to the mix, she was swimming in a sea of uncertainty.
Carrying the flowers and card inside with her things, she set them on the kitchen table and sat down to read the note.
Dear Miss Granger,
I’ve been thinking about our last meal together. What you said is weighing on my mind. I am lonely. But being with you has been a revelation. I don’t talk to many witches with your sense of charity or thoughtfulness. You’re a strange creature. One I’d like to know better. I would be honored if you would agree to go out to dinner with me again this week. I know a quiet restaurant where we can be alone—the finest French cuisine. Tell me what day you’re free, and I’ll make reservations. How about tomorrow? I’ll pick you up after work. Wear your finest dress robes. (And stockings.)
Owl me when you decide,
L. Malfoy
Hermione was glad she was sitting down, because that wasn’t what she’d been expecting. Except for the stocking comment, he hadn’t made a single sexual suggestion. Lucius Malfoy the hopeful admirer was infinitely more likable than Lucius Malfoy the conceited pureblood.
Well, great. The complications just kept coming.
Her brain begged her to accept simply to find out what he had in store; and curiosity was a potent aphrodisiac. Hmmmmm.
Dammit! Why did she have to be so enamored of puzzles? Lucius had given her just enough of a peek to make her mental. That invitation didn’t sound like the first two at all. There was a hint of vulnerability, a smidgen of honesty and openness. Maybe Lucius needed a sympathetic ear. Maybe a little understanding would help him heal. Maybe you’re looking for altruistic excuses so you can sleep with him again without feeling like a giant slag.
Hermione looked down at his note, debating whether or not that was true. With a sigh, she admitted it wasn’t totally false. Just like with Draco and Snape, there was a mixture of sexual and non-sexual reasons fueling her interest. Should she penalize Lucius because so much of what they shared was physical? He deserved the chance to show her who he really was, and they hadn't had sufficient time to get to know one another properly. Even after years of friendship, she was still getting to know Draco. And Snape . . . bloody hell, she might never understand that man, but she had still agreed to meet him, and look how well that had turned out.
Crumbling under the weight of intrigue, Hermione found a quill and parchment and penned a quick reply.
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
I am free tomorrow night. I'll be home by six, but if you want me to look nice, you’ll have to give me another half hour. I’ve never been required to wear dress robes to a restaurant before. I look forward to a new experience. I love French food, so thank you for thinking of me.
Until tomorrow,
Hermione
She had to go into the city to send the owl, and while she was out, she picked up a new pair of stockings. 
Her others were laddered beyond repair.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
As soon as she got off work the next day, Hermione hustled home and started getting ready. She didn't want to look like a dumpy lump next to Lucius. Although . . . everyone kind of paled in comparison to Lucius. Except Narcissa. Hermione couldn't compete on that level, but she could do her best.
After styling her hair in a bulky French twist, she applied some smokey eye makeup and a nice lipstick. With the help of her trusty push-up bra, she took the girls from work mode to display ready; dress robes always made her look flatter than a brick wall, so she needed all the help she could get. The garter belt came next. That thing was getting more use in the past two weeks than it had gotten in years. Money well spent. After carefully rolling on her stockings, she stepped into her nicest burgundy dress robes and then her black heels. All she needed was a little something to polish off the ensemble. In her jewelry box, she found a pair of gold earrings that brought out the highlights in her hair and eyes. Perfect.
Checking herself in the mirror, she was surprised by her own reflection. She actually looked quite pretty. Or at least better than usual.
A knock came from the front room, and she jumped, her eyes darting to the clock. The time had gotten away from her—it was already 6:45.
Hermione grabbed her clutch and shoved her wand inside. “Coming!”
Dashing down the hall and into the front room, she yanked open the front door and skidded to a halt.
Fucking hell.
Normal, everyday Lucius was hot, but dressed-up Lucius was a real knicker-drencher. It was like an angel and Prince Charming had gotten it on and had some x-rated lovechild. Good thing Snape wasn't there with his super sniffer; apparently her pussy was extremely fond of handsome.
His grey eyes ran up and down her body, unapologetically checking her out. “Miss Granger, you look stunning. I must invite you out more often. Are you ready? I thought you might need some extra time, so I came a bit late.”
“Yes, I'm ready. But I did need the extra time—something always takes longer than expected.”
He held out his arm to her. "I've had years of waiting practice. Narcissa could spend hours getting dressed.”
Hermione took his elbow, and they started down the walkway. With an unobtrusive twist, she aimed her clutch over her shoulder and warded her flat as they headed off. “We won’t be late for our reservation, will we?”
Lucius smiled to himself and shook his head. “We have plenty of time.”
Stepping into the nearest alley, Mr. Malfoy moved in close, lightly draping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her body against his. Mmmm, she’d forgotten the perks of side-along Apparition. Her breasts were pressed to the hard planes of his abdominals, and with a little maneuvering, she felt the soft bulge of his crotch against her belly. The travel accommodations were top notch. Under the pretense of Apparition preparation, Hermione leaned in and surreptitiously sniffed his chest. Damn, he smelled good.
“Ready?”
She looked up, feigning propriety. “Yes, sir.”
Malfoy smirked and stroked her cheek with one finger. “Call me Lucius tonight.”
The way he hovered above her, as if they were moments from a first kiss, filled her stomach with antsy butterflies. “Okay. Lucius.”
His smirk shifted to a grin. “Hold on tight.”
I’m way ahead of you, Lumpy McTrouserson. Smiling, she curled into him and told Muffy to stop drooling.
His snake-headed walking stick whipped around them, and Hermione folded into nothingness. They reappeared in an even darker alley, but the street beyond was bright with flickering illumination.
He guided her out to the bustling thoroughfare, and Hermione blinked hard to make sure her eyes hadn’t gone wonky. Seriously? She blinked again. Nope, she wasn’t hallucinating. It was still there. And as far as she knew, there was only one Eiffel Tower. “Lucius . . . this is Paris.”
He urged her down the sidewalk, a smug smirk celebrating his successful surprise. “Where else would I get French food? And technically this is La Rue de la Magie.”
Wizarding Paris. It was beautiful. “I went to Dijon with my parents when I was younger,” she said as they passed a parade of well-dressed witches and wizards out for a night on the town.
His brows perked. "Did you? Visiting relatives?”
“No, just a holiday.”
“Did you go to The Dijon Cathedral?”
“Oh, yes. And the Musee des Beaux-Arts at the Palais des ducs et des États de Bourgogne, and le Jardin Botanique de l'Arquebuse. They were all magnificent.”
“Do you speak French?” he asked, sounding impressed.
Hermione blushed. “Not enough to make the locals like me.”
He laughed loudly, and she wondered if she'd ever heard him sound so unguarded.
“So you’ve never been to Paris?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the surroundings.
“No. This is wonderful, Lucius. I’ll never forget it.” She stared out at the sea of lights, grateful that Malfoy was piloting their walk so she could gawk without tripping. The entire city was bathed in a golden glow of twinkling incandescence, as if the stars had all fallen to earth to make the city glitter.
“Here we are,” he said, nodding at a tall building. “L’Hôtel de la Lumière. Best chef in the city.”
The doorman opened the door for her, nodding stiffly as they passed, but she noticed his eyes lingering over her low neckline. Lucius must have seen it too, because he possessively slipped his arm around her.
The hotel lobby was a testament to the grandeur of modern architecture. The lights inside were just as breathtaking as the ones outside. Lucius led her through the maze of people, past an arguing Russian couple with a little boy, who was nursing a lolly with absolute concentration, past a tall man in a turban, who had an blinking eye tattooed in the center of his forehead, and past a gaggle of bell hops, who all stopped talking to watch her walk by.
Maybe I look better than I thought, she mused with a rush of confidence. They arrived at an enormously tall door that opened into a lavish dining room, and a posh man with a bad comb-over greeted them in French-accented English.
“Ah. Monsieur Malfoy. Your table has been prepared. Are you ready to be seated?”
“Yes, Alphonse.”
“Right this way.”
They wove through tables of stylish patrons, following Alphonse’s tux tails like a black beacon. The huge hall filtered off into a few smaller rooms, and they were led to one such annex by the rigid maître d’. Leaving behind the vast opulence of the dining room, they stepped into another world, the atmosphere much more intimate and secluded. The tables were half the size and set further apart, buffeted by large potted plants to give the diners ample privacy. They were taken to a cozy table in one corner, where Alphonse pulled out her chair for her and politely made her comfortable. Mr. Malfoy waited until she was settled then took his own seat.
With a sharp click of Alphonse’s fingers, water and menus appeared before them, the crystal glasses sparkling in the candlelight. “Henri will be with you shortly,” he announced with a short bow.
Lucius nodded, and the man left them in their own personal dining jungle. 
Hermione did a quick once over of the room, but couldn’t see much through the greenery, so she picked up her menu and examined the selections—all in French—and was concerned that nothing had a price listed. That, combined with the limited number of choices, suggested that the restaurant was indeed five-star—and probably cost a fortune.
“What are you having?” she asked hesitantly.
Lucius squinted at the menu, his grey eyes rapidly scanning the list. “Pâté de foie gras. Coq au vin. And probably a nice Camembert with my wine. Have you decided?”
“I think I’ll start with the basil salmon terrine. Then I can’t decide between the duck or the cassoulet.”
“Their canard a l’orange is excellent.”
“All right, duck it is. I guess I’ll try the Camembert . . . or maybe I’ll have the chocolate mousse.”
He smirked. "It comes with strawberries."
With a daring arch of one brow, she smiled back. “Sounds like my kind of dish.”
Henri, who had the baby face of a teenager but the poise of a man twice twenty, appeared soon after, and they placed their orders; Lucius was offered the wine list, but he waved it off and requested a bottle of their finest champagne. It was summoned immediately, complete with temperature-control bucket and tulip-shaped flutes. After smoothly opening the bottle and pouring them each a glass, Henri set off for the kitchen.
When they were alone again, Lucius sat back and crossed his legs, studying her as he absently traced the base of his glass with one finger. Hermione sat back too, not wanting to appear unnerved by his gaze.
“So is Dijon as far as you’ve been?” he asked politely.
Hermione nodded. “I’ve always wanted to come to Paris, but I’m so caught up with work. Plus, I didn’t want to go by myself, but now everybody is married and busy with families.”
“I could bring you back anytime you like. I know the city well.”
That was kind of him, and she really did want to visit the city with someone who knew its finer points. “Maybe when my next holiday rolls around we could go to the Louvre.”
He nodded, the hint of a smile twitching up the corners of his mouth. “I’d like that. Draco and Narcissa never wanted to go to the museums; they just wanted to shop.”
He sounded genuinely interested, and that sparked Hermione’s imagination. “Oh, I’d like to go to the Musée d’Orsay too, and Montmartre,” she said excitedly.
Lucius‘s smile warmed with pleasure. “Sounds lovely. The Palais Garnier has an opera library if you’re interested. I could keep watch while you have a go in the stacks.”
Hermione blushed but couldn’t keep a chagrined smile from emerging. “You’re hilarious,” she quipped dryly. “I wouldn’t mind actually going to see an opera though.”
“They mostly have ballet there now. The Opéra Bastille has the operas.”
“I like ballet too. I’d love to see both.”
“A fan of ballet as well? I’ve hit the cultural mother lode. What’s your favorite ballet?”
“I haven’t seen a whole lot, but I like Giselle, and Swan Lake, and Romeo and Juliet. But I also like the more modern stuff like Twyla Tharp. What do you like?”
“Maybe The Firebird is my favorite. But I‘m a huge fan of Balanchine’s choreography. I got to see Baryshnikov in my younger years.”
“Really? How was he?”
“Bloody brilliant,” he said with a rapturous roll of his eyes. “Spellbinding. We should see what they’re putting on soon. What about operas—what’s your favorite? Cadmus et Hermione?”
She laughed. “I’ve never seen it, but I like Mozart and Verdi. What about you?”
“Wagner is my favorite. But I like Strauss and Mozart too. Especially Don Giovanni.”
How very Lucius. “What about other theatre? Do you go to plays?”
“I haven’t been in ages, but I love Shakespeare. I’ve seen almost all of them.”
“I love Shakespeare too! Nobody else I know does.”
“Snape likes it. It’s the only theatre we’ve ever been to together.”
“So he doesn’t like opera and ballet?”
Lucius snorted. “Can you picture Snape at the ballet? I felt like it was a feat just to get him out of his lab to see Julius Caesar.”
“Is that your favorite?”
“It’s one of my favorites. I think I like MacBeth and Hamlet more.”
“I like A Midsummer’s Nights Dream . . . and Twelfth Night.”
“A comedy lover,” he murmured. “I pictured you more as a Romeo and Juliet fan.”
“Oh, I love it too, but I like the sarcasm of the comedies.”
“Do you like other theatre?” he asked, leaning in.
“I like it all. I’ve been to lots of musicals.”
“I’m picky about musicals. I’m not a fan of the older ones, but I think some of the newer shows are actually decent. The less cheesy the better.”
She grinned. “So you don’t want to see Annie with me?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Definitely not.”
“How about Sweeney Todd?”
A surprised smile lit his face. “I didn’t think you’d go for something so macabre.”
“I love it. I’ve got a heart-on for Sondheim.”
Lucius burst out laughing. “Well, in that case, I’ll have to get us a private box at the next West End revival.”
The waiter brought their first course, and Hermione and Lucius put their conversation on hold until he left.
When he’d gone, Hermione sampled her salmon terrine. The fish and cream cheese practically melted on her tongue. “This is amazing!”
Lucius tested his foie gras and nodded with far more decorum. “As good as I remember.”
She gestured at his plate. “You know how they make that, don’t you?”
He sighed. “Of course I know how they make it.”
“Force feeding ducks sounds horrid. How can you eat that?”
"Because it’s delicious. Would you like to try some?” he asked, leering as he held his spoon toward her.
She shook her head and backed away. “No thank you.”
Malfoy shrugged. “More for me. I take it you like the symphony too,” he said, continuing their earlier conversation.
“Oh, yes. Very much. Let me guess . . . you like Wagner and Strauss again.”
He nodded. “I do. But I like Mozart and Chopin too.”
“I like Chopin too, but I love Beethoven the most.”
“You like passionate composers.”
"Yes, I guess I do. I like passionate painters too.”
“We should go to the Musée Picasso. You’d like it there.”
"Sounds nice. Where can we see Van Gogh?”
“The Musée D’Orsay. Is he your favorite?”
She nodded. “I like Gauguin too. And Klimt.”
"Nothing more classical?" he asked with a smirk of amusement.
“Oh, I like DaVinci, and I love Bernini’s sculptures.”
His smirk spread to a curling grin. “You are definitely an Ecstasy of Saint Teresa kind of witch.”
She blushed but couldn’t deny it was one of her favorites. “I was thinking more Blessed Ludovica Albertoni.”
Lucius choked on his foie gras and had to take a sip of champagne to clear his throat. “Hear, hear,” he muttered in agreement, raising his glass to her. When he noticed that she’d abandoned her first course, he gave her a concerned frown, “How’s your salmon?”
“Still marvelous. I just don’t want to fill up before the duck.”
He nodded and took another bite. “They use bread as a palate cleanser here.” His spoon flashed toward the bread basket. “Salmon and basil won’t mix well with the orange sauce.”
Hermione broke off a bit of French bread and nibbled as she looked around the room. There were about five other couples hidden among the fronds. “I guess there are too many people for our usual palate cleanser.”
His granite eyes danced with mirth. “Perhaps I can arrange a second dessert later tonight. How does cream pie sound?”
She hid her laugh as Henri suddenly appeared with their entrees.
When he placed the dish before her, Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled the warm aroma. The dish was beautiful—sliced duck drizzled in a dark orange sauce. There were four orange wedges interspersed with baby carrots around the perimeter. She almost didn’t want to ruin the artistry by eating it.
Lucius started on his coq au vin, but watched her from the corner of his eye. “Are you going to just stare at that all night?”
“I feel bad messing up their work.”
Malfoy snickered and shook his head. “Eat it while it's hot. There’s nothing pleasant about cold canard.”
She picked up her knife and cut off a bite. Spearing it with her fork, she lifted it to her lips. The tart sweetness of the orange turned the duck into a mouthwatering morsel of sheer delight. “Oh. My. God. How is this so good?”
“Makes dessert seem unnecessary, doesn’t it?” he replied knowingly.
“Yeeeeees,” she moaned, cutting off another bite. “Whoever made this deserves the Nobel Prize.”
Malfoy smiled and, under the table, slid his leg against hers. “I like seeing your eyes roll back like that.”
“I think I’m about to have a ducking orgasm.”
He covered his mouth with one hand and tried not to choke on his chicken.
“I need to learn how to make this sauce. Cock a l’orange sounds promising.”
Lucius set down his fork and took another sip of champagne, obviously trying to maintain some semblance of etiquette, but he sputtered into the glass when she licked the sauce from her fork with a shaky whimper.
“Maybe we can ask Severus to make you some,” Malfoy suggested. “He’s fond of food you can suck off another person.”
“Is he really?” She’d never thought about Snape sucking anything off her. The image was intriguing. “Like custard?”
“Why do you think it’s his signature dish?”
“I didn’t know it was.” Hermione stabbed into a carrot and tried it too. “Bloody hell!” she growled softly. “Something must be wrong with my carrots at home, because they don’t taste anything like this.”
“They peel and glaze them. It gets rid of any bitterness.”
“Snape should create a potion that makes semen taste like orange sauce. Unplanned pregnancy rates would drop to nothing once witches got a taste of it.”
With a large smile, Lucius started on his chicken again. “I assumed by the way you begged for more that you were quite fond of the natural taste.”
“It’s a flavor you have to get used to,” she replied, as if they were discussing fine cuisine. “But some wizards taste better than others. You, for instance, taste strongly of salted caramel.”
“Do I really?” he asked with a quirk of one eyebrow. “Snape tastes of butter pecan and bleach.”
Hermione burst into an indelicate guffaw, trying to restrain herself so the other patrons wouldn't stare. “All blokes taste like bleach. You have to ignore that bit.”
“I didn’t say I disliked it. When I was younger, the smell of chlorinated pools used to really get me going.”
Hermione almost snort-sprayed her duck all over him. Gulping down some water, she covered her face with her napkin and laughed into the linen.
When she’d recovered, she put her napkin back in her lap and studied him while he ate. Lucius was turning out to be a far more interesting man than she’d anticipated. “May I ask you a personal question?”
He nodded and took another bite, waiting for her to go on.
“Have you always been bi-sexual? I mean, how long have you been sleeping with men?”
Lucius paused his chewing and gave her a thoughtful look. “I knew when I was young. I fooled around at school, but Severus is the only man I’ve had any kind of long-term relationship with.”
“Have you ever loved another man?”
He seemed surprised by the question. “Romantically, I’ve only loved Narcissa; but . . . Severus is like a brother to me.”
“So you love him, you’re just not in love with him?”
Malfoy spent several moments in silent consideration. “I guess that’s the easiest way to put it, but . . . I'm not sure it's that simple. I’ve never really analyzed us before.”
“Does he feel the same way about you?”
Lucius blinked, clearly thrown. “I’ve no idea. I assume so.”
Hermione polished off half her duck while she contemplated that tidbit of information. This night was going far better than she’d ever imagined. Lucius was relaxing around her, and she liked this side of him. He gave charm new meaning.
“May I ask you another question, Lucius?”
He looked up from his chicken and nodded. “You may.”
“What was Draco like as a small child?”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Like he is now but shorter.”
She wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “How would you describe him now?”
“Childish. Needy.” Lucius leaned in as if preparing to tell a story. “When he was little, he used to beg me to take him to Gringotts to play in the vault while I finished business. He’d ask to go every single day, but when I’d take him, he’d drive me up the wall. ‘Daddy, what’s this? Daddy, look at me. Daddy, look how much gold I can fit in my pocket.’ It was bloody annoying. When I’d tell him to shut up and let me work, he’d sit on the floor and pout until I took him home—at which point, he’d run back to his mother and stay permanently attached to her leg for the rest of the night. He’s a mummy’s boy.”
Hermione set down her fork in mild horror. “Lucius, that is . . . cold. He obviously just wanted you to love him.”
Malfoy sighed sadly, and he stared at his champagne as if he couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. “I know. And I wish I’d handled things differently, but I didn’t realize then that my short fuse would bond him so tightly to Narcissa. I didn’t see the long term effects.”
“Which were?”
“A man child. He’s never grown up. Every time something goes wrong, he wants his mummy to come and make it better.”
Hermione was dazed by Lucius’s take on his son. Draco wanted affection. From everyone. Probably because he never got it from his father. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t you like to be touched?”
Looking up, his blond brow furrowed. “By the right people, yes.”
“You liked it when your wife held you; it made you feel better?”
A wince of pain flashed across his face. “Yes.”
“Why is it okay for you to find solace in her embrace, but not Draco?”
He sat up straighter, his expression perplexed. “It’s not the same. I’m not needy—I’m physical. I took care of my family all day, and her touch kept me sane.”
“You took care of your family how?”
“By providing for them.”
“But not by loving your son?”
Lucius’s stormy eyes hardened, and he lowered his voice to a hiss, “I do love my son. Don’t ever doubt that. I just wish he wasn’t so . . .”
Much like your wife?
“Desperate.”
Hermione leaned closer and reached out, putting her hand over his, and he stared at her fingers as if he’d never seen such a sight. “You’re so focused on how Draco is different from you, you don’t see how alike you two are.”
He tentatively ran his thumb over her fingers. “In what way?”
“You both need touch to feel complete. You both want to be loved.”
“Everyone wants to be loved.”
"But you two thrive on it. You’re both empty without it.”
He looked into her eyes, as if searching for something in their depths. His fingers continued their steady stroking, and she got the impression he couldn't help himself. After an endless minute, he finally spoke. “Do you really think I’m empty?”
Hermione didn’t want to be rude; this man had brought her to Paris and fed her a meal fit for a queen. But she didn’t want to lie either. “I saw you after Narcissa died. You were broken. Draco was trying to hide his tears, and you were trying to hide your heart. I’d never seen you look wounded before. It was like you were suddenly human. I’m glad you’re better now, but something’s still missing from your life.”
His face went slack. “Love?”
She held his hand tighter. “Maybe just joy. You have love in your life, but until recently, I’d never seen you honestly smile.”
“Yes,” he muttered thoughtfully.
“Are you ready for dessert?” Henri asked quietly.
They both jumped and pulled their hands apart as if they’d been caught doing something indecent.
Lucius nodded. “Yes, I’m ready.”
Henri snapped his fingers, and a silver cart wheeled itself over to their table. He set Hermione’s mousse before her and took her dinner plate. After he removed Lucius’s plate, he set the cheese in its place and took their unfinished food back to the kitchen.
The silence between them was heavy when the waiter left. Dinner had taken a rather serious turn. In an attempt to dispel the discomfort, Hermione plucked a strawberry from the edge of the bowl and bit into it. It was juicy and sweet, and she had to catch a stream of liquid on her tongue before it ran down the corner of her mouth. Testing a tiny spoonful of mousse, she gave him an unsure smile. “It’s nowhere near as good as Snape’s custard.”
Lucius smirked wanly. “No. I’ve yet to find anything that surpasses it. And mousse is so dry. I always find it unsatisfying—like eating air.”
Swirling a strawberry through the fluff, Hermione tried them together. Much better. “This is pretty good. Would you like some chocolate air?”
"No thank you," he said quietly, still watching her. "I'm not hungry.”
Hermione flinched at the rawness in his voice. Holding out her hand, she offered him a token of comfort. She didn’t mean to bring up so many sad memories. He accepted her offering without hesitation, his fingers sliding over hers to stroke her palm.
“It’s my turn to ask you a question,” he said suddenly.
She nodded and curled her fingers around his hand. “Yes?”
“Why did you agree to go out with me tonight . . . and the other night?”
Hermione didn't quite know how to answer that. “Well, if you want the truth, I agreed the other night because I wanted to see what you were like alone, and I wanted to sleep with you again. But tonight I came because your letter made me curious.”
“Curious about what?”
“What all I don’t know about you.”
“Is your curiosity sated?”
“Actually, the night has been far more interesting than I’d hoped. I like talking to you. We share so many common interests, which I really wasn’t expecting. I’ve had a very nice time. Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Malfoy.”
“I told you to call me Lucius.”
She smiled. “Forgive me. Lucius.”
“You know what I realized the other day?” His fingers played along her wrist, tickling her as he talked. “I realized that you’re the only person who has thanked me in . . . well, honestly, I can’t remember the last time.”
That was pretty sad. “I like to thank people when they do something kind.”
He smiled softly. “Like making you climax?
“Yes,” she said with a grin. “Very grateful for that.”
“No one ever thanks me for anything. It’s nice to hear.”
“You deserve it. You worked really hard to make me feel good.”
With a breathy chuckle, Malfoy shook his head. “That was not hard work—that was play. But I meant everything you thank me for, not just the sex. You thanked me for the flowers and for the food. And you aren’t just being polite. You honestly mean it.”
“Of course I mean it. I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Precisely. Most people have some ulterior motive, but you just lay it all on the line. I never knew what a relief it was to talk to someone who actually said what they meant.”
“Is that why you invited me to dinner?”
“Partially.” Lucius used his free hand to pick up his glass. “It was more because . . .” He paused to gather his thoughts and take a sip of champagne. “I’m not sure. You’re not like any other witch I’ve known. You’re . . . warm and . . . intuitive. I know that sounds like a strange compliment, but you pay attention to things; you think about how people feel. I’m not used to that.”
“Severus pays attention to things too. He reads everybody.”
“Yes,” Lucius murmured, looking off and nodding. “He does. But he keeps it to himself. He uses it for his own benefit. Severus lives in his head; he locks everything up tight unless he sees a reason to release some information.”
“Maybe that’s why you two work so well together. It gives you the physical contact you need, and it gives him a way to escape his brain.”
Lucius stared at her blankly for a few seconds before answering, “That is a strong possibility. What about you and me—why do we work so well together?”
Hermione smiled and stroked his hand. He thinks we work well together? “Before tonight I would have guessed that you just wanted a woman to fill the emptiness your wife left behind. But,” she added hastily when his jaw tensed, “now I think it's a bit more than that. You seem to want a companion who shares your love of life's pleasures. But you also need someone to balance you out. I think you like my honesty and consideration because those qualities are missing in your life.”
“Or maybe I just adore your juicy little pussy.”
Hermione laughed. “Maybe. It is persuasive, isn’t it? But I think you’re kind of like me,” she continued, ignoring his attempt to deflect to sex. “I like your cock and the way you take control in bed, but I’m drawn to this other side of you that enjoys fine food and the arts. You’re a lover of all things sensual. Maybe I need that balance in my life.”
“So you don’t think I’m just materialistic and evil?”
Hermione hadn’t thought of Lucius as evil since she saw him wandering around his house looking like a bedraggled waif after Narcissa’s death. “You’re not evil. You are materialistic, but I think that’s just because you like the security money affords you. Plus you like to provide, don’t you?”
It wasn’t really a question, but he nodded. “When Narcissa was around, I felt useful. I had someone depending on me.”
“You still have Draco.”
“I don’t want Draco depending on me. I want him to be his own man.”
Hermione nodded and traced the lines of his wrist. “And Snape is the last person who’d accept any kind of care, so you’re left in the lurch. Is that it?”
Lucius sighed. “I suppose.”
“But I’m not like Snape. I’m receptive and, as you said, warm. Does that make you feel useful again?”
“Do you always ask such gut-wrenching questions in the middle of dinner?”
Hermione smiled. “You’re right. We can change the subject if you like.”
“I’m not used to talking to anyone like this.”
No shit. “I don't mean to upset you. We can talk about anything.”
He took another deep breath and let it out slowly, as if he were pondering what to say. “I hadn’t really thought about it until you said something, but yes, I do feel useful when you’re around.”
Hermione bit her tongue to keep from grinning. So Lucius was brave after all. That was probably the most vulnerable statement he’d made since Narcissa had been alive. If he was willing to say something so personal, maybe she’d been wrong about what he needed from her. Maybe he needed an emotional outlet like Draco.
"Would you like to stay with me tonight?” he asked softly.
“All night?”
“Yes. I can wake you up in time to go back to your flat in the morning and get ready for work.”
“What if Draco sees us?”
He shook his head, indicating she’d misunderstood. “I don’t mean stay at the Manor; I mean stay here in the hotel. I have a room.”
"Mr. Malfoy,” she said in mock shock, “were you intending to seduce me tonight?”
He quirked one brow at her. “Most certainly; but I was just being pragmatic with the room. I didn’t know if you’d want to stay or not.”
“You really want to spend the night with me?”
He nodded.
“I’d like to stay, but I haven’t brought any pajamas.”
Although his smile was genuine, his voice remained acerbically dry, “Thank God.”
Holy crap. This will definitely be my longest chapter notes for the story. I left out some of the well known composers and artists and authors and plays/musicals simply to save time. (I hate it when I read a story with shitloads of references I know nothing about, and I didn't want to do that to my readers.) I've included links if you want to read more or see pictures.
Serenade—A musical performance given to honor or express love for someone, often by one person.--The Free Dictionary
"La Vie en Rose" by Edith Piaf. Written by Edith Piaf (lyrics) and Louiguy and Marguerite Monnot (melody). 1945. The title roughly translates to "Life in rosy hues" or Life through rose-tinted glasses." (Wikipedia) The song was an international hit for Piaf and is still popular to this day, having been covered by a slew of well-known artists and featured in popular movies.
In 1998 the song was given a Grammy Hall of Fame Award.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=rzeLynj1GYM
La Rue de la Magie=The Street of Magic
Dijon Cathedral: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dijon_Cathedral
Musee des Beaux-Arts de Dijon/Palais des ducs et des États de Bourgogne: Musee des Beaux-Arts de Dijon is the Museum of Fine Arts in Dijon. It is housed in the Palace of the Dukes of Burgundy, which is a historical and cultural center in Dijon. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mus%C3%A9e_des_Beaux-Arts_de_Dijon
le Jardin botanique de l'Arquebuse: A botanical garden and arboretum in Dijon. (You'll get the best pictures with a google image search.)
L’Hôtel de la Lumière= The hotel of the light
Pâté de foie gras: pate made from the liver of a duck or goose that has been specially fattened.
Coq au vin: Chicken braised with wine lardons (pork fat used for flavor), mushrooms and sometimes garlic.
Camembert: A soft, creamy cheese. First made in Normandy, France.
basil salmon terrine: A terrine is a sort of pate made with coarsely chopped ingredients. Salmon terrine is, obviously, made of salmon but it's usually mixed with cream cheese (or a cream and egg mixture) and something with some more flavor (like basil or lemon).
cassoulet: A rich, slow-cooked casserole originating in the south of France.
Louvre: The most famous art museum in the world. Located in Paris. http://www.louvre.fr/en
Musée d’Orsay: “A museum in Paris, France, on the left bank of the Seine. It is housed in the former Gare d'Orsay, a Beaux-Arts railway station built between 1898 and 1900. The museum holds mainly French art dating from 1848 to 1914, including paintings, sculptures, furniture, and photography. It houses the largest collection of impressionist and post-Impressionist masterpieces in the world, by painters including Monet, Manet, Degas, Renoir, Cézanne, Seurat, Sisley, Gauguin, and Van Gogh. Many of these works were held at the Galerie nationale du Jeu de Paume prior to the museum's opening in 1986. It is one of the largest art museums in Europe.” (Wikipedia) http://www.musee-orsay.fr/en/home.html
Montmartre: A large historic district in Paris. The big white church you see in the pictures is The Basilica of Sacré-Cœur, but it's surrounded by nightclubs and shops. The area used to be a big hang out for some famous artists (Dali, Modigliani, Monet, Toulouse-Lutrec, Mondrian, Picasso, Pissarro, Van Gogh). https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montmartre
The Palais Garnier (and opera library): A symbol of Paris as much as Notre Dame or the Louvre, the Palais Garnier is probably the most opulent opera house in the world. Until the Opera Bastille opened, it was the place to go for Opera in Paris. (The Palais Garnier is the setting for The Phantom of the Opera.) The Opera library is part of the same building and is a library and museum. It used to be managed by the opera, but now it's part of the Music Department of the National Library of France.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palais_Garnier
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bibliothèque-Musée_de_l%27Opéra_National_de_Paris
The Opéra Bastille: A modern opera house in Paris and the main facility of the Paris National Opera. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Opéra_Bastille
Twyla Tharp: American dancer and choreographer. Known for her crossover pieces (a sort of blending of styles with ballet). Here a video of part of one of her most famous pieces (and it stars Baryshnikov, so you get two examples in one). https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=w_aEbEqpLdc
The Firebird: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Firebird (Plot summary at the bottom.)
Balanchine: Famous ballet choreographer. Founder of the NYC Ballet. "A major artistic figure of the twentieth century, Balanchine revolutionized the look of classical ballet. Taking classicism as his base, he heightened, quickened, expanded, streamlined, and even inverted the fundamentals of the 400-year-old language of academic dance. This had an inestimable influence on the growth of dance in America. Although at first his style seemed particularly suited to the energy and speed of American dancers, especially those he trained, his ballets are now performed by all the major classical ballet companies throughout the world."--Balanchine.org
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=zoyr458kIvs
Baryshnikov: Soviet and American dancer. Born in Latvia, her started out dancing in Russia before he defected to Canada in 1974. Later he joined the NYC Ballet to learn Balanchine's style and danced with ABT. (He became a US citizen in '86.) Widely considered one of the best ballet dancers ever.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mikhail_Baryshnikov
Cadmus et Hermione: A French opera about Cadmus, king of Thebes, and Hermione, daughter of Venus and Mars. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cadmus_et_Hermione
Don Giovanni: Mozart opera about Don Juan. https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Gp11bweiOA8
Sweeney Todd: I first saw the Broadway production on PBS in 1989 and immediately fell in love. It's still my favorite musical, and yes, that means it has to be Hermione's too. I enjoy the Burton version (despite the weak singing from the two lead characters), but how could I not love my favorite musical with the irresistible bonus of Alan Rickman as Judge Turpin. (Two obsessions in one—so delicious.)(Although I find it completely unbelievable that Joanna would ever want to leave that house.) For those who have never seen it, Sweeney Todd is about a barber who is falsely sent into exile by an unscrupulous judge who's after the barber's pretty, young wife. Sweeney escapes and comes back for his wife and daughter (who was an infant when he was sent away), but is informed by the woman who's now running a meat pie shop at his old establishment that his wife drank poison and the judge took his daughter—who's now a teenager—and he's got her locked up in his house. While Sweeney hatches a plan of revenge, he takes up barbering again under an assumed name. After killing a traveling barber who recognizes him, the meat pie lady, Mrs. Lovett, suggests grinding up the body for pies (as meat is expensive and she doesn't have the money).
I won't give way the finer points for those who haven't seen it, but rest assured the story is both gory and heartbreaking. (And funny.)
If you get the chance to see the version with Angela Lansbury and George Hern (which can be found on DVD), I heartily recommend it.
West End: The theatre district of London.
Musée Picasso: the Picasso museum in Paris. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Musée_Picasso
Ecstasy of Saint Teresa--Sculpture by Bernini. Quite a few of Bernini's sculptures have a decidedly sexual flavor to them. Of course what he intended is up for debate, and many people will claim it's simply religious ecstasy that leaves some of his subjects looking so orgasmic. (I won't go into my views on all orgasms being spiritual at this point. I'll just leave it up to you judge for yourself.) https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ecstasy_of_Saint_Teresa
https://www.romaexperience.com/rome-blog/2013/5/24/the-spiritual-orgasm-of-saint-teresa
(You'll find better close ups if you do a google image search.)
Blessed Ludovica Albertoni--Another of Bernini's sculptures. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blessed_Ludovica_Albertoni
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