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A World Not Fit To Live In	By : snowblind12 & Lissa Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 78134 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: These characters and the Harry Potter world belong to J K Rowling and her publishers. I make nothing from this story and I own none of it. It is based off the work of JK Rowling.

Chapter List
- 21
- 22
- 23
AN: ** Con te partiro (Time to Say Goodbye) written by Francesco Sartori and Lucio Quarantotto released as a single in 1995.
We took inspiration in this cover version by Hope:
https://youtu.be/J7bwSk5pCsg
Chapter Twenty-Two
BETA love: RaynePhoenix2
Sunday, July 10th
Lucius set his coffee cup down when Draco entered the dining room. His son paused in his step when he noticed Hermione’s absence.
After taking his seat and spreading his napkin across his lap, the younger Malfoy looked at his father and asked with a hint of irritation, “Where is the Mudblood? It’s Sunday brunch, why is she not here?” After Bilby poured his coffee, Draco added cream and took a sip.
Lucius feigned boredom as he flipped the page of the newspaper. “Miss Granger is dining in the dungeons with her mother.” The lids over their plates were lifted to reveal sliced tomatoes, link sausage, bacon, sautéed mushrooms, fried eggs, beans, and toast. Lucius folded the paper before spreading his own napkin and added, “A small reward for good behavior.”
Draco scowled as he cut into his sausage. “Really father, you spoil her.”
“Perhaps,” Lucius falsely conceded as he took a bite of egg. He found he wasn’t particularly hungry. He nonchalantly studied his son as he ate his breakfast. Lucius just didn’t understand. Where had his boy gone? This angry, distant, and abusive young man sitting at his table was not someone Lucius knew or understood. He was so unlike the son Lucius had raised.
It had to be madness. There was no other explanation. Draco had been brought up exactly as he, himself, had been raised; the same as his father before him. Malfoy men were well educated, well spoken, generous to the right causes, and faithful to their bloodline. They married well and reared sons to secure the family name for future generations. None of the Malfoy men, save perhaps Lucius’ father, had ever been abusive that Lucius was aware of.
Lucius peeked at his father’s sleeping portrait. While there was a time that Lucius had loved Abraxas, he had never liked the man very much. He hated the way his mother, Willow, had been seemingly afraid of the man. However, while Lucius knew his father had employed a biting tongue and had been distant towards Willow, he had never imagined there had been any physical abuse. That was until Lucius was older and learned the truth.
Lucius still shuddered at the memory of one of the worst days of his life. He had been swiftly taken from his warm bed at Hogwarts and rushed to the Manor to be told his mother had fallen down a flight of stairs to her death. It was all very suspicious and there had been whispers that Lucius was not privy to. However, Abraxas’ slip from his typical stern and stoic façade into that of a grieving husband had been convincing enough that those whispers and accusatory stares disappeared fairly quickly. It wasn’t until Abraxas’ death that the portraits around the mansion spoke up. The patriarch no longer held power over them and they were finally free to out the truth.
Lucius had been furious with his father when he found out about the years of abuse. He had even contemplated burning his father’s portrait, but ultimately his dedication to family tradition prevailed. All the Malfoy patriarchs were represented throughout the Manor. He could not deprive his father of that right.
Willow’s portrait had not taken months to awaken after death, but years. And other than a few one syllable words, she had not spoken much. Then she suddenly stopped speaking altogether over a decade ago. Lucius had tried to engage her many times over the years but, while her soft eyes were always full of love and understanding, she wouldn’t respond. Lucius suspected his father’s portrait might have something to do with it.
Taking a bite of tomato, Lucius looked back at his son. Was it the Black family madness? It had to be. Draco had not been raised to be abusive. He had not been raised to hate so acutely. He had been brought up to respect himself and his rights as a pureblood. He had been warned from associating with Mudbloods and Muggles, but he had never been encouraged to inflict violence on them or anyone else.
Lucius gave up on attempts to eat and put his fork down as his thoughts drifted to the Dark Lord. Pledging himself to that monster had been the biggest mistake of his life, but Voldemort had been very different when Lucius was young. He had been Tom Riddle back then; handsome, charismatic, and respectful to his peers and supporters. He said the right words and supported the right causes. He had a sharp mind and a quick wit. He rewarded his followers by taking interest in them and helping them succeed where they were lacking. He connected people with others who could help them and in turn connected those people with others to return the favor. Most importantly, he understood the frustrations the Purebloods felt as Mudbloods infiltrated the blood lines and spread their contemporary thoughts and Muggle ways. They were like a virus slowly taking over everything and Voldemort had plans to change all that. Things were going to be righted and shifted back to the way they should have always been.
By the time violence became part of the recipe for reform, it was too late. Lucius was already marked and had no choice but to obey. Tom Riddle slowly morphed into the Dark Lord. He recruited unsavory followers and sent them on horrific challenges. It was to appease those types that the revels started. Lucius, Severus, and Rabastan – as well as several others – were unhappy with the new tactics. However, there was little they could do other than adapt to the new ways. Any thoughts or inclinations to resist were abruptly halted by witnessing the fates of the few whom had spoken up – the few who had resisted. They were dead for their bravery and forth rightfulness; Fortescue MacMilllan, Regulus Black, and Marty Bulstrode, to name a few.
Lucius had done terrible things for which he was ashamed. He had beaten men and he had raped women. As sick as it made him now, he took small comfort that it had never been of his own volition and never when he wasn’t ordered to. Even though he had bullied and raped women on command, he had never struck one. Not the way his son was repeatedly beating Hermione. He had never left a bruise. It was something he was acutely aware of; that small line he swore he would never cross.
He learned to do as he was told. He had a role to play and the best way to get along was to play along. He could not appear weak and he could not appear anything less than enthusiastic about the changes taking place around him. His life, the life of his wife, and – most importantly – the life of his son had depended on it.
Once again, his gaze fell on Draco. This young man before him was still a child in so many ways. Lucius had tried to protect the boy from the clutches and influence of the Dark Lord, but he had failed miserably. One of his biggest mistakes had been letting Narcissa convince him to leave Draco at Hogwarts. The minute Lucius’ Dark Mark had begun to darken again, and it became understood among the Death Eaters that Voldemort was likely still alive, he had wanted to send Draco to Durmstrang and get him out of the UK. Narcissa had begged him – pleaded with him – not to send her boy away. Merlin forgive him, but he had conceded.
In truth, he dreaded his son being at Durmstrang every bit as much as Narcissa. It was a very different experience from Hogwarts. It was comparable to what Muggles would call military school, and Lucius had wanted Draco to have the same joys and experiences he had enjoyed as a student at Hogwarts. Looking back, he realized he had indulged Draco to a fault. He hadn’t done it on purpose, but when he found out Narcissa could bear no more children, he found himself unable to deny the boy. He would do anything to keep him happy…and alive. Including selling his soul to the Devil.
Yet, despite his attempts, his son had become the very thing Lucius didn’t want him to be. His sacrifices had been for nothing. His wife was dead, and Draco had not only been marked, but had been seduced by the worst amongst the Dark Lord’s followers; Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and MacNair. However, in truth, their influence alone wouldn’t be enough to change a person to such an extreme. There had to be other forces at play. The change in Draco had seemed to happen so suddenly.
Draco had been conflicted for some time. As a sixth- and seventh-year student he held burdens and moral dilemmas that most grown men would never have to face. It didn’t help that Lucius had been imprisoned after the Ministry fiasco, leaving Draco with the worry of protecting his mother.
Because of all that, Draco had started pulling away and becoming his own person over the past year. However, it was after the Defeat of Hogwarts that there had been a real change…after the loss of his mother. Narcissa’s portrait was still certain the catalyst was grief, but Lucius just couldn’t agree. This was too extreme. It was the Black madness that was perhaps accelerated by grief. It had to be. Draco was so very much like Bellatrix now; full of hate with a complete lack of empathy and a disinterest in the things that had once been very important to him. He seemed to be singularly obsessed with torturing Hermione just as Bellatrix was singularly obsessed with pleasing the Dark Lord. Was that what it was? An illness of hate and obsession? It was exhausting to try and figure out.
Lucius tossed his napkin on the table as he asked tiredly, “How are you feeling, son? Have you been resting well?”
Draco looked away from the Daily Prophet and seemed to contemplate. “Yes, Father. I’ve been sleeping very well, thank you.” He smirked. “I’ve been quite exhausted at night. Between tormenting the Muggle and fucking the Mudblood daily, I find I’m quite tired in the evenings.”
Ignoring his frustration from Draco’s response, Lucius looked for answers. “You never did tell me, Draco. How did your mission come to be?”
Draco shrugged. “After the bitch attacked me, I went to our Lord seeking justice. I asked if I could find her Muggle scum parents and bring them here. I knew that torturing them would be the ultimate punishment for the Mudblood.” A slight scowl crept over the younger Malfoy’s face as he admitted in a low voice. “I didn’t plan to kill them. I wanted to have them both to torment her perpetually with.” He sighed, “But one is better than none, I guess.”
Lucius forced a smirk. “You’ll find the Dark Lord always peppers his rewards with a bit of disappointment. He rarely rewards us with exactly what we want.”
Draco didn’t say anything but had a contemplative look on his face.
It was a last resort, but Lucius hoped it would work. “Draco, have you spoken to your mother since her portrait manifested? She talks to me about you. She watches you constantly and worries about you. Don’t you miss her?”
Draco looked bored. “What’s the point? It’s not like it’s really her. As you can both see, I’m doing very well. I don’t need her concern, and nor do I want it.” Draco tossed his napkin down. “I’m meeting Pans. I’ll be around later.”
Lucius swallowed his disappointment as his son made a quick exit.
He watched as she lay listlessly on the davenport in front of the fire. The same one he had fed her on a little over a week prior. So much had changed for her since then. Lucius knew she was depressed, but he also knew that she was safe from herself. Orders to not harm herself notwithstanding, he knew she would never take her life now that her mother’s life depended on her.
He couldn’t imagine what was going through her mind – wouldn’t want to. She had performed magic above and beyond the skill of most fully mature adult witch or wizards to protect her parents and it had been all for naught. Lucius almost felt she had every right to wallow in her self-pity and depression, but his chest ached watching her do it.
He had been hopeful. After the excursion with Draco in the barn, Hermione had been much more like herself. He wasn’t sure why, but it hardly mattered as, unfortunately, it hadn’t lasted for long. She didn’t do anything outside of Draco to drag her to various parts of the house to use and abuse her and the daily shower he had been able to convince her to take. The only time she perked up was when he was able to give her time with her mother – as he had this morning. Severus had been by for two wandless magic lessons – of which he reported only adequate performance.
She had eaten little over the week, and it showed. She was too slender – had been since the moment Voldemort had thrown her at their feet…had it really only been just over a month? So much had changed…
He, himself, had only taken her once since her father’s murder and only because he could barely breathe due to the anxiety clawing in his chest. He had felt disgusting while doing it, even though she had assured him it was fine. He had been gentle and had focused on her until she had asked him in a cool tone to just get it over with. He’d had to pause and excuse himself to the bathroom to take a stimulation potion – there had been no desire on his end – not with her so void of any emotion. There had just been the desperate clawing ache that needed to be sated so he could breathe properly.
He glanced around the room at the portraits to see who was watching them. His mother dozed in one while Narcissa’s eyes darted around the room to take in the girl, Lucius, and the other portraits. The ache was returning, and he didn’t know if he could put either of them through another round of intimacies like the last they had shared. It had been truly awful.
Snape was coming early the next evening for a wandless magic lesson. The last two had not only been unproductive because of the girls’ lack of enthusiasm, but short as the Dark Lord had changed staffing for the upcoming school year. Lucius would not wish Snape’s responsibilities on his most reviled enemy. To have to keep so many students safe from the Death Eaters their master was putting into positions of power had to be utterly nerve wracking.
Hermione had been kept collared unless she was in their suite… Their suite? When the hell had it become their suite instead of his suite? He shook his head, dispelling the thought.
Narcissa caught his eye and he gave her a sad smile. She glanced between him and the little witch on his couch and raised an eyebrow. Instantly, the smile disappeared, and he gave her a look and a shrug that clearly stated, “I don’t know what to do.”
Narcissa let out a silent huff before raising her hands and pantomiming playing the piano. Of course! His wife was a genius…the piano! His shoulders slumped when the tension he hadn’t even known he had been holding in them melted away.
“Miss Granger,” he addressed her before wincing. He had startled her so much she had jumped and tumbled off the davenport. He had to stifle a laugh as her head popped up, her large eyes comically wide.
“Yes?” she answered softly. He could see the caution on her face and it only increased the sympathy and sadness he held for her.
“Come with me,” he commanded before flinching as her body automatically responded to the directive with eager haste. “I am sorry,” he murmured. “You can stop. I meant to say ‘Please, won’t you come with me?’”
She gave him a half smile as her feet slowed before she nodded. “Of course, sir.” Hermione followed slightly behind him, having no trouble allowing him to wind her through the halls. She was confused when he paused momentarily outside of the Parlor before squaring his shoulders and pushing inside.
Hermione averted her eyes as she entered the room behind him. She was positive her long absence would cause an uproar from the portraits who had come to depend on her piano playing for their entertainment.
She was partially right; there was a collective intake of breath as they entered the room before low, unintelligible murmurs came from every direction. He led her to the piano, and Hermione could not help the racing in her heart or the sweat on her palms. Did he know? She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye to see him frowning down at the closed instrument.
After an entire minute of still silence from the man, he spoke, “My mother played,” he started in a soft voice. “As I said before, this was a gift to her. She loved this piano.” Lucius turned to her and Hermione’s heart clenched at the sadness in his eyes. “She was magnificent at it. I’m positive, had she been allowed to choose her own path in life, she would have chosen to pursue this instrument to the highest levels of her abilities.”
Hermione glanced from Lucius to Willow Malfoy’s portrait. The beautiful, young woman was watching her son with tender eyes that looked suspiciously wet for a painting. Her attention moved back to the man. “She desperately tried to teach me but when it came to the piano, I had no talent. Not like you do.” Here his gaze locked to hers and Hermione swallowed audibly. He knew.
Instantly, she was terrified, though she didn’t quite understand why. Outside of the time he sent her to the dungeon, Lucius had never hurt her with purpose. This was his mother’s piano, however, and she had been playing it without permission.
“I’m so sorry, I just needed –”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “You are not in trouble.” He looked slightly hurt that she had thought so. “You are welcome to this room – I told you this before. If it had not included the piano, I would have said so.
“I cannot say that I am not disappointed you chose to hide your talent from me, Miss Granger,” he continued. “You see – I adore the piano. It brings me great comfort – I am aware that playing also soothes you. I wish for you to play for me now. Please, let us both gain from your talent today.”
Without magic, Lucius slid the bench back and opened the fallboard before rounding the side to open the top board using the long prop.
“What do you wish for me to play?” Hermione asked as she carefully positioned herself at the piano. She wasn’t surprised to see the slight tremor of her fingers.
“Your heart.” It was a simple answer – one that caused tears to fill her eyes.
“Did you hear me sing?”
“I did, you have a lovely voice.”
“I’m probably going to cry,” she whispered.
“I have a handkerchief,” he replied just as softly as he settled on a davenport that faced the piano. “Just pretend I’m not here.”
She almost laughed. Almost. Not bloody likely, she muttered inside her head.
Not for the first time since Voldemort had murdered her father did Hermione’s brain instantly leap to an anecdote. How many times had he sat with her in the living room as she pounded away at their upright piano? How many recitals and he and her mother arrived over an hour early so they would be assured of a front row seat? How many times had he held her tightly to calm her nerves over her minor stage fright? How many bouquets of roses had he placed in her hands afterwards with a watery smile and a “You did amazing, sweetheart?”
The tears tumbled over her lower lashes before the first chord was struck. The slow, methodical 4/4 time rolled easily. She didn’t even know what she was playing until her wobbly voice started. It was more of a murmur then a vocal, but it held steady as her grief continue.
“When I am alone, I sit and dream
And when I dream the words are missing.
Yes, I know that in a room so full of light
That all the light is missing,
But I don’t see you with me…with me…”
Lucius recognized the song immediately…even in the Pureblood wizarding world popular, beautiful music made an impact.

“Close up the windows,
Bring the sun to my room
Through the door you have opened.
Close inside of me
The light you see
That you met in the darkness…”
Though she was singing very quietly, and there were large tears rolling down her cheeks, he knew the experience was exactly what she had needed – cleansing and cathartic. A tribute to her father, taken too soon and too quickly. There was a shaky inhalation of breath and the piano paused before she continued,

“Time to say goodbye.
Horizons are never far,
Would I have to find them alone
Without true light of my own?
“With you I will go
On ships overseas
That I now know.
No, they don’t exist anymore
It’s time to say goodbye…”
There was another break in the music. Hermione paused at the end of the stanza and stared blindly through wet, golden eyes out the back-terrace doors that led to the rose garden.
If anyone could have read her thoughts, they would have found that she was not in the room. She was a million miles away in memories where she saw herself…
…as infant, squalling for her mother’s breast as her father desperately tried to comfort her. Frustrated he was unable to give her what she needed.
…as a toddler, taking her first steps as she stared adoringly into her father’s eyes while giggling excitedly
…as a preschooler with a skinned knee, clinging to her father as he promised to fix it and make it better.
…as a grade schooler, eyes full of tears as she expressed her confusion and hurt that she just couldn’t make any friends and the look on her father’s face as he told her that good friends were worth waiting for.
…as a pre-adolescent, jumping for joy when her father and mother had finally agreed that she could go to Hogwarts.
…as a teenager, holding a letter written in her father’s hand, completely thrilled by his pride in her accomplishments after her OWL scores were announced.
…as a terrified young woman, feeling his warmth seep into her very bones as he had told her their dangerous predicament was not her fault…that he didn’t blame her…that he loved her.
Lucius watched the tears come faster and was humbled by her open and honest emotions. She took a deep breath as she ripped her eyes away from the windows and refocused on the keys with more confidence. She inhaled deeply, and her voice was more resonate as she continued,

“When you were so far away
I sat alone and dreamt of the horizon
When I knew that you were here with me…with me
Building bridges over land and sea
Shining a blinding light
For you and me to see
For us to be..”
As Hermione sang the chorus the final time, her voice broke in many spots. The bravado of the second verse deserting in her time of need. Again, Lucius knew he had done the right thing. Again, the word ‘cathartic’ tumbled into his mind. Again, he silently applauded his deceased wife for her idea to make her play.
Her hands fell away from the piano as great, gasping sobs started wracking her body. Silently, Lucius stood from the couch and moved to her. He grasped her about the waist and urged her to stand. He supported her with an arm around her shoulders as he escorted her out of the room through the garden doors in spite of many of the portraits asking after her wellbeing.
The rose garden was a small hedge maze that enclosed a moderately sized patio, and their privacy was absolute in it. Because of this fact, Lucius led her to a large, overstuffed patio swing and sat upon it before pulling her down and into his lap. Her tears and turned into muffled sniffles punctuated with small hiccoughs.
Lucius said nothing; he just pressed his monogrammed handkerchief in her small hand as he promised before he wrapped one arm around her waist and tangle the fingers of his other in her hair. He propelled the swing with one foot and buried his face in her fragrant curls and allowed her to cry as he held her, so she didn’t break apart completely.
Monday Evening
Hermione slid into the bath tub with a groan. Her entire body ached. Draco had been particularly rough today. The good news was she had become quite proficient at mentally removing herself from his abuse. The better news was that he was finally becoming bored with her unresponsiveness. His tortures as of late had been more of the excessive chore list variety. Today he had demanded she reorganize his closet. Her humiliation had been to follow the command that she kiss the bottom of each of his shoes before lining them up perfectly. It had taken her all morning, after which he fucked her up against the wall, purposely messing up the shoes she had just spent hours perfecting. He had literally thrown her to the ground after he finished with her and order her to fix them again with an evil laugh.
Once she had finished with the shoes a second time, she had grabbed a quick bite to eat alone in the kitchens before racing to be on time to her wandless magic lesson with Snape.
Her mind trailed off into the memory as she felt the ache slowly escape her muscles…
Hermione collapsed onto the sofa. Who knew wandless magic could be so exhausting?
“Yes, that is a brilliant impersonation of a flobberworm, but I was under the impression we were working on your wandless magic today.”
Hermione cut her eyes at her former professor who was watching her with his signature sneer.
“Oh? I thought impersonations were on the agenda. After all, your dementor has been quite convincing…hovering and sucking the joy out of every sliver of success I’ve had since we started over two hours ago.”
“If you wish to be congratulated and applauded for mediocre displays of average magic then you will require someone else to train you.”
“You know, a little positive reinforcement wouldn’t kill you. It’s not like you’ll suddenly start shitting rainbows if you say something encouraging or – Merlin forbid – something nice!”
When Hermione noticed Snape’s lip twitch in an obvious attempt not to laugh, she smiled victoriously. In truth she was growing quite fond of the surly bastard. This was her fourth lesson and, in all actuality, she was doing very well. However, she had to make sure she performed poorly when certain portraits were around, and Abraxas had just returned a few moments ago. It had become a game of insults when the unwelcomed visitors appeared.
Hermione and Snape were figuring each other out and were finding ways to communicate. A little over a week ago, she had slipped him a note during their first session, the one right after Theo had spoken to her, letting him know what the young man had said. Severus had nonchalantly tossed it into the fire so as not to be noticed by any prying eyes. In turn, the next day he had left her a note in a book he had brought her. The note was charmed to erase itself after being read. It had reminded her that, for now, Lucius was not to be privy of Theo’s allegiance or any impending resistance. Severus knew that Lucius cared for Hermione and was trying to protect her, however, that was a far cry from defecting to the other side of things. Severus would need more time before playing that hand.
Hermione had responded today that she understood and would keep their secret. She wanted to tell Lucius. She wanted to believe he would fight for the Light, but the man had not implied he would betray his Master and Hermione agreed with Snape – it was too high of a risk to disclose their secret. She knew Lucius cared about her. But he still believed in the pure blood movement, at least she thought he did as it wasn’t something they talked about. She even worried that if she confided in him, he might alert his Master to traitors in his mist in return for her guaranteed safety. It wasn’t a risk she or Snape was willing to take at this time.
Hermione jumped when the devil himself entered the bathroom without knocking, pulling her out of her memories. “Lucius!” she exclaimed, eyes widening as her arms instinctively wrapped around her bare breasts.
She was startled at his wild-eyed look as his icy gaze clashed with her warm one. “What’s wrong?” Instantly, her concern for him overcame her modesty. She rose from the tub, completely ignoring the way his eyes slid hungrily over her body as the water sluiced down her form. She was reaching for a towel, her gaze returning to his face, when it dawned on her exactly what the problem was.
Draco took her at least every other day, she never had to think twice about his bond to her. He would never let it go long enough to cause the anxiety that could creep up with little to no warning. When was the last time she had been intimate with Lucius? She couldn’t…oh. She remembered now. Remembered how awful it had been, but she couldn’t remember how many days ago it was. Lucius hated commanding her to do anything. He did his best to never force himself on her, not since they had come to their understanding. Really, things between them had gotten…good. That was before what had happened with her father, though.
Hermione didn’t even think, she just reacted to his need. It was a good thing, too, because he seemed unable to voice his thoughts. She dropped the towel and was to him in just a few steps. Taking his trembling fingers in hers, she turned to lead him out of the bathroom. She didn’t even look to see which portraits were present, she knew most of the female portraits would see her naked form and vacate the premises. Abraxas and a few other creepy male portraits would probably stay and ogle, but she knew how to deal with them at this point.
Demurely, she lowered her eyes and pretended to be responding to a command. “Yes, sir,” she murmured as she quickly started unbuttoning his work robes. When she reached the bare skin of his chest, she lightly ran her short fingernails through his chest hair, causing the flat discs of his nipples to perk. Heat pooled in her belly for the first time in over a week when two large hands gripped each of her bare hips, pulling her in tightly.
She gave a light chuckle at his caveman response to her bare breasts pressing against his abdomen and tilted her head back, a small smile curving her lips. “Need me?” she asked in a soft, sweet voice. She liked how the look of surprise in his eyes darkened as she wet her bottom lip with her tongue.
“Yes,” he growled lowly. “You’re okay?”
“I’m okay,” she confirmed before reaching up and pulling him down to her by the nape of his neck. She was. The last two days – the visit with her mother, the piano, the training session – had helped increase her mood. It all helped to bring her a bit more back to herself. She remembered that she couldn’t change her circumstance, but she could do her best to be content in it.
Their lips meeting ignited the heat in her belly to burst into a full-out flame of want. He had become her life line, and she vowed not to make him go this long again. She knew how awful the clawing suffocation was. It wasn’t fair to make him live like that.
Before she even realized what was happening, Hermione found herself flat on her back at the edge of the bed. Lucius was shoving his trousers down out of the way to release his engorged cock. He groaned when he dipped his fingers into her core to find her ready for him. The knowledge that he had barely had to touch her to make her wet for him caused a heat to suffuse her cheeks, and she knew she must be blushing. If he noticed, he didn’t let on. Instead, he lined himself up with her entrance and slid into her in one firm thrust. His head fell back with a deep groan of relieved satisfaction as the bond-induced anxiety loosened in his chest.
He stilled for a moment before dropping his gaze down to hers. Lucius was stunned to see her dark eyes watching him carefully; he was thrilled to see the heat of want in them. Without breaking their connection, he shimmied his trousers down the rest of the way and kicked himself out of them. The movement caused her to whimper and wrap her legs around his hips and her feet locked under his bum, so she could pull him more firmly to her.
Lucius trailed his fingers up her sides and pinched her nipples lightly, causing her to gasp and arch her back, before entwining his fingers with hers. He lifted their joined hands above her head and held them there as he laid his body over hers.
Nose to nose, he whispered in a tone raspy with need, “You feel so fucking incredible, princess.” He growled in satisfaction when her eyes rolled up into her head when he snapped his hips forward. He did it again and her bottom lip was caught with pearly white teeth as she mewled. Her fingers tightened around his and he chuckled darkly as she tried to pull them away.
“No,” he told her before adjusting her so that one of his large hands held both her wrists down as he slid the fingers of his other hand between them to roll the pearl at the top of her slit.
“Fuck,” she hissed as her eyes went wide. He held her gaze as he continued to plow into her, all the while stimulating her clit. He threw her over the edge quickly, causing her to scream her release. She panted through her climax and rolled her hips as if she were trying to escape him as he continued to fuck her and pluck her pleasure point.
“It’s too much!” she groaned as her hips jerked erratically.
“Come again,” he demanded, not even thinking of it as a command. They were both shocked when her womb complied immediately. His bollocks drew tightly to his body as she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, her screams of pleasure raspy. He slid his fingers down to where they were joined to collect more of her silky release before finding her clit again.
“Oh gods, Lucius,” she breathed brokenly as she came down from her second high. “I don’t know if I can again.”
“I’m going to command it,” he told her wickedly, smiling down at her. “I want to see if you can. You’ll wait for me, though, of course.” He was teasing her, gaging her reaction as he continued to pound into her, the pressure at the base of his spine starting to tingle expectantly as his sac became even tighter. She nodded frantically, wordlessly and was obviously intrigued with the idea.
“I’m going to come, princess. Come with me, now!”
He slammed his hips harder, pushing himself to continue to move even as he poured himself into her. “Fuck!” she cried out, writhing beneath him as he continued his pace. He felt her walls fluttering and knew she had come again. The roaring of his own release filled his ears, blocking out her rapturous cries. Fleetingly, he thought this was interesting…and could be very, very fun if they allowed it to be.
Lucius was unable to keep himself upright as he jerked into her one final time. He collapsed on top of her and released her wrists. Hermione’s arms automatically went around him and one of her hands buried itself into his long hair while the other started tracing patterns onto his upper back.
When they had both calmed, Lucius somehow found the strength to take his weight onto his elbows, so he could look down at her. She returned his stare with glinting eyes, he could tell she was sated – possibly even quite pleased. Then her look turned serious.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, bringing up a hand to brush his five o’clock shadow.
His brow furrowed inquisitively. “Whatever for?” he questioned.
“We won’t let it get that bad again, alright? I know how it feels, that isn’t fair to you.”
“Bah,” he brushed it off, breaking their eye lock even as part of him felt very grateful for her promise. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Lucius,” she whispered as he moved to sit next to her on the bed and helped her into a seated position. He met her eyes again. “Thank you for being so patient with me. And kind. I – I appreciate all you have done for me. All you’re trying to do to keep me safe.”
Cautiously, Lucius glanced at the portraits. If anyone had been in the room with them, they were gone now. “You’re welcome, Hermione,” he answered softly. “You and I will get through this together.”
She kissed him then, full on the lips, and he wasn’t sure who was more surprised.
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A World Not Fit To Live In