Sorry for the delay, folks - I should have uploaded this last Sunday, but I had spine surgery and to be honest it just wasn't a priority. But, never fear, tis here! (gags at own poetry. no I won't quit my day job) Here be the "M" rating, le smut - you know, that reason I love Lumione? Ye be warned. Turn back now if you don't think you can handle Lucius getting down and dirty in the library with our resident bookworm. Per usual, JK Rowling owns it all (lucky wench) and I make nothing, which is a crying shame. HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE!

Arriving safely within the parlour of Malfoy manor, Lucius set Hermione from him and indicated she was to follow him through the winding corridors to a set of double wooden doors with intricate patterns engraved upon them. Grasping both handles, he opened them with a flourish to what could only be called the library.

Craning her neck, Hermione felt her jaw go slack as she took in the two-tiered, French walnut-paneled room containing thousands of volumes from floor to ceiling. A massive fireplace was the focal point, surrounded by a carved, black-marble mantel that topped her height easily by one and a half metres. Within the grate stood wrought iron andirons in the shape of snakes, holding several thick logs ready for burning. To each side of the hearth, there were colossal carved wooden figures, those of two women—one holding a flame, the other holding a serpent coiled around a staff. Off to the left side of the figure clutching the staff was an elaborate iron, spiral staircase leading to the second floor.

"Demeter and Hestia," Lucius commented idly, noting her fascination with the goddesses.

She chose not to remark on his statement, as anything she would have to say would only inflame his fury—the only thing she could think of was to ask why one of the goddesses in his private library was nude. Inspiration, perhaps? She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, and instead nodded her head in acknowledgment of his imparted fact.

"There is a secret entrance on the second floor that leads directly to my chambers," he whispered enticingly.

"All the easier for you to locate or return a book, right?" she quipped, smirking at his disappointment. She moved away from him to peer at some of the titles listed at eye level on the shelves. "I thought you wanted to clean up?"

Leisurely walking to her side, Lucius held out his hand, waiting for her to take it. "Ladies first."

Glancing at the outstretched palm and then to his eyes, she smiled widely. "No, thank you." Sifting under the sleeve of her cardigan, she withdrew her wand and pointed it at herself. "Mitis Tergeo."

All evidence of her illness vanished away, leaving her smelling as sweet as a garden full of jasmine, her precious skirt spotless as if it had never been worn, her mouth and teeth freshly cleaned. Needlessly brushing herself off, she turned and continued her exploration of the tomes in his collection.

There was a miniscule twitch to his eye that would have been noticeable if she'd bothered to look. "I require something a little more substantial than a simple scouring charm," he intoned snidely. "I doubt a spell will rid me of the disgusting conglomeration in my hair, the bruise to my eye, and give me a new shirt." He smiled in triumph as he watched the guilt creep into her features.

"I said I was sorry!" she ground out. "If you didn't want me here, why did you bring me?"

"Salazar forbid I take it upon myself to see that you're cared for when nothing but calamity has befallen us this evening," he snarled back. Narrowing his eyes, he pointed his finger at her. "Stay here and don't touch anything." He strode to the door, pausing briefly to fling another verbal arrow. "You can follow simple directions, can you not, Hermione?"

"Ooh, you insufferable prig!" she shouted, picking up the first thing her fingers wrapped around. With all her might, she hefted the antique snuff box and lobbed it at him, striking his uninjured eye.

At that exact moment, neither one moved—Hermione out of fear and Lucius due to shock at her behaviour—both still as statues until he cleared his throat.

"You, Madam, are a walking, breathing menace!" He slammed the door, the sound echoing in the room.

Oh, dear Merlin! Had she really just thrown something at him because he'd made her cross with his words? Moaning in self recrimination, she plopped down onto the dark brown leather couch, head in her hands. What Bellatrix had done to her in his private study all those years ago was probably nothing compared to what he wanted to do to her now… and that was before she'd flung the pewter box at him.

She didn't dare try to escape, knowing the house-elves were loyal to the Malfoys and most likely to report her wanderings if she sought freedom. Also, with the way the evening was progressing, it would be her luck that she'd get stuck halfway between here and her flat, caught in some kind of timeless limbo that only one versed in the Dark Arts, like Lucius, could dream of. That left her to explore the rest of the library, and the longer she thought about it, the more she concluded there were worse ways to die than to meet one's end surrounded by the wonderful smell of leather-bound paper.

Scanning the crown moulding, she noticed there was a reoccurring motif, that of an ancient oil lamp. She imagined it might symbolize knowledge and enlightenment, but disregarded that notion when she thought of the owner. Turning her attention to the floor, she traced the angular designs in the parquet wood, captivated by the complex patterns, and wondering if Lucius would let her examine it at leisure for possible Arithmancy models. It would be a great addition to the thesis she was working on for her Master's degree.

Following the pattern to the edge of a thick rug, she then studied what had to have been the largest Persian carpet she'd ever seen, making her want to run her toes through the soft piles of fabric. Glancing at the double doors, she slipped off her Mary Janes, but left her stockings on, and walked the short distance to the rug, sighing in ecstasy at the feeling of stepping on soft tufts of cotton.

The only thing that would make this better would be to have a book in hand. "Accio book," she murmured, not caring what arrived in her hands as long as she could read it.

And that was how Lucius found her an hour later: pacing slowly around the Persian rug, nose buried deep in a rather large volume. "Ever the bibliophile," he drawled.

Startled from her reverie, she frowned at him. "You make it sound dirty; as if I'm intimate with them."

Raising a sardonic brow, he countered, "Aren't you?" His slightly damp hair fanned across his broad shoulders, contrasting nicely with the slate grey shirt he'd donned. Black cotton twill chinos hung on his narrow hips in a casual manner and he'd foregone shoes or even socks to walk barefoot.

Oh bother! One of her biggest weaknesses was bare feet on men, that slightest glimpse of flesh too tempting to resist, and here he was, parading them before her. "Only you would think that." She moved away, towards the furthest perimeter possible without leaving the carpet, desperate not to give in and ogle the bone and sinew of his feet.

"Are you sure about that?" He stepped closer to her, tilting his head to watch her.

Snapping the book shut, she laid it on a high side table. "No one has ever accused me of being…" Her hands floundered. "Well… that way with them."

He circled her in a predatory manner. "I see you perusing the shelves, appraising each tome until you find one that piques your interest and your eyes light up." He leaned down, his lips barely touching her cheek. "You caress the spine like a lover, open it, and run your hand down the pages as if they were a man's chest, your eyes taking on a euphoric look as you read." He smiled against her skin when he noticed the hitch in her breathing and the faint smell of arousal. "I wonder… if I were to bind myself in leather, would you stroke me as you do those beloved books?"

In her mind, Hermione was yelling, Move, you silly ninny! Run! This is a sexually dangerous—but oh so delectable—specimen of virile male. Of course I'd stroke you as much as you'd… No! Back away! But he's so intelligent, and he has this wonderful library…

What actually came out of her mouth, however, was, "Dittany."

Drawing back, he stared at her in confusion. "Pardon?"

Now that she could breathe, she pointed to his eyes. "Dittany will help with the discolouration and swelling."

"Indeed." While he was able to remove the pink sugar from his hair and wash his body clean in the bath, he hadn't been able to do more than reduce the pain to a minimum around both of his eyes. The deep purple bruise around his left, and the now darkening one around his right, remained. "I don't usually have a supply on hand, but it will be no hardship to send Draco out to retrieve some from Severus tomorrow."

"Oh!" Her eyes softened and she gave him a genuine smile. "I carry some with me wherever I go."

"I can't imagine why," he said with a smirk. "I believe you owe me for the all the trouble you've caused tonight."

"I don't owe you a thing." She huffed in indignation, crossing her arms. "I said I was sorry about the black eye, the ruined shirt, and being sick all over you." A look of victory made her eyes bright. "Plus, I saved you from being scolded by Draco."

"What about the other black eye?" he countered, unwilling to back down.

"You deserved that for being an arse!"

Her shriek made him wince. "Must you screech like a harpy?" Rubbing his forehead, he blew out a pent up breath. "It's bad enough the throb is still there, but your shrill cries make it exceedingly unbearable."

"Fine. You're an arse," she whispered.

He rolled his eyes. "How mature," he said drolly. "And to think you were the brains behind the lamentable trio."

A loud slap pierced the quite study from her palm landing on his cheek.

Lids closed in fury, Lucius clenched and unclenched his fists, muscles twitching in his jaw as he ground his teeth. "It seems you cannot keep your hands off my body, Hermione," he intoned lasciviously, as he opened his eyes and grabbed her wrists before she could flee. "But I take great exception to being put through the torture that I've endured this evening. The Dark Lord was more forgiving, if you must know."

Walking backwards, he pulled her with him, until he reached the sofa, mindless of her struggles. He then sat, forcing her to kneel in front of him. "Now, Madam," he hissed. "You will apply the Dittany without causing further harm, is that clear?"

The only answer he received was a slight nod of her head, but it was enough. He released his grip on her wrists and sank into the comfort of the leather cushions, studying her intently.

Searching in a hidden pocket of her cardigan, she withdrew a tiny jeweled purse, enlarging it with a murmured spell. Once it was to the appropriate size, she opened it, removed a palm-sized cobalt blue jar, and unscrewed the lid covering it. A lemon-like smell wafted from the opened container, the substance inside the consistency of an ointment and bluish-gray in colour.

Using her third finger, Hermione dipped it in the liniment and dotted it across the Malfoy patriarch's blackened eyes, wincing when he hissed upon first contact. "Sorry," she whispered. Softening her strokes, she then began soothing it over the damaged skin gently, watching his face finally relax while a deep hum of contentment rumbled in his throat, his lids drifting until they closed.

Circe, she barely comprehended the pain and humiliation she'd put this poor wizard through in less than four hours. And that last slap had just been a defensive mechanism triggered by intimate contact on his part. But that didn't mean he deserved to be punished for it! As things stood, it was a wonder he was even letting her near him now.

With her task complete, she capped the jar, set it aside and watched the bruises turn from purple to a yellowish-brown before fading away completely. Pleased with herself, she leaned over, and—without even thinking—brushed a feather-light kiss to the place where the wounds used to be.

Dark lashes fluttered open, eyes like quicksilver staring back at hers.

"Why did you do that?" he asked softly.

"Erm... I-I... well." She stuttered and blinked a few times in embarrassment. Why had she done that? "Habit?" she offered weakly. "My mum used to say a kiss made it all better."

"And do you always make it a habit to kiss those you heal?"

"No. Of course not." She shook her head. She felt so flustered around him. "I-it's just that I'm sorry and it, and it s-seemed the thing to do."

Her breath hitched when his long, pale yet warm fingers came up to gently slide around her neck, bringing her face near his, and holding it immobile. "How sorry are you, Hermione?" He tightened his hold to her nape, drawing even her closer. "How sorry… exactly?"

"Very sor—"

He cut her off with his lips.

Oh, sweet Merlin! She'd never seen that coming. Might have wished for it on some level that she refused to admit, but now that he was moving that sensual mouth of his against hers—his fingers spread in her curls, holding her in place—she was doomed.

Giving up any resistance, she reciprocated, and he slowly slid his hand from her tresses, down her spine and over her backside. His other hand deftly grabbed her waist to haul her slight frame up to sit atop his lap, as if she weighed nothing.

Being suddenly able to feel his obvious arousal rubbing against her abdomen had her whimpering. The butterflies in her stomach that had made their appearance earlier in the evening were now flying wildly inside her. With his next words, the heat of her own raw need speared through her entire being, causing her to shudder.

"Show me how sorry you are, Hermione," he panted, nipping her bottom lip. "Show mehow sorry you are… and I'll show you just how forgiving I can be."

Like liquid fire racing through her veins, her normally intelligent, rational side left her, leaving nothing behind but a woman in desperate search of relief. His scent was an intoxicating combination of wintergreen and lemon from the Dittany salve, as he pried her lips apart with the tip of his tongue to plunge inside her mouth, pouring the kind of passion into his kiss she was sure only a Malfoy was capable of.

When they broke apart to breathe, he swept stray tendrils of hair away from her face. "As a rule, the gentleman in me would afford you a choice as to whether you wanted this or not."

Laying her forehead against his, she pressed soft kisses to his abused eyes and rubbed her nose with his. "Even when we were foul with each other, Lucius, you treated me like a lady."

"Ah, but I fear that your attentions have chased that man off, and replaced him with one requiring more carnal delights," he purred, pushing at the edge of her skirt until it bunched at her waist.

Running his hand up one hose-clad leg to the top of her thigh, he fingered the lacy hem while breathing in her ear. "You have no idea how sexy these look on you." Bringing his other hand into play, he raised them to circle her abdomen.

Hooking his thumbs in the elastic band of her knickers, he began tugging them down, growling with approval when she raised her hips to aid in ridding her body of them, and send them to land some random place on the Persian rug. He then pushed her shoulders until she sat up straight, her knees astride his thighs so he could unbutton his slacks and lower his zipper.

As she watched him remove his own pants, she planted a foot on the floor and brought her fingers to the top of her stockings. She was preparing to remove them, too, when his hand suddenly shot out, grabbing her wrist firmly.

"Don't." He was panting heavily. "Leave them on." Then, grasping her by the hip with his free hand, he manoeuvred them into a comfortable sitting position, and immediately started thrusting his pelvis forward, his heavy cock sliding easily between the slick folds of her sex, the fingers still encircling her wrist tugging her hand between their bodies.

"Touch me," he commanded her in a gruff voice, shifting so he could place her palm on his erection. He gasped when she instinctively began fisting it up and down. "Gods, yes," he moaned, while Hermione watched his eyes roll back in his head momentarily before he trained his stormy gaze back on her. "Enough!" Pulling her in for a searing kiss, he growled against her mouth, "Inside, now."

Fumbling, she placed the tip of him against her opening then eased herself down, letting out a choked sob of pleasure when he stretched and filled her to the hilt, seated as far as humanly possible within her. His hands returned to her hips, now directing her over him back and forth—both of them groaning in bliss—the friction eliciting a sweet ache deep in her womb.

He only allowed her a moment, a few precious seconds of sliding deliciously up and down his shaft before he turned them sideways and roughly pinned her on her back, taking complete control of their coupling. Vanquishing the rest of their clothes with the exception of her stockings by a flick of his wand, he brought her legs up to wrap around his waist. Pulling back, he plunged into her with such force he actually smirked when she shrieked.

"We've been dancing around each other all night," he said, exhaling harshly. "Now, this is for the first black eye." He snapped his hips forward and delighted in her shout of pleasure. "This is for the destruction of my clothes." Another thrust of his hips had her moaning loudly and arching into him. "This is for my other eye!" he snarled, driving his shaft deep, the tight muscles in his backside clenching over and over as he took her with all his strength.

Between the sound of their flesh smacking and the feel of him bottoming out inside her again and again, her legs began to tremble and her insides quiver. Capturing her wrists above her head, he pulled out of her abruptly, causing her to whimper in disappointment.

"You only get to come when I say," he hissed. "I still haven't forgiven you for that slap!"

Just as rapidly as he'd withdrawn, he lifted her by the waist and spun her around like a ragdoll, pushing her over the arm of the settee. He swiftly jerked her arse in the air then kicked her feet apart.

"Ah," came her muffled gasp when he slammed back inside her with no warning. She never knew Lucius Malfoy was such a… powerful lover. He repeatedly drove himself deep within her, and—every time she'd catch on to his rhythm, pushing herself back into him—he changed direction to churn his hips, winding his cock inside her passage to hit spots she didn't know existed, leaving her breathless and desperate for relief from the divine torture of it all.

"How do I compare to your dusty tomes now, Hermione?" he breathed in her ear as he draped himself over her back, his lips resting against her neck. "I'm not quite so old, nor am I prone to give you paper cuts." Caressing the slight indentation of her spine, he cupped her arse, pushing her body higher to receive him fully. "Merlin, you're so tight... so very, very… wet for me. Had I known how well you and I would fit, how exquisite it would be…" He trailed off, leaving her to wonder at the numerous ways he could have ended that sentence.

As he poured everything he had into her from behind, a slick, clean sweat formed between his chest and her back with every thrust. His hands kept up a gentle, almost reverent stroking of her hose-encased legs. "I love these stockings." He pounded her some more. "Makes me want to buy you several more pairs…" His right hand strayed up to cup her breast, his forefinger and thumb twisting and tweaking the hardened bud, making her squeal. "So you can wear them just for me—only for me—and nothing else."

"Yes," she hissed without thinking, visions of him doing this to her again in the future flitting through her head.

Standing to his full height, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her back every time he thrust forward, steadily increasing his pace and building up the ache inside her again, making her walls quiver and constrict. Hearing his breath turn ragged, she could feel him swell inside her and knew he was close, too. Once more, he lay across her back, hunching into her frantically as he gave his consent.

"Come for me, witch. Come for me now," he ordered gruffly.

Every nerve in her body turned in on itself before exploding outward in waves, as she screamed his name, climaxing harder than she ever had in her life. Lucius cursed in a hoarse shout, thrusting one final time. He held his hips flush to her backside, trying to push even deeper, his pelvis delivering short, jerky strokes, so that she could feel the pulsing of his cock as he released himself in short bursts until he was spent.

While he struggled to get his breathing under control, his body still slumped over hers, he stated softly, "Apology partially accepted."

"What?" Her head snapped to the side to try and look at him. "What do you mean partially?" She managed to huff in annoyance despite the fact she was still impaled on his length.

"Because." He took a long breath then explained. "I'm not a wizard to forgive one's transgressions so easily. Therefore, I've decided I shan't grant you total absolution for your crimes until the sun of daybreak shines upon your face. In my bedchambers," he added evilly. He no sooner said this than she found herself Apparated into said chambers, the softness of expensive silk sheets upon a large bed beneath her knees, and the deep rumble of his promising, wicked chuckle resounding in her ear.

~*~

Weak sunlight filtered through the diaphanous curtains—a sure sign of a rainy day—and Hermione struggled to wake from one of the deepest slumbers she'd ever had. A moment of panic gripped her when, upon first inspection, she realized she was not in her own bedroom at her flat. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she tried to focus on her surroundings.

A large, muscled thigh insinuated itself between her own, and the previous evening came flying back to her in stunning clarity. The Imbolc Rowan festival... Lucius Malfoy... several mishaps... lots of mind-blowing sex—in that order. Stifling a groan, she turned her head slowly to observe the blond man, who was currently snoring softly.

Dear Zeus on Olympus! What the hell had she done? This went way beyond reckless behaviour and straight into deviance previously unknown to humankind.

Carefully extracting herself, she crawled out of the bed and went in search of her clothing. Glancing down, she had to give Luna credit for the stockings—they were still in one piece after several rounds of powerful shagging, and they still hadn't moved an inch from their original position on her thighs. Seeing none of her clothes in the bedroom, she crept to the door and opened it, noticing it led to the second floor balcony in the library.

Sucking in her breath, she braved the chilly air and dashed out of the bedroom and down the frigid iron staircase, muttering under her breath about modern heating the whole time. Once on the bottom, she began looking around the sofa for her things. Immediately, she spied her skirt hanging haphazardly over a table lamp, and she was extremely grateful the thing hadn't been lit.

Next, she found her t-shirt and cardigan stuffed under the settee. Her shoes remained where she'd taken them off before Lucius had returned to the library. Settling the clothes on her body, she searched in earnest for her bra and knickers. She'd about given up hope of ever finding them when she heard a noise, much like the creaking of a hinge, outside of the room she was in.

Opening one of the double doors just enough to peer out into the hall, Hermione hesitantly looked up and down the passageway, seeing nothing. Lack of company confirmed, she slipped on her shoes and edged her way out into the corridor.

Passing by many lovely paintings from bygone eras, she headed towards what she hoped was the front door.

It wasn't.

"Granger?"

"Bloody hell," she muttered under her breath, hearing Draco Malfoy's voice call to her from the room she'd just passed.

"What're you doing here?" the blond asked, leaning against the doorframe to what looked like the informal dining room.

"I-I… erm, that is to say—"

"She was just joining me for breakfast," Lucius said in a tone that brooked no argument, startling her. He strolled over to her, dressed in a silk morning robe of the deepest green.

Draco darted a knowing look between the two. "You know, Granger," he drawled, too much like his father. "When I asked you to keep him company, I didn't exactly mean…" He gestured at the both of them. "This."

"Mind your tongue, Draco," Lucius warned. "She is my guest… indefinitely. And I expect you to treat her accordingly."

"Father?"

"What?" Lucius barked.

Face breaking out into a grin, Draco bit his bottom lip in a smug manner. "Knew you'd see things my way, eventually." He turned his attention to Hermione, holding out a hand. "Good morning, and welcome to the manor."

Totally unsettled by the exchange between father and son, she hesitantly shook his hand. "I didn't intend to stay, you know."

"Showed you his library, didn't he?" Draco asked, smirking at his father, who was turning an unappealing shade of crimson.

Clearing her throat, she glanced at Lucius. "We spent a great deal of time in there." She didn't add that most of it involved either physical altercations or getting physical… period.

"I bet."

"Don't you have somewhere to be this morning?" Lucius growled at his son. "Wasn't last night successful?"

A softness Hermione never thought to attribute to Draco overcame his features. "It was very successful, Father. Elise has consented to be the newest addition to the family. I was on my way to Gringotts when Granger sneaked past the dining room, looking very suspicious."

She hid behind her mass of frizzy curls to avoid the looks both men were giving her. "I need to get home," she murmured.

"Draco, would you mind?" Lucius prompted.

The younger Malfoy nodded. "Granger," he said, inclining his head. "I'll be seeing you around." He then winked at her and walked down the hallway.

"Subtlety is lost on him, I think," Lucius mused aloud, watching his son disappear around the corner.

"Draco was never subtle, Lucius," Hermione pointed out. "That's more your style."

"Allow me to be blunt for once, then." Taking her hand in both of his, he kept it between them until it was warmed from the chill. "You were leaving," he accused.

Averting her gaze, she sniffed. "I don't do one night stands." She tucked a strand behind her ear with her free hand, staring at the large, male fingers holding her slight and dainty ones. "In fact, I don't think I've ever had one."

"Why start now, then?"

She darted her eyes to his, which happened to be slate-coloured in the morning light. "What are you saying?"

"Stay."

It was such a simple word that conveyed so much to whoever voiced it and those that heard it. "Why?"

His thumb stroked her palm in soothing circles. "I was asleep for the longest time, Hermione," he admitted softly. "For years, I slipped through one moment of my life to another without so much as caring what happened to Draco." He squeezed on her fingers until she was looking at him. "Then I was dragged to this Merlin-forsaken festival, and several disasters later… I awoke."

Caressing her cheek with the back of his knuckles, he leaned closer, his lips a hairsbreadth from hers. "I want to remain awake." He closed the distance, cupping her jaw to taste her fully.

Threading her hands into his sleep tussled locks, she pulled him closer, nuzzling his nose. "I'll see about getting you a really loud alarm clock."

Swatting her backside, he smiled genuinely for the first time. "Minx."

"You have no clue." She graced him with a challenging smirk.

"I intend to find out," he assured her.

And he did.