Last one. Thank you for the superb response to this story, which started out as a little idea. I could have carried it on in so many ways, but I think it's best to give them a little privacy after this; I'd never intended it to be a lengthy fic. But you know me, there will be plenty more soon.

So ... hairbrush at the ready ...

LL

x

Lucius Malfoy had almost forgotten what sleep was: proper sleep, sleep which seeps its way so deeply into your body and mind that you forget your temporal nature; sleep which enfolds you so profoundly it heals and repairs more in one night than many months of therapy.

Lucius' healing continued when he opened his eyes and found Hermione Granger lying beside him.

She was keeping very still, but had clearly been awake for some time, and was looking across at him intently.

"Hello," she murmured.

He stretched and turned onto his back, flexing muscles which for the last three years had awakened stiff and resistant. This morning he felt nothing but heavy relaxation and easy limbs.

"Is it good to be back?" she asked.

He turned his head to look into her. "You're still here. Why are you still here?" His question was not accusatory, merely curious; he genuinely could not understand.

"Because I want it, because you seem to want it too, and because it's the right place to be ... and it's all under the sanction of the Ministry of Magic," Hermione grinned.

Leaning across, he kissed her softly.

"This is a beautiful room," she stated.

"Is it?"

For a man who had been starved of space and form, he may have been desperate to absorb all that was around him, but Lucius could only look at the woman lying beside him. It would take many months for him to ease gradually back into a semblance of normal life, but for now, she was all that was needed. But his mind tormented him. Why was she here? He expected her to go. She hated him. She must hate him. But he could read nothing but goodness and acceptance in her face. Suddenly and desperately, he grasped her into him, his hands gripping hard onto her back, his head buried in her neck, letting her hair smother him.

"I wish to ask a confidence from you," he said, his voice rattling against her throat.

Her fingers stroked along his back, noting the sharpness of his bones through the skin. "Go on."

"For all I have done to you, for all I have meant to you in the past ... I ask your forgiveness."

Hermione closed her eyes tight, unseen by Lucius.

She had forgiven him the first time she had seen the look of transparent acceptance and awe on his face when she had revealed her breasts to him. She had forgiven him again when he had used every inch of his strength to stop her making him spill chaotically into her hand that time she had held him. She had forgiven him completely when he had touched and stroked her so truly to the sweetest orgasm she could imagine, standing in his prison cell.

And now that she felt his body pressing every inch of its lean and hungry desperation against her, needing her humanity, needing her soul, she forgave him his life.

Hermione held his head and guided him to look at her. "Then you have it. I forgive you, Lucius."

They kissed, frantic this time, in need of affirmation and the proximity of pain. His teeth ground onto her lips and he forced her mouth open wide, plunging his tongue far into the wet warmth that was all her.

If he hadn't been so large, he would have slipped into her almost unnoticed, but as soon as the head of his cock pushed up into her, her eyes widened in wonder. She urged him deeper, and soon they were moving together again in that instinctive rhythm natural lovers have.

Their kiss may have been frantic but they both wanted this moment to endure; when they came it would end. So they moved slowly, simply enjoying the feel of their joining. When at last they climaxed, they came strongly and deeply and together, their bodies sharing the pleasure and magnifying it.

Lying together afterwards, their words coming through recovering breaths, Lucius turned to her, expressing the bewilderment they both finally acknowledged. "We've never discussed how this has come to be."

"No," she grinned. "Sometimes it's best that way. If we thought about it too much it would be ... too confusing."

"You do realise that I am far happier to find myself with you than I am to be out of that place, don't you?"

"If you'd still been there, do you think we would've gone this far?"

"Eventually – I don't think either of us could have prevented it, but it would have been different. It would have remained under the terms of our ... arrangement."

She smiled, kissing him again. She would kiss him forever. Hermione threw her leg over him and leant down. But no sooner had she started smothering him with adoration again, than she pulled back with a smirk. "I want to have a bath."

"You may do whatever you want. Come to think of it, I need to have a bath."

She smirked. "You had a basin in your room."

"True ... and twice weekly cold showers."

"Ooh – luxury." Hermione grinned sarcastically. "Come on, I'll have a bath with you. And then I want to brush your hair."

He smiled gently. "A bath ... I'd forgotten what it is."

"Would you rather be on your own?" Hermione started to get up to grant him his solitude, but Lucius held her arm tight to keep her from going.

"No, not at all. You could run it though."

Hermione nodded, pushed back the covers and rose from the bed. He kept his eyes trained on her until she disappeared into the bathroom.

With a sigh, Lucius slumped back, staring blankly ahead of him. Already he missed her, just as he had when the heavy thud of his prison door had shut on him, pushing her away from him after each weekly visit.

But as his mind settled he glanced around. This had been the main guest room. He had taken Hermione here instinctively. He and Narcissa had stopped sharing a bed, at her instigation, shortly after he returned from Azkaban the first time. He had chosen this room, although his time in it was hard to recall. Now, as it at last impinged itself on his mind, he realised how right it was. It was hung with lush furnishings, not gaudy, but rich and restful, like a velvet and silk burgundy nest fashioned by some exotic bird.

It would take Lucius many weeks to even begin to appreciate the finer things in life again, apart from Hermione, but in the stillness of his solitude, with the sound of running water emanating from the bathroom, his eyes were easy with what they were seeing.

The door of the en-suite opened and Hermione emerged, a broad smile on her face. She was still naked and Lucius immediately felt the jolt in his groin again. He was not particularly hungry, although a whole kitchen of hams and cheeses and fruits awaited him downstairs, more food than he had seen for years. He had no desire to try on his old clothes and cast away the tattered garment he had been wearing nearly every day for the past three years. Human desire and want had been virtually extinguished in him, but not lust. She had awakened that the moment she walked into his cell and she had used it. She had used it to her advantage and to his ineffable healing. He wanted her always, at every moment they were together; if he wasn't inside her he almost feared she would vanish.

"Bath's ready," she smiled, crawling up the bed towards him.

He allowed her to take his hand and lead him into his own bathroom.

As Lucius sank into the hot water, it struck him momentarily that he was slipping through the hot earth itself, as if the ground was consuming him. Limbs then encircled him, and with the feeling of complete helplessness came also a comfort, the knowledge that, no matter what, now he was secure. For the first time in three years, he was cocooned and warm and safe and he knew it. He allowed the woman to guide him, an unfamiliar thing for him, giving himself entirely into the hands of someone he would normally have dominated. Hermione sat behind him in the large tub and pulled him back. He felt the quiescent popping of bubbles as he sank back to rest against her. The curls at her pelvis tickled him and her breasts cushioned him. He closed his eyes and fell deeper through the earth, warm and surrounded.

He barely noticed her washing him, but she did, carefully and thoroughly, easing off the grime of incarceration. It was only when she began to wash his hair that he took note. Her fingertips rubbed and massaged and soothed his scalp until he was lulled into a state of semi-consciousness yet again. As she rubbed, she began to hum a tune. It sounded as if he should recognise it, but he had no memory to dredge up. The smell of lavender wafted up from the shampoo, and he gave her his peace and contentment. She was still humming, rubbing and soothing and humming and taking away all the tension which had infected his brain.

It was almost too much, but he couldn't bear to tell her to stop. In any case, he realised what was overwhelming him, almost to the point of suffering – it was the smell. The heady, powerful scent of shampoo and soap and bath oils was too much; his senses could not cope with it after years of sensory deprivation. He resisted mentioning it though, but once she had rinsed his hair, a process which calmed the slight panic of sensory overload which had started in him, he rose relatively swiftly from the bath.

Once back in the bedroom he calmed further and found himself enjoying the process of drying his hair, something he always had his house elf do before Azkaban and the war. He used the Calidus Spirantia spell, which sent a jet of hot air blowing from the tip of his wand, just like a Muggle hairdryer.

Once his hair was dry, the smell was less powerful and now simply wafted around him fragrantly and sensually: lavender. A memory came to him: his mother, silent and gentle, placing a small sprig next to his bed to help him sleep. Lavender. Always lavender.

Lucius reached for a hair brush.

"Let me." Before he could bring it to his head, Hermione's fingers closed around the brush. He glanced at her, aware he appeared startled. "Do you mind?" she continued gently. He shook his head.

Hermione was at last able to do what she had wanted since her first visit to Azkaban.

She began slowly, teasing out any tangles which had formed, apologising if she pulled by mistake. But soon the brush was running through his hair freely, tugging teasingly at his head before slipping through in long, reassuring pulls. Any stress which had wriggled within him earlier was thoroughly dispelled by this woman's careful and focused grooming of him. He closed his eyes, remembering the first time she had taken off her top in his cell. She attended to him now with the same candour and clarity that she had then.

Hermione eased into a rhythmic brushing, starting from the roots and drawing the brush down until the fine hairs were released from the hold the bristles had on them and fluttered free to rest along his back again. She did not rush. The bristles nestled briefly into his scalp with each stroke, and he delighted in the tugging which ensued and the feeling of slick progression down to the ends. His hair shone with a lustre she had not seen in it since that first meeting all those years ago in Flourish and Blotts. Even after years of neglect it now fell luxuriantly, curling into the nape of his neck.

Hermione continued to brush long after it was needed, running her hand over the smooth locks after each stroke of the brush. Her desire to do this had lain dormant over the weeks and now she found her body revelling in the simple process as much as the rocking of his body within her.

And now she was humming that melody again. Lucius let it wash over him as the brush continued its strokes.

"What is that tune?"

"It's not from your world."

"I didn't think it was."

"Shall I stop?"

"No. I like it. Tell me what it is."

"It's just an old folk song with a bit of sea shanty thrown in, normally sung to children ... my mother used to sing it to me when I was in the bath, and my father would come and join in sometimes. He had a wonderful bass voice. I loved it."

"Sing the words to me."

She sniffed out an embarrassed laugh.

"Go on," Lucius urged.

Softly at first, more embarrassed at exposing her singing voice to him than her nakedness, Hermione began to sing the words:

"Dance to your Daddy, my little laddie
Dance to your Daddy, my little man
Thou shalt have a fish and thou shalt have a fin
Thou shalt have a codlin when the boat comes in
Thou shalt have a haddock baked in a pan
Dance to your Daddy, my little man

"Dance to your Daddy, my little laddie
Dance to your Daddy, my little man
When thou art a young boy, you must sing and play
Go along the shore and cast your shells away
Build yourself a castle, watch the tide roll in
Dance to your Daddy, my little man

There. Silly really."

Lucius didn't answer. If he had he would have betrayed the crack in his voice. It was the first time he had heard singing for three years. And just as his sense of touch had been reawakened when he had slipped his fingers into her, his sense of hearing now came to life as if for the first time. He didn't want to lose that feeling.

"Will you carry on?"

She giggled softly again. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Hermione took up the song again and continued until she got to the last verse:

"Dance to your Daddy, my little laddie
Dance to your Daddy, my little man
When thou art an old man, father to a son
Sing to him the old songs, sing of all you've done
Pass along the old ways, then let his song begin
Dance to your Daddy, my little man."

Lucius glanced across at the picture resting on the table. It was of his son, and at that moment Lucius was acutely struck by how he had failed him, both as a father and a man. And here Lucius was, himself the child again, not the Daddy, but the little man, in the hands of this woman who had previously represented all that was inferior to him.

But he felt no shame or fear as he perhaps should have done. His time in Azkaban, his time with Voldemort, had exhausted his stocks of those particular emotions. And now, as premature as it may have been, he felt at ease with his future as he had never done before.

Hermione placed the brush down on the bed and stroked his hair from behind, a tender smile on her face. Lucius looked across at their reflection in the mirror.

"You only need stay until the Ministry is satisfied with me."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Are you kicking me out, Mr Malfoy?"

He let his head fall back against her and closed his eyes. "You know I want nothing more than to have you here every minute of every day."

Hermione moved out to sit beside him and guided his head round to her, kissing him lightly on the lips.

"Does this make any sense at all?" he murmured amidst her kisses.

"No, but then not much of my life has made sense."

"I want to be inside you again." His hands slid inside her robe. Hermione was slipping fast but tried half-heartedly to resist.

"Don't you want to see the rest of your house? You haven't been here for three years."

"It can wait ... I've waited for you, Hermione ... waited and waited ... I want you now, no delays, no more patience."

"In that case ..." She lay down and slid her limbs over the bed, inviting him towards her. "Here I am."

And as he pushed deep into her again, Lucius Malfoy knew he'd do his utmost to make her stay.

Happy sigh.

Finally, thanks for all the lovely reviews. It means so much when you take a moment to let me know what you think. LL x