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Chapter Text

Hermione absolutely hated the feeling of lace up her arse when she was on the job.

It wasn’t like there were no other options. Her preferred worn and faded cotton high briefs were unfortunately not one of them, but she could have gone for satin underwear cut high on her hips and over her bottom- the rear view was always well received. She had a few silk loungewear sets, in flirty and feminine pastels- decorative bralettes and loose, if small, boyshorts, with a delicate wisp of an open blouse. They were the most comfortable, the closest option she had to what she herself would want to wear, and whenever she had an opportunity to don one, it gave her an armour of confidence, bolstered her bravery.

Unfortunately, tiny lace thongs were her only choice when she was sent after a new target at The Mermaid Divine. The comfy loungewear was fine for when she was entertaining a Death Eater who knew her, who she had already enthralled and whose guard was ever so slightly down at the sight of a past conquest eager for another round. Those missions were predicated on reinforcement and building familiarity, not seduction.

But when there was an unknown variable, someone who she was encountering for the first time, it was best to go in all guns blazing. There was something about lace, about a few barely-there scraps banded across her hips, about the tantalising shadow of her nipples that poked through the bra, that more than anything, made men’s brains turn into a puddle of lust.

Ron had always loved her in lace.

Hermione pushed that thought away, threw up a layer of Occlumency to shroud it and the pang of grief that always accompanied thoughts of him. There was no place for him, in the Emerald Suite of The Mermaid Divine, and certainly not as she was preparing to fuck a senior Death Eater.

Tonks had rapped on the door of her lab, early in the morning the previous week. Hermione had blearily blinked at the report she had silently slid across her work station, the blazing spidery runes she had been etching for the past few hours still floating across her vision.

“Our guy in the Floo Department says Avery’s made three trips to Bolivia in the weekend just gone,” Tonks said softly. The vibrant and outgoing witch Hermione remembered from her school days had been drained by the long years of war and loss and responsibility- her pallor and faded hair and the shockingly purple smudges under her eyes were now permanent features for the Order general. “Don’t have the exact location, but Hermione, you know it’s a geographical area of interest- we have so much intel suggesting their main wailroot lab is there. We need-”

“We do,” said Hermione firmly, raising her gaze from the grainy picture of the grim-faced Death Eater to Tonks’ eyes, filled with weary gratitude at being saved from explicitly making the request, at Hermione letting them maintain the fiction that she was volunteering. “We do, Dora. I’ll speak to Madame Moira, see if she’s heard anything.”

Fortunately, Madame Moira had. The Mermaid Divine was the favoured establishment for all of Voldemort’s most high-ranking Death Eaters, not only because it provided exquisite girls who would do anything as long as their exorbitant fees were paid, but because of its utmost discretion and anonymity. Madame Moira, whose niece Hermione had been regularly providing her modified Wolfsbane Potion for ever since her mauling at the hands of one of Greyback’s pack a year ago, had not been able to give the exact time at which Cyrus Avery would visit her pleasure house- even the proprietress was bound by the establishment’s privacy enchantments. But she had provided the most likely window, and that was good enough for Hermione.

Shamefully, Hermione couldn’t help but be relieved at having a reason for the madame to be indebted to her. The layered charms and spellwork surrounding each private room of The Mermaid Divine, subtle but insidious, resonated with and amplified the cunt-drunk, loose and giddy feeling that came from a man orgasming at the hands of a pretty young thing who would never look at him twice usually. The purpose was to ensnare the clients, a touch of magical persuasion to engage them for longer sessions and hopefully, repeat ones.

But for Hermione, they made it even easier for her to coax out whatever intelligence she had been sent to gather.

Hermione heaved a sigh and got up from the bed where she had arranged herself. Wands were not allowed anywhere in the building, and the lack of clocks and windows made it very easy for lust-addled men to lose track of time. She could cast a wandless tempus, but it would be better to conserve as much of her magical energy as possible.

She made her way over to the ornate floor-length mirror. She had been fucked in front of it a handful of times- surprisingly, men did not always leap at the suggestion when she coyly made it. She supposed the satisfaction and added arousal from witnessing the ecstasy on the face of a sexual partner was not a priority when you were nothing more than a hole for a man to house his cock in.

Hermione adjusted the strap of her bra- she had gone for a deep emerald set, the bra a sheer lace mesh that hinted at the pink of her nipples and gave her a deep cleavage she didn’t think she was capable of, and the thong stretched high over her hips. The coverup floated to mid-thigh, a translucent silk that provided absolutely no coverage. Her pointy heels and polished nails were all the same green- the more Slytherin the colour scheme, the more likely even the most seasoned Death Eater was to be reduced to a horny teenaged Hogwarts student. Hermione had never been in the Slytherin Common Room, but Draco had confirmed that The Mermaid Divine’s rooms were similarly outfitted- mahogany antique furniture, sumptuous silver-and-green wall hangings, and a watery sea-green light diffused throughout the space.

The door smoothly slid open- Hermione’s pulse involuntarily sped up, despite herself, as she watched a masked Death Eater step into the room through the mirror. He was tall and lithe, and dressed in elegant and sweeping black robes- Hermione could make out the sheen of embroidery on the lapels and cuffs.

Promising. His height and build matched that of Avery’s.

Hermione pushed through the frisson of unease and fear that the sight of the silver Death Eater mask always provoked. The polished and gleaming metal, the etched and raised swirls and flourishes that covered the surface, the grill where the mouth would be, always raised the hairs on the back of her neck, threw her back to being a panting and bloodied and exhausted sixteen-year-old trembling in the aisles of the Hall of Prophecy as the masks menacingly emerged from the oppressive gloom.

She couldn’t make anything out beneath the mask, but she could feel the tangible weight of the Death Eater’s gaze and steadily held it through the mirror, staring into the gaping eyeholes. She always played it a bit reserved at first, slightly flirtatious but still composed and in control, a blank canvas for the man to project his fantasies on, until he had a drink in him, let the subtle magic slowly seep into him and relax him, and she could take the garb of whatever girl he wanted her to be. Firm and almost maternal, projecting self-assuredness and control; coquettish and subservient, her eyelashes fluttering and her voice pitched higher and breathier; a seductive vixen who teased and flattered and whispered filth in his ear- Hermione had played them all.

Who would Cyrus Avery want?

Hermione watched as the Death Eater reached for the mask with gloved hands, slowly unhooking it and lowering it from his face as he pushed back his hood.

And then she was very glad that she was facing away so that the spear of terror that shot through her was not immediately obvious on her face.

Because it was not Avery that had just stepped into the room.

Lucius Malfoy raked his hand through his hair as he watched her coolly with pale grey eyes.

Hermione was an excellent actress- she had to be- but she was not sure she had successfully masked her panic. She hoped that the dim lighting camouflaged her reaction at having Voldemort’s top-most lieutenant walk into the room with the intention of having sex with her.

The most pressing concern was that he would recognise her. She had immediately placed him- the blindingly platinum hair was a distinctive enough marker, even if Lucius hadn’t been an exact copy of his son. Of course, he also featured prominently in Order meetings and battle reports, often accompanied with black-and-white images from recon missions- impeccable in formal attire as he disdainfully glared at the photographer for the events the puppet Ministry held; watching distrustfully over his shoulder as he entered Dark Creature territories to meet with their envoys; sweeping down the gravel driveway of his Manor before he vanished with a crack.

But the last time Lucius Malfoy had seen her, properly looked at her face and with the knowledge that she was Hermione Granger, had been as she sobbed and twitched on the floor of his parlour around five years ago.

Then, she had been a woeful and dishevelled sight- her hair a matted mess, her face slightly gaunt from malnourishment and swollen from crying, writhing and screaming under Bellatrix’s wand.

But now she stood before him in a pleasure house, barely clothed, ready to have sex with him, and watching with hooded eyes as he carefully pulled each glove off to reveal elegant, long-fingered hands, his gaze never leaving hers.

She had filled out, her skin was glowing and smooth and golden, and her hair was in a sleek and spiralling cascade, artfully arrayed. Her eyes were carefully made smoky with makeup and magic, glitter danced on her cheekbones, and her lips were a deep, glossy red. She looked nothing like the weeping teenager he had last seen, and even if he had a faint inkling, he would never truly believe Order thaumaturgist Hermione Granger stood brazenly in lacy lingerie before him. There was too much mental dissonance for her to be at risk of discovery- the same principle that applied with every Death Eater applied to him too.

It was the memory of Bellatrix’s yellowed teeth bared in a snarl and lightning-hot molten pain crackling through her bones and the subdued sparkle of the chandelier above her through her blur of tears that sent fury lancing through any panic Hermione felt.

The agitation from the part of her that still thrived on planning and preparedness and being armed with knowledge; the disappointment at not being able to mine Avery for the information the Order actually needed; the dread of being so exposed in front of a man whose family would routinely be tortured by Lord Voldemort and who had nevertheless ruthlessly ascended the Death Eater ranks to reclaim his position in the inner circle in the years following the Demolition of Hogwarts- Hermione tamped it all down. She didn’t want to deploy her Occlumency- proficient though she may be, it was still tapping into her magical core, and faced with one of Voldemort’s most senior Death Eaters, she needed every bit of it she could get.

Instead, she let a coy smile slowly unfurl over her lips, and slowly turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “A drink for you, sir?” she asked casually, letting her eyes rake slowly down his figure and flick back up.

Lucius Malfoy met her gaze impassively- Hermione felt a jolt of satisfaction at him evidently not recognising her. “Firewhisky,” he replied in casual command, his voice deep and smooth, running over her like silk.

Hermione made sure to put an extra sway in her hips as she made her way over to the bar cart, lifting the decanter of Firewhisky to pour a few fingers into a crystalline tumbler. Lucius was perched on the end of the bed when she turned back around, slowly shrugging off his robes to reveal an impeccably tailored vest and black dress shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, still watching her silently.

Hermione came within touching distance, just before his dragon-hide Oxfords stretched in front of him, cradling the drink in both hands. “Will you be drinking it off me, sir?” she offered, looking up at him through her lashes.

Lucius tilted his head, his eyes still fastened on hers- they didn’t drop even once to the glass in her hands. Up close, she could see the differences between him and Draco- he had a stronger jaw, his lips were less pouty and his cheekbones weren’t razor-sharp and elegant like his son’s. Up close, he looked less polished and less the mirror image of the sneering Pureblood patriarch she had watched taunt Mr Weasley- there were creases under his eyes, faint stubble coating his jaw, a droop to his shoulders that belied his ramrod-straight posture.

Up close, she could see the shadowed exhaustion in his eyes give way to assessing interest, and the unmistakable glint of lust.

“That’s an option, is it?” he asked softly, and Hermione felt her stomach do a slow and lazy flip as his gaze dipped to the valley of her cleavage.

She blinked as she felt cool fingers brush hers- Lucius had leaned forward slightly to take the glass from her, raising it to his lips as he watched her. “The night is young,” he said, after taking a sip. He tilted his chin towards the bar cart. “You won’t be joining me?”

“If that’s what you want,” Hermione replied, flashing a demure smile at him before turning to the cart.

Her mind raced as she carefully poured herself a single measure. She needed all her wits about her if she wanted to make the most of this encounter. Lucius Malfoy had never once been mentioned by Madame Moira in any of her weekly reports- Narcissa Malfoy had been killed by a stray Killing Curse at the Demolition of Hogwarts, and from what Draco had said, despite the strain of housing the Dark Lord in their Manor and Draco’s Vanishing Cabinet assignment, his parents had been fiercely devoted to each other.

There was every possibility that Lucius Malfoy had swapped lust for bloodlust, his sexual appetite dead with his wife: equally, that he had a paramour or fuck-buddy through his own personal and private arrangements- perhaps a Death Eater widow.

Regardless, she knew nothing about his sexual proclivities, or his temperament or what kind of behaviour she should expect from him. Draco was understandably touchy about his father- the topic was understood amongst the Order to be just as taboo as the Dark Lord’s name, so she was flying completely blind tonight. But one didn’t manage a complete one-eighty of their fortunes within the Death Eater ranks without being willing to trample through all limits and boundaries of human decency and mercy. She would have to tread very carefully through the minefield of his complete unpredictability.

Hermione turned back around to face him and leaned across the cart as she took the tiniest sip of her drink, making sure the long and lean line of her body was enticingly presented. She watched Malfoy’s burning silver gaze slowly track down her bared expanses of skin, and felt a thrill of satisfaction at the unmistakable hunger in his eyes.

He widened his knees ever so slightly and tapped one imperiously. “Here.”

The click-click of Hermione’s heels echoed deafeningly in the room as she slowly sauntered towards him and looked down at him. Instead of perching on his knee like he had indicated, she lowered herself slowly into a straddle over his lap, her knees pressed right at the edge of the bed either side of his hips, her centre hovering in the gap between his legs.

Dark amusement flashed through Lucius’ eyes, and something else. Hermione hadn’t looked down, but she was confident he was beginning to harden- her breasts were enticingly pressed up and almost at his eye level, and one hand had come up to lightly settle on her hip, right over the meagre waist band of her thong. The weight of his hand and signet ring was cool and heavy- his long fingers spread possessively over the arch of her pelvis.

“What happened to that drink of yours?” Lucius’ voice was smoky, and his fingers were lightly tracing the skin of her hip.

In response, Hermione slipped the glass from his hand and lifted it to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. They both looked down as she removed the tumbler, a vivid red stain on the rim in the shape of her lips. An image flashed in Hermione’s mind- lipstick kisses trailing down the firm plane of Lucius’ stomach, standing out starkly against his alabaster skin, and she felt her core clench.

“Is that what we’re here for?” Her voice had dropped into a husky whisper- she reached out and lightly fingered the top button of his shirt, brushing over the thin skin of the hollow of his throat. “You didn’t pay all that money for a drink, I’m sure.”

Lucius caught her wrist suddenly. “You’re right to be sure,” he agreed, his voice low. “Up you get.”

Hermione dismounted and stood before him- she had never thought she’d ever be the girl to stand brazenly and unabashedly confident in her body before a man, letting him look his fill and revelling in his lustful gaze. It had been Ron, who had always devoured her with his eyes, worshipped her body with all the reverence of a pilgrim at the altar of a saint, long before she had any proficiency in the art of intimacy.

It was a desecration of his memory and their love, for Hermione to have corrupted and weaponised everything they had learned together.

War made sinners out of all of them.

Lucius Malfoy’s gaze flicked down to the floor, and Hermione immediately dropped to her knees. Pretty standard operating procedure- Hermione was certain that blowjobs were something that prim and proper Pureblood wives balked at and found demeaning. Every Death Eater she had fucked at The Mermaid Divine had asked for one, and it was surely the novelty of a partner willing to give one that had them ejaculating furiously in no time at all.

That, and her own proficiency at the act.

But she had been always maintained a sort of clinical detachment in any sex act she had performed before. Sure, she would get aroused- it was a natural bodily response to being in the presence of an able-bodied male donning a veneer of civility and courtesy, and no Death Eater had been an offense to her eyeballs thus far. Barring Not Sr., who had been corpulent and red with drink, his sausage fingers scrabbling in her hair as she choked on his short and girthy cock and he grunted and heaved above her. Fortunately, he had orgasmed within a minute and promptly passed out, leaving Hermione to slip into his mind before slipping out of the room.

But as she looked up at Lucius Malfoy, her eyes wide and beseeching and her face level with his crotch, she felt heady arousal burn through her and coalesce low in her stomach. Perhaps it was the rich and spicy and masculine scent of him, or the illicit thrill and smugness of having Voldemort’s top general putty in her Mudblood hands, or his own undeniable attractiveness. Lucius Malfoy had broad shoulders and elegant hands- two characteristics that were catnip for Hermione. Ron had the comforting handsomeness of the boy-next-door, the rumpled warmth and ease with her born of a childhood spent in each other’s company, the kind of looks that were dear to you because the man was dear to you.

Lucius Malfoy had the harsh and untouchable beauty of a Greek statue- pale and imposing and looming and classically, undeniably handsome. It would not be a hardship to fuck him, not at all.

He said nothing, gave her no instruction- just watched her with those quicksilver eyes. Hermione leaned forward slightly, eased the zip of his fly down, the sound of it having an almost Pavlovian effect on her heart rate.

Her fingers brushed over his hardness, enclosed in black briefs, and she saw his muscular thighs clench at her touch. Good to know that he wasn’t as passive and unresponsive as he pretended to be.

Hermione traced the long and thick shape of him delicately, his cock hardening and tenting his underwear as she mapped it slowly. She looked up at him through her eyelashes- his eyes were burning, and there were spots of colour high on his cheeks.

“Any specific requests?” She sounded like she smoked three packs a day.

“I trust your expertise.” His voice was level and unaffected, but she saw him swallow minutely as she grasped the elastic of his waistband and eased his cock out.

God fucking dammit, Lucius Malfoy had a beautiful penis- and Hermione had become quite the expert on them. Long and thick, with a flared head and prominent veins and ridges that made her mouth water and her pussy clench. Hermione traced the length of it with her pointer finger- the contrast between the shiny dark lacquer of her nails and the pale skin of his cock made her sigh internally, and as she watched, she saw pre-cum bead at the tip.

Grasping it firmly at the base, she pulled it downwards slightly, and held the head just in front of her parted lips, her hot breath caressing it she looked up at him. She knew what an obscene sight she made- her eyes doe-like and hazy with want, her tits heaving, her painted lips poised to take his cock.

She wasn’t expecting Lucius Malfoy to be looking down at her with gritted teeth and glittering eyes, his fists clenching like he was stopping himself from grabbing her hair and forcing her mouth onto his shaft.

Hermione had not had a partnered sexual experience she had unreservedly enjoyed in a long time- if she was going to sell her body to coax out secrets from Voldemort’s most deadly Death Eater, she was not going to let him dictate the encounter.

She stiffened her tongue to a hard point and traced the thickest vein, from his root all the way to his head, avoiding the slit at the top. His skin was soft as velvet and had the slightest musk- she wanted to close her eyes and luxuriate in the sensation but the key to blowing a man’s brains out, was eye contact. She fixed her eyes on his molten ones, made them sultry and enjoyed his chest heaving slightly, as she painted the vein with her saliva, twice, thrice, before rolling the head of his cock against her closed lips.

Lucius let out a guttural groan, and Hermione had to fight back the impulse to mirror it. There were many charms and special lipsticks enchanted to be completely transfer-proof, but where was the fun in that? She pulled back slightly, the faintest red smeared on his cockhead as she delicately licked his pre-cum off her lips, staring up at him all the while.

He tasted salty and clean- Hermione did not love the taste of cum but she enjoyed watching Lucius’ Malfoy’s pupils dilate as he watched her savour it. She was too turned on to tease him for much longer- she pressed small kisses up his shaft, and then engulfed his cock in one go.

The effect was instantaneous- his hand came up to her hair, his fingers twining in her curls as he rasped out a “fuck”, dropping his head back briefly as Hermione lightly scraped her teeth against him. He was big but mostly fit in her mouth- she circled his base with her fingers as she bobbed up and down on him, his hand in her hair but not yet guiding or forcing her.

Fuck, she enjoyed giving head so much- the undeniable power in having a man so desperate for her mouth on his most sensitive bits, the groans and pants as she moved her hand down to cradle his balls, the feel of him in her mouth, silk stretched over steel. Hermione squirmed where she sat- she wanted more than anything to reach down to her sopping cunt, circle her clit, but for now, the sensation and friction of the lace against her sensitive centre amplified the razor-edge of her desire.

Hermione relaxed her throat, fought past her gag reflex as she took him even deeper- Lucius’ nails scratched against her scalp and almost made her purr. “Good girl,” he husked, his voice tight with lust. “You can take more, can’t you?”

Hermione whined- she couldn’t hold it in, and she knew the vibration against his cock would feel fantastic. Right on cue, his shaft jumped in her mouth and she eased his cock out, gathered the saliva in her mouth, and holding his gaze, spat on his cockhead.

Her spit glistened obscenely against his swollen and pink head- she took a moment to enjoy the sight of it before covering it with her fist, smoothing it down his shaft, the slap of skin-on-skin making her press her thighs together to ease the ache as he groaned, his other hand coming to twine in her hair as he lightly thrusted.

“I need your mouth, pretty girl,” Lucius panted, his eyes black with lust, sweat beading on his forehead. “Your mouth- please-”

He didn’t even have to finish- Hermione swallowed his cock once again and Lucius let out a guttural groan, his fingers clenching in her hair as she set a fast and brutal pace. God, she might be able to come without even being touched- the sight of Lucius Malfoy, jaw clenched and chest heaving, the sound of his soft pants and the wet and sloppy blowjob, the potent scent of her own arousal-

Hermione surrendered to him, let him pull her up and down his cock, drool seeping out of the side of her mouth as she let herself be used. She kept one hand on his root, traced the delicate skin of his balls with the nails of the other, felt them tauten and clench-

She could feel the heat of his cockhead at the back of her throat as she firmly pulled off of it- he let out a sound, probably of anguish, but she caught the jets of cum across her closed lips and chin, let him paint pearly ropes across her cleavage as she kept a grasp on him. Lucius’ head was thrown back, his eyes shut and groaning pants escaping his parted lips as he rode out the wave of his orgasm. If wanted to be encased by her hot and wet heat as he came, he could do it buried in her pussy- it clenched at the thought- but the visual of being covered in his spend always unlocked a primal and possessive part of a man.

Hermione tried to regain control of her breathing as she let go of Lucius’ softening cock and sat back on her heels, watching him come down from his high. Her knees were slightly sore, as were her feet where they were awkwardly bent in her heels, but the frantic and hot pulse in her cunt drowned out all her discomfort. He opened his eyes, black and clouded with satisfaction- she held his gaze and watched it sharpen as she licked his cum off her lips, swept her fingers delicately to catch the glistening spurts on her chin and licked them clean, humming her approval like she was enjoying an ice cream on a hot day.

She let out a shriek- Lucius Malfoy grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her upwards, tumbling her on to the bed and following her body with his. Hermione let out a gasp of laughter as he caged her body, his palms holding himself up by her shoulders, her knees spreading slightly to accommodate his hips. Desire, that effervescent and intoxicating thing, uncurled in her stomach, drifted up her spine at the promise of his hard and hot body- the sodden lace of her thong felt unbearable heavy against her sensitive labia, and she wished he would lower himself down into the cradle of her thighs, his hardness against her heat.

Lucius looked down at her, his face once more composed, but his cheeks were still slightly flushed, and only a faint ring of stormy grey was visible in his glittering eyes. He softly lifted a ringlet of hair, lovingly brushed it back from her face as a smirk played over his lips.

His next words sent ice and terror shuddering through her.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Mudblood?”

Chapter Text

Lucius would be hard-pressed to decide what he enjoyed more- the sight of the lithe and bronzed seductress on her knees in front of him, her glossy lips stretched around his cock as she watched him adoringly with amber doe-eyes as he pistoned in and out of the searing heat of her mouth; the lurid and full-bodied satisfaction that pulsed through him after his hardest orgasm in years whilst the Mudblood delicately cleaned his cum off her chin like she was enjoying the finest delicacy.

Or that Mudblood stiffening underneath him, the dazed arousal in her eyes swept away by a tidal wave of fear as they widened and the rosy flush in her cheeks drained away.

He caught both wrists as they jerked up, shackling the delicate bones with his fingers and pressing them back in the mattress.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted. “We’ll keep these here, Granger.”

If it was possible, she whitened even further- perhaps she had been banking on him not knowing exactly who she was.

But Lucius Malfoy had recognised Hermione Granger the minute he stepped through the door and her whiskey-coloured gaze had met his in the mirror.

Few things took Lucius by surprise anymore, but an almost nude Hermione Granger in a whorehouse certainly did. He was glad for the mask- he was sure his surprise would have shown on his face.

There was little point wondering how she could be there, because it was undeniably her. He only had the faintest memory of her from his confrontation in the bookshop with the blood-traitor Weasley a lifetime ago, and despite his son’s frequent complaining about a know-it-all Gryffindor Mudblood who constantly beat his marks, he only recalled a tiny slip of a girl with a monstrously bushy head of hair scowling fiercely at him.

Ever since her torture in front of him at the hands of his beloved sister-in-law though, he would have been hard-pressed to forget her face.

Yes, she had been wearing filthy and ill-fitting Muggle clothing, dirty and gaunt and screaming as Bellatrix cast the Cruciatus again and again and again, but even in the midst of his own desperation and distaste, he couldn’t forget the sight of her defiant amber eyes, blazing in fury at his sister-in-law, that obstinate Gryffindor stubbornness unyielding even under torture.

So yes, as soon as he had seen those same eyes widen ever so slightly as they met his in the mirror, he had known whose they were.

Lucius had never paid for sex before, never lowered himself to visit even the most exclusive of pleasure houses, no matter how much his fellow Death Eaters rhapsodised and praised the girls and their services. He would have slit his own wrists before he dishonoured Narcissa, and after her death, he had been too mired in grief and anger and depression to even have a libido.

In the years since shaking himself out of his Firewhisky-soaked stupor and ascending the Death Eater ranks to crawl his way back into the Dark Lord’s favour, he still had little interest in sex or intimacy. Partly because he had little time, between Death Eater meetings and missions and legislative sessions at the Ministry- being worked to the bone, drenching oneself in Dark Magic, and the exhaustion of maintaining a façade of civility around twittering and obsequious bureaucrats eager to cement their places in the Dark Lord’s new world order did not make for a healthy sex drive.

Partly because he could not stomach the thought of sharing his body with anybody but Narcissa.

But the week had been draining. There had been fruitless raid on what was supposed to be an Order safehouse and the location from which the blood traitors and Mudbloods were producing their pathetically defiant radio show, with nothing but four Death Eaters in St. Mungo’s to show for it. He’d had to attend an interminable gala marking the five-year anniversary of their victory at Hogwarts. And the previous day had seen him Floo to the sprawling labs on the outskirts of Oruro where the team’s latest attempts to synthesise wailroot stable enough to repot had resulted in a catastrophic explosion, shattering all their wards and neutralising all the painstaking magical treatment of the vast tracts of surrounding farmland, and all but evaporated Avery’s magical core.

It had been chilling, visiting Cyrus and seeing the dense sphere of runes and diagnostics and enchantments glittering coldly around his shrunken and almost lifeless body, trying their best to pump magic in him, ignite the guttering spark of his magical reserves. Lucius had felt paranoid and unable to sleep when he returned to the Manor, as if dropping his guard to rest would result in him being taken unawares, his magic stripped from him until he, like Avery, was balanced on the knife’s edge between life and death, barely better than a Muggle.

Lucius had silently sat through many drunken and bawdy conversations about the delights and temptations of The Mermaid Divine, but he had not Apparated to the pleasure house to drown his anxieties in sex. He was aware of the strict no wands policy, the complete suppression and dampening of all magic as soon as the threshold was crossed, and there was some relief in safely surrendering it, knowing it would flood back into him as soon as he exited the building, not having to be on his guard with his hackles raised as if it could be snatched from him.

He was not optimistic that the whore given to him would pique his interest in the slightest- Lucius had planned to dismiss her and then nap in peace, safe in the knowledge that his magic was secure.

But the sight of Potter’s Mudblood, the enigmatic witch who had all but disappeared after the Dark Lord’s victory, wearing tiny scraps of lace and chiffon and blinking so prettily at him as she fetched his drink and draped that barely clothed, lithe and golden body across his lap, ignited his lust until it blazed with a ferocity he had not felt since he was a much younger man.

And what a marvel the Mudblood was. She, of course, had instantly recognised him, but there was none of that Gryffindor blundering and hot-headedness, nor had she shied away from maintaining her ruse. Lucius had been curious to see how far he could push her, had ordered her to his lap, to kneel before him, to see what she was willing to do to keep her cover, expecting her at any minute to giggle out some excuse and flee.

But she had reached for the zip of his trousers, those copper-coloured eyes guileless and open as she traced his throbbing shaft, watching him with fascination as she left ruby lip stains along his length, her arousal unmistakable as her mouth bulged full of cock and he let his pent-up lust seize control of his body, hammering into the back of her throat until he covered her face with his cum.

As she watched him with hungry eyes, licking his spend from his fingers with a rosy flush to her cheeks and unsubtly pressing her thighs together, there was a mad moment where Lucius wanted to abandon his plans to toy with her, to ride out this fantasy and throw her on the bed and bury himself in her cunt until she was screaming and begging.

But if Hermione Granger was wearing heels that made her legs look endless, a face full of his spend, and not much else, she was there for a reason. And he needed to get to the bottom of it.

He watched her push the panic and fear down, her face smoothening into a blank canvas as the telltale sheen of Occlusion frosted across her eyes before she refocused on him. Her curls were haloed around her head- rich chestnut spirals, shot through with a hundred different shades of toffee and gold, and oh so silky soft and smooth twining through his fingers. Unbidden, his gaze dropped to her heaving chest and the gold pendant cushioned in her deep cleavage.

Fucking Merlin, he’d have loved to have seen her tits dripping with his seed.

“Like what you see?” she sneered, and with effort, Lucius dragged his eyes back to fix on hers, glittering with malice. “How does it feel, knowing you let someone like me get so close to the precious Malfoy heirlooms?”

Lucius barked out a harsh laugh at her euphemism. “How did it feel,” he murmured, dipping his face until his nose almost brushed hers and he could make out the faint dusting of freckles across her nose and beneath her makeup, “kneeling before me, in your rightful place at my feet?”

He expected this assertion to make that Gryffindor temper bubble over, but she smirked at him, her eyes darkening as she inclined her head upwards, her nose grazing the side of his. Lucius held himself still, as her smoky whisper washed over him. “Not as good as seeing you get stiff as soon as I touched you,” she crooned. “You ready for another round, Malfoy? Have you fucked anyone since Narcissa died?”

Lucius felt rage flare within him at the insolence of this Mudblood, her audacity to even mention his wife’s name in this filthy place, but he stamped it down, immediately catching on to her game. She wanted to unnerve him, fluster him with her wantonness and her complete lack of reservation and her body. Distract him so he would forget to question why Hermione Granger was posing as a whore in a brothel frequented by Death Eaters.

“We can have another round, Mudblood,” he said softly, almost lovingly. “Let me bring you to the Manor, and I’ll take you on the floor of our parlour. You should be used to being on your back in that room, hmm?”

Hatred, viscous and bubbling, flashed in her eyes. Lucius was aware of just how fragile and small her wrists were in the manacle of his fingers, how little effort it would take to break them.

“Those were the good old days, weren’t they Malfoy?” she spat. “Craven and snivelling and screaming as Tom tortured your wife and son and made you watch. You’re a pathetic bootlicking sack of shit, to have crawled back to him, begging to be reinstated, after he snapped your wand and embarrassed you in your own house.”

Humiliation burned up Lucius’ spine, sparking violently against his fury at this filthy-blooded chit who dared to throw the darkest moments of his life in his face like they made her better than him. He transferred both of her wrists to one hand and yanked them above her head, leaning heavily with his weight to hold them in place as he splayed the fingers of his other hand across her throat.

“The thing about losing your wand,” he said silkily, feeling her pulse flutter frantically against his fingertips, “is it makes you appreciate how many other ways there are to get a job done. Almost makes one admire the Muggles- their methods may be crude, but they have a certain brute efficiency.”

She glared at him, even as he pressed down on her throat and her face began to redden.

“You wouldn’t- fucking- dare,” she spluttered.

“Wouldn’t I?” asked Lucius calmly, enjoying the feeling of her hands feebly twisting and scrabbling. “You certainly think a lot of yourself, for a Mudblood.”

The turnaround from the purring and seductive vixen he had met walking in, to the hissing and bristling feral cat beneath him was almost alarming. Granger’s hair was veritably sparking in her fury, and the roiling venom in her eyes would have cowed a lesser man.

Lucius let out an oof as her flailing knee almost hit him in the crotch- he dropped his body weight on her, pinning her legs closed so they were aligned flush with each other from the neck down.

Granger panted heavily, her eyes darting between his, to the door, back to him. Lucius was suddenly heavily aware of her body and his- her pert tits pressing into his chest; the lustre of some kind of applied shimmer on her already glowing skin that kept drawing his eyes, making him wonder about its taste and feel; the delicate floral scent of her perfume, and faintly layered beneath it, the rich and full-bodied musk of the oak-aged Firewhiskey in the Malfoy cellars and the sharp aroma of the lemon meringue tarts Miffy would sneak him as a boy-

A searing pain shot through both of Lucius’ arms- he was yanked from his reverie, grunting in pain, and tried to recoil backwards but he was somehow completely frozen in place. Gold manacles of light were fastened around his wrists, eye-watering in their intensity- Lucius squinted at his hands, shock and pain befuddling him-

Somehow, he was on his back, his arms slammed above his head and completely immobilised- Lucius tried to jerk free but the restraints, whatever they were, flared even brighter, until he could barely make anything out, and another bolt of agony lanced through him.

Lucius tugged fruitlessly as he blinked away the black clouding his vision.

To the sight of Hermione Granger perched on his abdomen and looming over him, unrestrained and smug, her eyes alight with vindictive glee.

Lucius barely knew what question to ask. He was alight with sensation- the faint burn in his arms, the lingering white-lightning from the magical bindings, the weight of the girl grinning slyly down at him, and beneath it all, the pervasive nervousness of being unable to mount a defence against an opponent playing with a very different rulebook.

Granger leaned down, bracing her hands on either side of his body. “You’re right,” she said coyly, almost flirtatiously. “I do think rather a lot of myself.”

Their gazes both dipped to the golden glint flashing between them- her pendant, slowly revolving on the long and fine gold chain she wore it on. It was a hammered scrap of metal, with something carved on it he couldn’t make out properly.

Granger straightened, brisk all of a sudden. “Well, you might as well get the full effect,” she said quietly, almost to herself, encasing the pendant between her palms and closing her eyes.

And suddenly- gold.

Gold tattoos, covering every inch of Granger’s body- a looping and spidery script he couldn’t read twining up both her arms, snaking down the plane of her stomach, dipping lovingly between her breasts and stroking up her neck and curling down her legs, glittering softly; it was difficult to tell whether they were emitting light or just warmly seductive magic that entranced the gaze.

The radiance of the tattoos brought out the strands of gold woven through her hair, brightened the amber hue of her eyes, illuminated the golden undertones of her skin. She was a gilded goddess looming over him, her eyes blazing and promising to exact a thorough retribution.

And the magic. Thick, shrouding the room, a jolt to Lucius’ senses after spending what felt like hours in a room where all magic was dampened, and unlike anything he had ever felt before. It felt frantic, effervescent; the magic of life and vitality, something raw and pure and bigger than all of them; seeping through him until his magical core thrummed with righteousness, with the feeling of being reunited with something he didn’t know he was missing.

But even as the baser part of Lucius was luxuriating in the buzzing underneath his skin as his magic leaped and danced in response to whatever this thing, this presence was that saturated every corner of the room, his rational brain was focused on the danger he was in.

He was at the mercy of a witch who had every reason to wish him ill and the means to enact whatever vengeance she wanted to. Nobody knew where he was- Lucius lived a reclusive life and would be hard-pressed to describe any of his fellow Death Eaters as friends, certainly not ones whom he would give his whereabouts. He had left the Manor for The Mermaid Divine in the late afternoon on a Saturday- it would likely be the start of the new week before anyone noticed he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

And he was completely wandless, whilst the Mudblood straddling his stomach and watching him smugly, was wielding magic the likes of which he had never felt.

Doubtless, it was something to do with her tattoos- he hadn’t ever come across any inks that looked like that, luminescent and swirling slowly across the designs; nor did he recognise the alphabet or the runes that covered every inch of her body.

Were they imbued with magic? He had seen, up close and personal, the catastrophic results of their own research into removing magic - it was wildly uncontrolled, one of those Muggle mass explosive devices rather than the simple and cutting precision of a Stunner. And even that had been the complete destruction of magic- annihilating it, evaporating it, leaving the person essentially a Muggle, an object completely ordinary, a substance stripped from all magical properties. They hadn’t even considered removing magic- transferring it to someone or something else, or storing and preserving it. Magic took discipline and rigorous teaching to master, and that was with established pedagogy and well-tested practices and verbal channelling and with a wand- something with which to tap into one’s magical core, funnel out their magic, focus their intent through. Wandless magic was brute and imprecise and rudimentary- and pointless.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” taunted Granger. “You’ll hurt yourself if you carry on.”

Lucius glared at her. This uppity Mudblood had used some sort of trickery, a permanent glamour or some kind of tricky talisman to restrain him, make him panic and think he was dealing with some magical savant or wandless prodigy.

“It doesn’t require much thought to know you for the charlatan you are,” Lucius retorted. “A sneaky Mudblood, resorting to tricks-”

A sharp, stinging pain across his cheekbone cut off Lucius’ words, jerking his face to the side. Blinking, he turned back to face Granger. For the first time that evening, she was not playful or coquettish or smug- a cold mask of nothingness had descended upon her features. With the swirling gold tattoos, she looked even more like an avenging goddess descended from above.

“Call me that again Malfoy, and see what happens,” she said levelly.

Lucius swallowed back his knee-jerk reaction to needle her even more, spit the slur in her face. 

“Does the sanctity of an oath mean nothing to your kind?” He drew out the last words, emphasising them just enough for them both to know what that kind was. “Gryffindors have always enjoyed looking down at everyone else from their lofty tower of honour. And yet you smuggled in magic to kill your opponents when their backs are turned? When their guard is down?”

Granger scoffed and rolled her eyes, suddenly looking very much like a teenager. “Smuggled?” She spread her arms wide. “Where on my person do you think I’ve hidden my wand, Malfoy?”

Lucius blinked several times as he took in the sight of her lace-clad body. It was if now she had invited his gaze, shown him her absolute truest and barest self, he could acknowledge that it wasn’t just a desire to toy with and horrify her that had led him to follow through with the pretence of being a customer.

Granger was lithe and lean, her limbs elegant in their proportions, her breasts perfectly sized for her frame and so tantalisingly hidden in the lacy green bra that his mouth went dry at the thought of seeing them fully. He didn’t know how much of her flawlessly smooth skin and rosy, pink lips and rich chestnut curls that made his fingers itch to pull were cosmetics, but she was… very aesthetically pleasing.

Lucius had expected to be more horrified than he was about acknowledging the physical appeal of a Mudblood- that too, one many years his junior and by all reports, completely insufferable.

He felt resignation settle over him instead. Happenstance and luck, an accident of genetics, a fortunate combination of the right people breeding- it was responsible both for the Mudblood’s pretty looks and the aberration of her possessing magic. The former, at least, was not a threat to the sacred ideals of wizarding society, the ever-encroaching rot of Muggle filth who weren’t content with the already small corner of the world wizards had carved for themselves. Finding Granger attractive was, in many ways, the same as appreciating a masterful painting.

Lucius’ mind flashed to the sensation of her perfectly firm grip around the base of his cock, the slide of her curls like cool silk on the inside of her thighs, the faint whines and murmurs of encouragement she made as he fucked her face…

“There’s nothing in here, Malfoy, I can assure you.” Granger’s eyes were glittering malevolently as she ran one painted nail over the lace edge of her bra, stroking along the top of one breast and then the other. Lucius realised there were high spots of colour on his cheek, realised that he should be mortified that she was interpreting his reaction as one of unmanageable lust. But he could only helplessly follow the slowly meandering trail of the gleaming nail of her pointer finger.

“You fucking Death Eaters.” Just as quickly as she donned it, she dropped the teasing and seductive mask, her tone turning scathing. “So eager to believe I’ve smuggled my wand inside my transparent bra, or broken the rules of a neutral safe space, or fooled you in some underhanded way. Never once crossed your mind-” she leaned down, her hair falling in a curtain around them, her voice dropping to a whisper, “-that my magic is better than yours.”

Lucius wanted to laugh in her face, but there was a serrated undercurrent of menace in Granger’s voice, a fervent conviction blazing in her eyes, that unnerved him. And after all, he could feel the presence of the swirling magic in the room- something ancient and unconstrained that made his blood hum.

It wasn’t just his ego refusing to let him believe her boast could be valid- Lucius was not in the habit of making decisions without gathering enough information to be confident in them.

“A few glowing party tricks a superior magic-user does not make,” he sneered instead. “You wouldn’t dare face me with my wand in my hand.”

There was a fierce burning around his ankles- Lucius grunted with pain as hot bands fastened themselves around his socked feet and yanked them apart, even as the restraints around his wrists heaved him up the bed so he was spread-eagled, flat on his back, and completely immobilised. He could make out the matching blinding golden cuffs anchoring him to the foot of the bed behind Granger, whose tattoos were rippling and flaring with light, her head tilted back and her eyes closed.

The air was swimming with her magic- restlessly energetic, small pinpricks flaring over Lucius’ body as he felt it caress his body with coaxing fingers, almost enquiringly. Granger’s lips parted in the smallest sigh as her eyes slowly opened. They were turbulent and glowing a rich gold, and the ink decorating her body pulsed and undulated faster as if in response.

Granger’s eyes slowly dimmed, to their usual amber. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair riotous as if her magic had twined through it. She didn’t need to say anything.

Lucius’ composure, his reserve, his intention to taunt and goad and toy with her- it all crumbled around him, helpless against the tidal wave of her magic.

“The tattoos?” he asked, and he was proud of his level voice. “What are they?”

Granger hummed, shifting around slightly on his stomach. One of her fingers slowly meandered up the placket of his shirt, coming to a rest at its topmost button. “Painful,” she said, and her voice was hazy and thrumming and resonant. “And very, very experimental.” She deftly unhooked the button.

Lucius ignored the warmth of her touch, the finger that slipped down to toy with the next button. “Are they linked to your wand? How are you channelling its properties?” he tried.

Granger scoffed, her eyes still fixed on her probing fingers. “You Purebloods and your wands,” she sneered. “So obsessed with your rigid and inflexible traditions and your ancestral magic, so proud of your stodgy and stagnant wizarding culture. Fixated on your little spells and appearing proper and socialising with the same four families in the same four estates, thinking that your exclusivity makes you better than everyone else, that some dabbling in the Dark Arts means you understand magic, its breadth and its potential.”

Lucius bristled at her patronising tone. “Don’t presume to know anything about my culture and heritage. Pureblood families have ancestral magic and relics and tomes and wards that a Mudblood couldn’t even-”

He tried to bite back the yelp, as there was a flash of golden light and a stinging vertical pain across his lips- the salty taste of iron flooded his mouth and he probed the bleeding cut carefully with his tongue. Granger’s expression was completely placid, but her eyes were sharp. Slowly, she lowered the arm that was crossed over her chest and hovering over the opposite shoulder, to take his chin in her hand.

“I warned you not to call me that,” she said softly, pushing down on his bottom lip with her thumb- Lucius tried to breathe through the pulsing pain as he felt hot blood well out and trickle over his chin. “Now look what you made me do.”

Lucius yanked his chin out of her grasp, and she let him, watching him coolly. Fury was thundering through his ears- he wanted the Mudblood screaming and sobbing and on her knees, wanted to wipe that smug satisfaction and superiority from her face, drag her before the Dark Lord and watch as she was thoroughly reminded of her place in the cleansed, better society they were building.

“What a pretty daydream,” Granger laughed, the sound airy and tinkling and not at all amused. Lucius wanted to kick himself- she had been holding his gaze, and he had been too consumed by his rage to have even given a thought to his Occlumency shields. The Mudblood had had a talented teacher- he hadn’t felt even the slightest sensation from her skimming his mind. “Cute, even. The way I see it, you’re completely at my mercy- I’m the only one with magic in this room.”

Lucius shot her his iciest, contempt-filled glare. “Good to know your pathetic band of rebels knows that their complete capture and annihilation is near. What would your sainted Albus Dumbledore think, to see his idealistic little Order having turned to Dark magic in their desperation? You think your shallow knowledge outweighs that of the Dark Lord, he who travelled to every corner of the world to learn the ancient and forgotten secrets of the arcane? Outweighs that of us, the Pureblood families who have safeguarded its practice from the rampaging crusades of the authorities across generations?”

Granger scoffed at him, her eyes heavy with disbelief.

“Amazing,” she said, the word laden with incredulity. “You see wandless magic, magic that you don’t recognise, and most importantly, magic more powerful than yours, and the only explanation is that it’s the Dark Arts?”

Lucius clenched his teeth but didn’t respond. He knew, of course, that it wasn’t Dark magic. Dark magic was heavy and cloying and left a stain and extracted a price and deadened part of your soul and your humanity- Lucius had only ever dabbled, explored the shadowy and murky boundary between Dark and Light, but even he could recognise that Granger hadn’t given herself up to the Dark Arts.

The girl bought a hand to his throat- Lucius tried his best to not stiffen under her touch. She slowly dragged her fingertips down, spreading open the unbuttoned sides of his shirt, and fiddling with the next button down. Her fingers were hot as they grazed his bare chest.

“Very overlooked subject, ancient languages,” Granger said conversationally, and he shot her a look of irritation at the change in topic and tone, but she was looking down at his exposed chest. “The Ancient Runes course at Hogwarts barely scratches the surface, and focuses on newer languages- new in the context of the entirety of human civilisation, of course. And obviously, all the doddering British wizards who decide what magic should be preserved and codified and passed down only care about magical languages and from this country. What could Native Americans, or indigenous people in India, or nomadic tribes in Uzbekistan and Lebanon, possibly have of value? You Purebloods have narrowed and restricted magic to conform to your definitions and be channelled through specific materials or objects- you don’t even understand the essence of magic.

“Magic is free- it borders on sentient, it’s unencumbered and wild and chafes at being constrained. Magic has more in common with a hurricane than it does with a Stunner- it’s destructive and can’t be contained, and if you do, it’s a diluted, bastardised version with a quarter of the potency and the fluidity and the power.

“You think Ancient Egyptians were growing wand-grade oak trees? Did they rear unicorns in Mesopotamia? How exactly did you think magic was being wielded before wands?”

The contemptuous tone of Granger’s lecture was layered with intensity and a frenetic energy. Lucius suddenly felt like he could see the know-it-all teacher’s pet that Draco had complained incessantly about- he prided himself on being well-read, but he admittedly had never taken any interest in the nature and origins of magic itself. It seemed the domain of the Department of Mysteries, an obscure and theory-dense field, that crucially, did not benefit Lucius in the real world at all.

But this Mudblood, a magical aberration, pompously preaching to him, a Pureblood, had obviously managed some kind of breakthrough, had gone where no one had before. Lucius could admit that she was using some powerful magic and not engaging in some kind of under-handed subterfuge, but his mind cringed away from imagining the exact nature of what she had discovered.

“You still don’t get it do you?” Granger was watching him pityingly, her head tilted, her hand still braced on his chest. “You see wandless magic every day and everywhere, and you’ve never considered its potential. House elves can Apparate through the most comprehensive of wards- not just because their magic is more powerful than ours, but because wizarding arrogance doesn’t even think to block them, to take it into account.  Centaurs have survived despite centuries of oppression and vilification and persecution because they Divine and interpret the heavens with accuracy and detail we can’t even comprehend. And yet the wizard only cares about curtailing their rights, looks down on them, categorises them as beasts, as if they don’t harness magic we couldn’t dream of possessing.”

“You sucked out some house-elf’s magic, is that it?” drawled Lucius. “You play the bleeding-heart on one hand, and then secretly dissect and experiment on indentured slaves who can’t deny you, to dissect their magic?”

Disgust flared in Granger’s eyes.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised that that’s where your mind went,” she spat. “You tortured Dobby and made his life miserable, so you think everyone’s as depraved as you. Your mind is so narrow and limited, so used to looting and rampaging, that you can’t see that it’s not about stealing someone’s else’s magic. Ever since the first humans discovered an affinity for magic, they’ve channelled it directly through their magical core. To this day, it’s what magical creatures like elves do; it’s literally what wandless magic is.”

“And you’ve figured out using dead and obscure languages, and by mutilating your body, how to do it?” drawled Lucius.

In the blink of an eye, there was another powerful tug- Lucius tried to keep his breathing measured and even, shouldering through the pain that flared around his wrists and ankles as the magic restraints pulled him upwards. He was sitting up against the headboard, his legs still splayed, his arms immobilised and straight out on either side. Granger’s tattoos were glittering and swirling once more, pulsing in brightness. She was perched in his lap once again, a warped mirror of how she had first seated herself on him before dropping to her knees.

She bent forward, until their noses were almost touching. Magic was heaving and crackling through the air, and Lucius felt his own core straining towards it. Her eyes were swirling riptides of molten gold.

“You tell me,” she breathed.

Chapter Text

Hermione felt almost drunk- not just the magic, which took her out of her body, straining to be unleashed in a supernova of creation and unmaking and rebirth, whenever she used it.

But the heady power, of Lucius Malfoy, defenceless and restrained and snarling up at her, knowing there was absolutely no way to get away.

“Very impressive, Granger,” he said slowly. “But if you’re such a clever girl, you’ll know exactly what projects we’re working on.”

Hermione tried not to roll her eyes at the smug glint in Malfoy’s eyes.

“ ‘Project’ is a bit of an optimistic descriptor,” she mused. “ ‘Catastrophe’ sounds more apt. ‘Sinkhole of money and resources’ works too. ‘Volatile mutation that needs people much smarter than the oafs you have working on it’ is my favourite though.”

Lucius was glaring daggers at her, and she laughed. She hadn’t had this much fun on a mission ever- maybe she should start unveiling her magic more often.

“You think we don’t know?” she crooned, walking her fingers up his exposed chest to rest in the hollow of his throat. “That herb you’ve got specialists working overtime to develop, that you think you can use to strip the magic of anyone you think is undeserving of it? You think we don’t know how many of your people its killed, how many times you’ve had to rebuild your laboratories, how many times you’ve had to divert funds so you can keep starting all over again?”

Hermione could feel his pulse beating a fast rhythm under her fingertips- she was impressed at how carefully blank he was managing to keep his face.

“We’ll get there eventually, Granger,” he said softly, his eyes glittering malevolently. “Every setback is an avenue we can rule out, an opportunity to learn and improve, a step closer to realising wailroot as a stable substance we can administer simply and to whoever we want. And when we use it to crush your little Order, wipe whatever mongrel bloodline you call a lineage from the face of this planet, extinguish these golden magic tricks you’re so proud of, you’ll remember that I promised you the day would come.”

Hermione’s mind raced, as she tried not to recoil in disgust from him. He may have been one of Voldemort’s top generals but he could do no more harm to her in that moment than a Kneazle doped up on Flutterby extract. Regardless, he was so repulsive, his outlook so odious, his opinion of her so vitriolic, that she felt unclean being so close to him, the weight of his hatred dense and toxic. Hermione was relatively sheltered, having spent most of wartime shuttling between different labs and infirmaries, her skills deemed too valuable and priceless to be sent on the front lines. This was the first time she was close and personal with the seething disgust and hatred and bigotry of a Death Eater and she felt silly and naïve for being so unnerved by it.

But, disgusted as Malfoy may be… he was attracted to her. It didn’t matter that he had probably told himself a blowjob dehumanised her, was her servicing him in her natural position, objectified and degraded- the fact of the matter was that he had enjoyed himself, and enjoyed her.

Oh, she could have so much fun with him.

Hermione had been sitting on her knees across his lap, her thighs braced over his. Now, she wiggled forwards, seating herself firmly on his groin, the slight scratchiness of his wool trousers pressed against the inside of her thighs. His boxers and trousers had been pulled back up, but the zip was wide open.

Malfoy made a noise of disgust. “Making yourself comfortable?” he jeered, but there was a tightness in his voice.

Hermione gave him a coy smile as she intentionally squirmed in his lap, until her centre was pressed snugly against his firm length. She could see Malfoy swallow.

“Well, we’re going to be here a long time,” she said breathily, looking up at him through her lashes. “… Or not. It depends on how easily you cooperate.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’ll do anything you want, Mudblood,” spat Lucius, and Hermione considered breaking one of his fingers, perhaps.

Instead, she ground herself against where she could feel his cock. The pressure against the sodden lace of her underwear, her molten core, made the hunger she had felt when blowing him roar back into life.

Malfoy bit back a groan, and Hermione smirked at him as she felt him stiffening against her. She braced one hand on his shoulder as she continued to rock against him- she couldn’t get direct pressure on her clit, but the friction of her lacy thong and the thin fabric of his underwear against her sensitive labia was sending molten heat flooding through her. She wondered if he could feel her wetness.

“I think you will, Lucius,” she said, affecting a breathy and lilting voice. “I can use your first name, can’t I? One should be able to take such liberties when they’ve worn the other person’s cum on their face.”

Lucius screwed his eyes shut for a moment- when they opened, there was only a thin ring of stormy silver visible. “As long as you don’t expect me to use yours, Mudblood,” he snarled, and oh, Hermione was going to make him pay for that.

“That’s not very nice,” she pouted, sticking out her bottom lip slightly. “But I guess that means I don’t have to be nice to you.” With her free hand, she slowly traced the lacy edge of her bra again, up to the satin strap over one shoulder, back down, across the other cup…

Lucius was silent, but his nostrils flared slightly, and he tracked the motion of Hermione’s finger as if mesmerised. He tore his gaze away, and she could see the self-loathing in it.

“If we were being nice to each other,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper, “I might have let you see. You can’t expect me to believe you’re not trying to guess the colour of my nipples? Are they small, are they sensitive, do they harden easily? Questions, questions…”

“Should have expected a Mudblood to have a filthy mouth,” Lucius rasped, but his words lacked their usual venom and two spots of colour flared high on his cheeks.

Hermione let out a delighted laugh, stopping the slow gyration of her hips. “Are you a prude, Lucius? You don’t like dirty talk? I must say, stuffy Purebloods do have a reputation for it, but I wasn’t really expecting it from you.”

“Of course, anyone with dignity and restraint must seem prudish when you’re used to whoring yourself out for your Order,” Lucius said coldly, his eyes fixed determinedly on hers. “Selling your body to Death Eaters to try and learn their secrets? How the mighty have fallen.”

The words were water off Hermione’s back- she had made her peace with her role a long time ago.

“Well, you said it before,” she said lightly. “I am quite the expert. And if I let all those other Death Eaters see my tits, I can offer you the same- I’d say it’s probably the baseline.”

Hermione slowly tugged one cup of her bra down, and then the other. Pushed underneath her breasts, they lifted the two reasonably sized globes to an almost obscene height. Lucius made a faint, strangled noise- Hermione shot him a look of amusement but his burning gaze were riveted to her nipples.

Releasing her hold on his shoulder, she ghosted the nails of her middle fingers lightly across her areolae, sighing in pleasure at the sensation. Every Death Eater she had fucked had been way too rough with her tits- pinching and biting and groping with an animalistic lack of finesse. Hermione didn’t mind roughness- was very fond of using nipple clamps, actually- but she worked up to it, dammit.

“You can’t touch, though,” she told Lucius, and this time she didn’t have to make her voice breathy, as she circled her nipples more firmly. “Everyone else could touch, but I don’t think you deserve that, do you? I mean, I even let Rowle fuck my tits, but then again, he was a-” she let out a gasp as she pinched her nipples between her thumb and index, rolling and tugging the diamond-hard nubs, “very good boy.”

Lucius was breathing hard, perspiration dotting his hairline as his ravenous gaze devoured the movement of her fingertips. Between the electricity that coursed through her body with each roll of her nipples, and the sight of the puffy, brown tips trapped between her gleaming, emerald fingernails, Hermione’s underwear was doing absolutely nothing to contain the molten flood of her juices.

“This hurts me as much as it hurts you,” she told him officiously. “You could have given me a helping hand… I come so hard from my tits being sucked as well.” And with that, she planted her hand on his shoulder again, and slid the other underneath the waistband of her thong.

“Oh fuck.” Hermione wasn’t sure whose guttural voice bit out the word- despite her spread legs, she hadn’t gotten any clitoral stimulation from grinding on him, and the first touch to her swollen nub, straining and slick with her juices, sent magnificent electricity coursing through her. She threw her head back as she gasped out a moan, pressing her cunt against Lucius’ stiffly swollen erection, the pressure against her entrance soothing her aching emptiness.

Lucius’ eyes were all pupil, glittering and obsidian, bouncing between her jiggling tits as she worked her pelvis against his, and the rhythmic movement of her fingers on her clit, just about obscured by her thong. She could see his tightly clenched fists, the jumping of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and felt a giddy satisfaction at knowing how flimsy his façade of not-caring was. She didn’t need his words, when his body was betraying him so comprehensively.

Hermione released his shoulder- she was teetering so close to the edge, pleasure rippling through her and almost clouding her vision in its intensity, bringing her hand up to roughly pinch at her nipples as she circled her clit, faster and harder and sharper-

She choked out a long moan, unselfconscious and throaty, as she detonated, letting herself be carried away on the tidal wave of sensation that washed up her spine, flooded her limbs, took her knees out from underneath her- she could feel a muscle jumping in her thigh, one of her markers for an exceptional orgasm. And it didn’t matter that she hadn’t been penetrated, or used any kind of Muggle device or enchantment to help stimulate herself, or even been actively touched- the lust-heavy weight of Lucius’ Malfoy’s half-lidded gaze, his body straining underneath hers, his attention entirely her captive…

He was a piece of shit who abhorred her, likely detested himself for stooping so low as to find a Mudblood sexually attractive, and her imagination shied away from visualising what horrors he would be committing if their positions were reversed; and it made the serrated edge of her desire all the more deadly and intoxicating.

Hermione drew her glistening fingers from her pussy, and used them to cradle Lucius’ chin. They were both frozen for a moment, transfixed by the milky sheen of her juices, and the heavy scent of her arousal, before she jerked his turbulent gaze upwards to meet hers.

“The wailroot farms,” she said, her voice still slightly unsteady. “Tell me where they are, what wards they’re surrounded by, how many staff are on site, and how you’re preparing the land.”

Surprise flared in Lucius’ eyes. “The wailroot farms,” he repeated, and his voice was hoarse.

Hermione tutted. The orgasm had refreshed her, wiped away any of her uncertainty and nerves over deploying her feminine wiles against Lucius Malfoy, who was turning out to be a man like any other. The lingering bliss, the looseness and tingling that had spread through her muscles, were all sensations that she had gotten used to pushing past to focus on the job- the scant few times she had achieved climax on her previous missions, at least.

“You’re the one convinced you’ll make the breakthrough any day,” she scoffed. “Whether you have a leak or you’re responsible for starting the rumours and whispers, wailroot is such an open secret it’s a matter of when it’ll reach the Prophet, rather than if. And then having Tom Riddle breathing down your neck on top of that… if you haven’t gotten a head start on preparing the land you’ll harvest wailroot from, then that’s pretty dire project management. But at least it tells me how empty your threats are.” She smiled sweetly at him.

“If your Order sent you to whore yourself out to me just to confirm the existence of the farms, then that tells me you’re grasping and desperate, with no vision or concrete plan of resistance-” Lucius began hotly.

“You?” snorted Hermione, inelegantly. “I was expecting Cyrus Avery, he’s our target- we know he’s the Death Eater liaison with your labs. Thanks to Dora taking a shine to her cousin, you don’t really feature in any of our plans, you’ll be disappointed to know.”

There was a flash of dread across Lucius’ face, before he smoothened it back to a blank canvas.

“Cyrus,” he repeated slowly. And then he registered what else Hermione said. Even through his usual pallor, she could see the colour drain from his face. “Draco? You have Draco?”

Hermione released his face and folded her arms.

“What was that? I saw your face, when I mentioned Avery. Is he dead? What happened to him? Who’s replaced him, then?”

Lucius hurled himself against his restraints, trying to buck Hermione off. She tutted, waving her hand to tighten the cuffs, the bands of light flaring as they delivered an agonising jolt to Lucius. The Death Eater went limp, breathing harshly, as Hermione settled herself back on his lap. His head drew up slowly- he was panting and absolutely livid.

“Tell me where you’re keeping my son,” he growled, his voice throbbing with viciousness. “And as a courtesy, I’ll leave you alive when I slaughter everyone else.”

“Keeping? You’re acting like we have him starving and locked up in a dungeon- he’s happily being kept, Malfoy. You didn’t hear what I said? He came to us, he begged us to take him in, to join the Order- Dora made him her daughter’s godfather for God’s sake.”

“You’re lying,” Lucius said wildly, his eyes alight with panic and fury. “You’ve done something to him, I know you have. There’s- there’s- there’s Malfoy magic, there’s wards keyed to him, he’s Marked, and none of it- there’s not- he isn’t-”

“There’s ways to break all of that.” Hermione waved her hand airily. “I know you think a lot of your ancient familial magic, but like I said, it’s really just scratching the surface of the arcane. Once you understand a person’s magical core, their magical signature, it’s not difficult to negate wards or enchantments that are bound to a specific person.”

“How do I know you haven’t killed him?” snarled Lucius. “A lot less work than cutting him off from Malfoy blood magic, from the summons of the Dark Lord. Where is he? Where are you keeping him?”

Hermione pressed her hand to his chest, pushing him back against the headboard.

“I think you’ll find I’m the one asking the questions here, Lucius,” she said, her voice steely. “Tell me what happened to Avery, and tell me everything about the wailroot farms.”

Lucius bared his teeth in a snarl. His hair was dishevelled from his short-lived struggle, and his mercurial silver eyes were flashing with rage.

“Over my dead body.”

Just in case, Hermione reached out with her mind, deftly brushing up against the edges of Lucius’, probing its rigid defences, but the barrier was rock-solid. Clearly, he wasn’t going to risk her using Occlumency to force him into betraying any of their secrets. Especially as, being one of the senior-most Death Eaters, he definitely had clearance to access most of their operations and plans. Hermione’s mind raced as she imagined all the intel she could mine from him, but she knew she was getting ahead of herself. She had to get in first.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she smirked, dropping the coy flirtation and the ingenue act- it wasn’t very effective on Lucius, particularly now that he’d seen what kind of magic she was capable of. “Especially not your idea of one- I doubt it matches up to mine.”

She pressed her palm against the bare skin of his chest- maybe his vampire-pale skin was why she expected him to be cool to the touch, but his solid flesh was blazing hot, dusted with fine white-blond hairs and faint lacerations and scarring. Her gaze was drawn to the lightly muscled expanse of his torso as she unhooked the remaining buttons of his shirt and pulled the two halves out of his trousers and then pushed them apart- he was wonderfully firm and fit, his defined abdomen tensing under her exploratory touch. His battle scars were old and faded but still visible- she traced a light purple, spidery and branching curse wound over the left side of his ribcage, goosebumps shuddering along in her wake.

“Your tricks won’t work now we have everything in the open, Granger,” said Lucius, his voice unsteady.

“Won’t they?” asked Hermione sweetly, sweeping her gaze up to fix on his as she reached down to grip his steel-hard cock over his boxers, hard.

Lucius’ reaction was immediate- eyes scrunched shut, chin dropping to his chest, a moaned “fuck”, before his dilated pupils met hers. Hermione couldn’t help squirming slightly- he was just so sexy when he hated himself for being turned on by her.

“I know what you’re trying to do.” Lucius’ voice was tight, but scathing, nonetheless. “It won’t work.”

Hermione squeezed his cock, felt it jump in her hand, saw Lucius swallow.

“You continue to underestimate me,” she said, winking at him. “And it’ll be a lot of fun trying, anyway.”

She ran her finger teasingly along the elastic of his underwear, before hooking it downwards and tucking it behind his balls. His cock was straining upwards, engorged and flushed, the thick veins standing out starkly. Hermione’s mouth almost watered at the sight- she missed the taste and feel of it on her tongue.

“I haven’t even done anything,” she crooned, glancing her finger along the length of his shaft. “And look at the state of you.”

Lucius’ chest rose and fell erratically, his lips pressed together so tightly they were barely visible. His eyes were fixed on the motion of Hermione’s fingers- barely caressing his cock, teasingly tracing the veins with the lightest of touches, encircling his girth with her fingers and faintly tugging. Her touch was purposefully unfocused, light, delicate, slow- not providing any relief or proper stimulation, but slowly and constantly stoking the weakly glowing embers of Lucius’ arousal until he couldn’t help shifting in place.

Unfortunately, Hermione was not immune either- the slow and thorough mapping of Lucius’ cock, which was, frankly, quite perfect; the thick and muscular thighs she was straddling; the absolutely illicit nature of toying with a Death Eater, both of them knowing exactly what she was up to, and that too, one whose physical attractiveness wasn’t negated by his bigotry. It made the teasing handjob all the more filthy, made Hermione even more determined to have Lucius a whimpering puddle of lust in her hands. Her nipples, still jutting and exposed, were so hard they ached, and the negligible gusset of her thong was drenched.

“Avery? Lets start with him- where is he, that’s not here?” Hermione didn’t even try to conceal the arousal heavy in her voice, as she lightly thumbed the pre-cum oozing from his tip.

Lucius took a beat to reply. “Disappointed it wasn’t him that had you on your knees, Mudblood?”

Hermione tutted, and raised herself to her knees, deliberately leaning forwards to brush her stiff nipples across Lucius’ chest. She let out a soft whine at the delicious friction from his chest hair, and he closed his eyes tightly as if in pain.

But they flew open as Hermione took a firm hold of his cock and rubbed the tip over her soaked entrance.

“I’d say I’m enjoying myself enough without him,” she said, her words cutting off into a light moan at the exquisite feeling of his cockhead over her sensitive and drenched labia, the lace in between them adding the perfect amount of roughness. “But we could both be enjoying ourselves so… much… more…” and with every word, she rolled her hips teasingly downwards to take in the tip, before retreating, as he gasped, “if you just… told me.”

Lucius and Hermione let out synchronised moans as his cock breached her entrance, the head pushing the fabric of her thong into her- the teasing penetration itself was so satisfying, Hermione couldn’t help a mournful whine herself as she raised herself up to her knees, his cock slipping out.

“Granger-” Lucius gasped, his voice brittle and needy, as she loomed over him. With his head tilted upwards, his platinum hair ruffled, cheeks flushed, and eyes black and hazy with lust, he looked like a debauched worshipper.

Hermione cradled his face in both her hands.

“Just tell me,” she whispered.

There was a taut, heavy moment, and then-

“Explosion,” Lucius managed to rasp. “At the lab- it all just- it’s all gone… everything… and he-”

Hermione didn’t waste a single second- she tugged the crotch of her pants out of the way, and sank onto Lucius’ cock in a single, smooth stroke.

“Fuck.” Hermione barely heard Lucius’ guttural curse, or saw his head drop backwards- she was wetter than she remembered being in a long time, and there hadn’t been even a twinge of discomfort as she took Lucius’ entire length, sitting flush against his pelvis.

There was just the exquisite agony of his firm shaft against her swollen walls, his head so deep that nerve-endings she didn’t know she had were fizzing with delight, the ineffable relief of being stuffed absolutely full.

She just about registered Lucius’ confession and the accompanying flare of satisfaction- she was awash with bliss, shimmering and intoxicating.

Lucius’ eyes were bright with want as they bounced between her flushed face, her proffered tits, and where they were joined, Hermione split open over his cock. She could see his biceps, straining and bulging even through his shirt, and the tantalising promise of them, how she’d feel being pinned down and helpless under him as he fucked her into the mattress, made her clench around him.

“Fuck- Granger- don’t-” Lucius’ lips were parted, soft pants escaping.

Hermione swivelled her hips slightly, letting out a sigh as the head dragged against her sensitive walls. With them both sitting straight up and being locked so tightly together, it would be difficult to adequately stimulate her clit, but the objective wasn’t orgasm just yet. “Don’t what?” she breathed. They were almost nose to nose, sharing the hot air between them. “How did the explosion happen?”

The ferocity in Lucius’ gaze sent a frisson of something down Hermione’s spine.

“You’ve got some nerve-” he began, but then Hermione angled her lower body so his cock nudged against a sensitive spot inside of her, the direct contact making her vision spark and juices trickle out to puddle around the base of Lucius’ cock and Lucius biting off his words, the tendons straining in his neck.

“I do have the nerve,” Hermione told him, looping her arms loosely around his neck in a grotesque parody of a loving embrace, Lucius rigid as a board under her. “I also have you tied up and barely able to move, and your cock inside of me, very happy to be there.” She rolled her hips, to emphasise her point, raising ever so slightly before lowering back down, holding back the whimper that threatened to escape at the mocking facsimile of the thrusting movement she craved so much she was almost light-headed with unchanneled arousal.

“Always ready with pithy and smug words-” said Lucius venomously.

“Oh Merlin, Lucius, give us both what we want,” snapped Hermione, her head dropping lightly on his shoulder in frustration before she lifted it, the pent-up desire making her skin itch and her senses swim. The fullness, Lucius’ twitching length, the teasing pressure against her G-spot, her pulsating clit- not once on a mission had she ever been this desperate to lose herself in a hard and throbbing body. The grinding, the small gyrations, the fleeting brushes of her nipples against him, were doing absolutely nothing.

“What I want-” Lucius began hotly, and Hermione clenched around him again, purposeful, hard.

“Don’t lie to me,” she whispered, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Lucius followed the motion with his eyes. “You’re absolutely fucking shit at it, I have the evidence poking at my intestines right now.” She rocked slowly, savouring the fullness, leaning backwards to draw spiralling circles over her nipple with her thumb, pulling Lucius’ tormented gaze to her tits, one hand still anchored on his shoulder. “The explosion- what went wrong?”

“I don’t know,” snapped Lucius, a hundred shades of frustration billowing from his words. “I wasn’t there. Wailroot is- it’s- they haven’t- Merlin knows when it’ll be ready, every week they find something new it reacts dangerously with… stabilising it is one thing, then to take a cutting or seeds or whatever the fuck they’ll do to try and actually get it ready to sow- that’ll definitely destroy another facility that I’ll be sent to clean up-”

Hermione stilled the hand on her breast, her mind racing.

“The site outside of Norfolk,” she said slowly. “We sent a team, when we detected that enormous magical flare- it was completely intact, but there were so many completely useless instruments we couldn’t figure out-”

“It stripped all the magic,” Lucius interrupted. “All the wards, all the enchantments and rituals over the farmland, any substance with any kind of magical properties, any spelled devices- entirely gone, Granger.”

Hermione gaped at him.

“So Avery…?”

“He’s in a magically induced coma. The Healers don’t know when or if he’ll come out of it, and Morgana knows whether he’ll have his magic when he does. None of the evidence thus far is promising.”

Hermione’s mind was far away, trying to wrap itself around the destructive potential of wailroot, praying fervently that the Death Eaters wouldn’t realise this and pivot to turning their research into a weapon of mass destruction- she’d have to call an emergency meeting as soon as she got back, they needed to get some kind of mole into the labs so they could stay appraised of the direction-

Lucius bucked his hips slightly and Hermione was slammed back into her body abruptly- she had been mindlessly canting her hips into his, the feeling of fullness doing nothing to assuage her need to be rammed into and for her aching nub to be given attention, but keeping her poised on the edge of arousal, a wonderfully tight feeling tingling underneath her skin.

But Lucius was panting and restless, his hips jerking, his eyes almost wild with lust, the pupils completely blown and oil-spill bright, his abdominal muscles quivering lightly. A portrait of debauchery and sex, sprawled enticingly between her, and Hermione was suddenly hyper-aware of his twitching cock in her slick pussy, the aching peaks of her breasts, the arousing prickle of the hair on his thighs against her exposed cheeks, and the heavy scent of sex perfuming the air.

Well. She did promise rewards for good behaviour, after all.

Hermione ran softly glowing fingers across the waistband of the thong, dissolving the fabric with a thought and sighing with satisfaction as the lacy crotch pressed awkwardly around the base of Lucius’ cock and her entrance vanished. She seated herself on him more comfortably, and then raised herself to her knees before slamming back down.

Lucius let out a guttural curse, his hands convulsing and his eyes burning- she could tell he wanted to grasp her hips, pull her up and down his cock, pump into her himself, nip and bite and suck across her collarbones and her tits and the length of her neck.

And God, Hermione wanted that too, his elegantly long-fingered hands spanning her waist, the punishingly biting press of his fingertips on her soft flesh, teeth and tongue soothing her nipples. Just the thought of Lucius’ bright and silver eyes gleaming devilishly up at her as he licked between the valley of her tits and softly kissed around her areolae made a river of slick pour out of her, puddle around the bottom of Lucius’ shaft, and she rode him harder, one hand on his shoulder, the other braced behind her on his thigh.

A sparking current was glittering in her vision and twining through her bloodstream- Lucius’ cock was so deep it verged on painful, but the agony was exquisite and he was hitting a spot inside her that made her mind white out, nothing but static and buzzing.

Hermione bounced up and down, harder and faster, the muscles in her thighs screaming as a nonsensical stream of moaning and praise tumbled from her lips, chasing her elusive and flighty peak. She was close, so close, her orgasm hovering just out of reach, but she was barely balanced on Lucius as it was, their skin slick with sweat and her abundant juices.

“Where will they move the site?” Hermione managed to gasp out, bottoming out on Lucius and holding herself there. Perspiration had darkened his hairline, his eyes were bottomless black and feral, every muscle on his chest glistening and lickable.

Even through the lust and frustration shrouding his features, he managed to give her an enraged and incredulous look. “What?” he choked out.

Hermione straightened herself up, sliding up his cock until just the tip was notched inside her entrance, putting her tits in front of his face, sweat-sheened and gently swaying, the dusky brown, hard nipples surrounded with the glowing curlicues of her tattoos. Lucius’ gaze immediately dropped, fixing on them with a ravenous hunger.

“Where in Bolivia was the farm? And are they going to pick a new location for the facility now the old one’s been destroyed?” Her voice, far from being cold and demanding, was a throaty wisp, ragged with desire.  

“I don’t- there isn’t- the old farm was outside of Iroco, an empty town near Oruro, but it’s completely useless now… I don’t know- fuck- I don’t know if they’ll rebuild there-”

Hermione’s muscles were straining and agonised, her cunt greedy and clenching and bereft.

“Where will they move it? What are the options- surely there’s a list even if it’s not finalised?” she asked, her voice tight.

Lucius’ eyes were wild, his cheeks flushing even more.

“The explosion was two days ago,” he snarled. “You think they’ve already started building a new farm?”

“Anything you know, any possible sites or cities- tell me,” she snarled back, reaching down to firmly take hold of his exposed shaft.

Lucius’ eyes fluttered shut as he leaned his head back against the headboard, the line of his throat taut and quivering.

“Fuck, Granger- I don’t- there’s not- they’re going to be rolling out a taskforce for culling centaurs in the Highlands in the next month, their territory’s very magically dense, that would be a sensible location… I’m sure there’s other sites in Bolivia, the survivors from the original team would obviously- Granger, that’s all I know, there isn’t-”

Hermione surveyed Lucius, the tortured expression on his face, his scrunched eyes, the droplet of sweat wending its way down his cheek.

“Please,” he mumbled, barely audible. His eyes flew open, infinite abysses glittering with agony, scalding in their intensity. “Please.”

Hermione didn’t think too much- her tattoos flared with a brilliant gold light as she vanished all of his restraints, and in the same moment, forced the whole length of his cock back inside of her.

There was a terrifying sober flash of clarity as Hermione thought, oh fuck, as Lucius lunged upwards, but he wrapped one arm around her waist and with the other hand, roughly grabbed the back of her neck to pull her mouth to his.

Hermione whined into the kiss, although it couldn’t really be classified as one- it was an assault, it was plunder, it was a bruising and punishing attack of teeth and tongue as he licked into her mouth, devouring her breaths and her moans, as he drove his hips upwards.

The synchronisation of their thrusts, the sloppy yet demanding slant of Lucius’ mouth over her own, the luxurious rumble of his chest against hers as he growled his approval between nips of his teeth and swipes of his tongue, the rhythm of his hips snapping upwards unfaltering all the while- Hermione’s pleasure wound tighter and tighter, fire crackling along her veins as she spiralled higher, breaking away from the kiss to throw her head back as her hips chased his.

“Come on- come for me- such a pretty pussy, Granger, I know you can do it-”

Hermione mewled at Lucius’ gravelly declarations, her cunt clenching hard, making him swear and the arm banded around her tighten, but it was everything and not enough, tears of frustration coming to her eyes as she opened them to peer fretfully at him.

“It’s not- I need- please-”

Lucius fisted his hand in the hair at her nape, pulling backwards so that her back arced as she whimpered, the position making it impossible for her to meet his thrusts. He dipped his head, catching a nipple between his teeth and tugging, kissing sloppily across the valley between her breasts to the other one as Hermione let out an agonised moan.

“Ahhhh… Lucius-”

His eyes were possessive as they glimmered up at her from where he was worshipping her tits. He didn’t say anything, just took the hand that was braced behind her to slide it slowly down to her tightly stretched entrance.

The first touch of her fingers to her clit made Hermione’s vision almost black out as electricity thundered through her and she released a choked scream. She couldn’t make anything out, her senses swimming and overwhelmed- just Lucius’ cock hammering relentlessly, her pussy tightening and her clit pulsing shockwaves of bliss through her as she lightly and rapidly circled it, her hand barely having space to work between their bodies, but it was okay-

Stars and galaxies and supernovae exploded behind her eyes, twined through her bloodstream, and Hermione’s cunt convulsed, forcing out a flood of juices as she came so hard that briefly all she could hear was static. Vaguely, she felt hot cum spurting into her as she revelled in the aftershocks, Lucius grunting as he followed her over the edge only a handful of thrusts later.

She slowly came to, slumped into Lucius’ reclined body, her forehead on his shoulder as the sparks slowly receded from her vision, her ears filled with cotton, her brain faintly ringing. Lucius let her pull away, both of them wincing as his cock slipped out of her, a hot blush stealing over her features at their combined juices leaking out of her on exit. The air was taut with unease- Hermione had no idea how to process what had happened.

Unsurprisingly, none of her missions had ever gone like this before.

Even facing away as she sat at the edge of the bed, she could feel the heavy weight of his gaze as she waved her hand to clean the mess between her thighs, grabbed her abandoned, translucent blouse to Transfigure it into a comfortable, albeit still see-through, pair of underwear. She thought she could hear him chuff his smug amusement as she wobbled to her feet, her muscles twinging and throbbing in protest, but it cut off as she deliberately stuck her arse out, as she leaned down to pull the knickers up her legs.

She didn’t want to look back at him, but she paused as she reached the threshold of the door, her hand lingering on the handle as she turned back. He was sprawled on the bed, his skin dewy with exertion, the high spots of colour and dishevelled hair and satisfied glow in his silver eyes making him seem alive, harmless, male. Hermione could almost pretend he was just a hot and nameless stranger who she’d fucked into an insensate puddle on her bed.

“He doesn’t talk about you,” she told the cushion just visible behind his left shoulder, and she saw it stiffen. “Doesn’t mention your name, doesn’t let anyone else do it either. But he still wears his signet ring around his neck. And he’s… content. Safe.”

And she slipped out of the door, fleeing from the regret curdling in the air of the room.