Title: Sense and Sensitivity

CO-Authors: Quidditchref and silverotter1

Summary: Sometimes that which we loathe the most is that which we need the most. For Hermione Granger and Lucius Malfoy, the one thing that each despises the most is the very thing they find they don't want to live without.

Characters: Hermione Granger, Lucius Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, various ex-Death Eaters.

Warnings: Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with possible strong adult themes, references to violence, and strong coarse language, as well as

mild violence, graphic sexual situations, ridiculous humor, OOC, AU and a sickenly happy ending :) Tried so very, very hard not to bash Ron.

Authors' Note: Please note that since both of us wrote this story, it appears in both the Quidditchref and silverotter1 accounts on this site. It was written for The New Library "First Time Challenge" on livejournal.

Prompter's name: dynonugget

Original prompt: Lucius/Hermione (prefer) or Draco/Hermione. The Wizard is required to take a 'sensitivity' class so he isn't so offensive to non-purebloods. Hermione, of course, teaches said class, which is given at Hogwarts. Whichever Malfoy you choose should be slightly reformed but not a wuss. He and Hermione must have sex in a broom closet and/or unused classroom. They end up as a couple. Happy ending. No kids or babies, no anal. No trashing Ron. A long one-shot or two-shot would be excellent. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and the original plot are the property of the author. The Fanfiction author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


They say opposites attract. They say you can't tell a book by its cover. They say fore-warned is forearmed. They say I am the smartest witch of my age. I guess if I had listened to what "they say"; I would have been smart enough to avoid this situation. On the other hand, I'm not entirely sure it is a condition I would have wanted to avoid. It's mystifying--how so much pain can lead to so much pleasure. If I am so wise and sensitive, why can't I figure this out?

Four weeks earlier…

Unbelievable. Leave it to a Malfoy to instigate a problem that leads to something as ludicrous as a 'Sensitivity Class'. Like many women, I'm all about feelings and emotions. I hide it well behind my books and organization charts, but the fact is it's easier to make me cry or laugh than to get me to think about the seven uses for dragon's blood. And if there is anything the Malfoys are not, it is sensitive to the feelings of others, be they house-elves or humans.

It all started on the ninth of September. Now that Knockturn Alley is dark-magic-free, it has become a great place for just strolling about with friends. The three of us (Harry, Ron and I) were minding our own business, enjoying some meaningless conversation when it happened.

"So, I told the poor sod, 'Better you than me, chap.'"

Ron loved to relive every second of his Chudley Cannons matches. I smiled. Ronald is so sweet and silly. Dimwitted at times, but still very sweet. He has become the best Quidditch goalie in the English league, a sure bet for the National side, and made over the Cannons into a regular winner. He also can't talk about much of anything else.

"Was he hurt badly," Harry asked, a wide grin about his mouth, a sparkle in his emerald green eyes. Since we won the war, it's been good to see Harry smiling and relaxed.

"Oh, no--Bludger just grazed him. But he was out for the rest of the match. Right Hermione?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yes. Out cold, in fact…"

A snide voice drifted over to us from behind, interrupting. "Ah, and speaking of cold, what do we have here?"

I turned, and immediately my eyes caught the white blond hair, the finely tailored black wizard robes, and the tall, menacing presence of Lucius Malfoy. A tiny chill traversed my spine. How could it not? This man, although frighteningly handsome, had a hand in nearly getting me killed.

"Com'on Ron, Hermione. Let's be getting on." Harry had valiantly tried to avoid any unpleasantness. Lucius, however, was having none of that.

"So, still playing with Mudbloods and Halfbloods, Weasley? What would your ancestors say? Brand you a blood traitor, undoubtedly."

Ron clenched his teeth, taking a defensive stance in front of me like he was guarding the Rings. "You're one for talk Malfoy. Your 'hero' was a Halfblood, his own father a Muggle. How's that sit with your warped views?"

Lucius had seemed bored with Ron's venomous retort. "Up Ballycastle," he sneered, insuring that Ron's rage would increase since the Bats had battered Chudley rather soundly less than a week before.

Actually, Lucius appeared to be much more interested in something besides Quidditch. That something was me. Looking back now, it was probably the way Ronald had stood in front of me like he was guarding the Rings, a protective move that had roused the serpentine wiliness in Lucius. The formidable wizard held himself very still, only his eyes shifting to peer at me, a wry smirk curling his lips. If ever I had seen a snake getting prepared to strike, this was the precise image. The true Slytherin emerged.

"Tell me, Weasley, are Muggleborn witches as good with sexual magic as a Pureblood witch?" he hissed. Those clear ice-grey eyes bore into mine and my heart raced at the purely predatory look that washed over his fine features. His lips curled back rapaciously. An electric charge shot through me at the site of his fangs, and the quick glance at his tongue as he expectantly licked his lips.

The rest seemed to have happened in slow motion. Ron lunged at Lucius; Harry made an unsuccessful grab for Ron. The commotion caught the attention of the near passersby and suddenly Draco Malfoy and Greg Goyle appeared from nowhere to join Lucius in the struggle. At once, George Weasley darted out the door of his new shop to join our side, and the street was suddenly filled with curses, flashes from wands, insults, and even a bit of blood.

I remember the sky was deep blue, the clouds were fluffy white, and the cobblestones were cold, gray, wet and hard when I landed on them, knocked over by Lucius as he tried to get to Ron. Just then, the Minister of Magic rounded the corner with three Aurors in tow, shouting for everyone to stop while casting stunning spells, thereby restoring order. Still sitting on my bum in the street, I checked myself over for injury. Nothing broken but my pride. I started to cry.


"Unbelievable!" Leave it to a Mudblood to instigate something as ludicrous as a Sensitivity Class. Why am I sitting in my lavish study, sipping single-malt Fire Whiskey, and thinking about nothing except the most unlikely sexual creature I have ever encountered? Surely any Pureblood witch is a better fuck. What has she done to me, to my senses? The sight of her, sitting in the roadway, tears coursing down her face stirred something in me. What, I hadn't quite figured out yet.

I am a resourceful man. Cunning, sly, shrewd… and bored. Bored to death, truth be told. After the fall of the Dark Lord, my ever so eloquent sidestepping acquired immunity for my family, barring that pesky probation business (thanks in no small part to Narcissa's saving the Potter scamp). However, I fear I've been marginalized. I'm all but fading away. I don't know which hurts more. Being wrong, or being ignored.

And so I found myself that dreadful day, in Knockturn Ally, baiting the three most famous Wizards in the last two centuries. Pathetic. But worse than that, I had violated my probation stipulations, apparently. Verbal fornication of the magnificent ones was a no-no, apparently. Drawing wands and physical assault was frowned on as well.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, the illustrious Minister of Magic, had ordered me, and seven others to take a SensitivityClass. Pashaw! Who ever heard of such rubbish? The Ministry must have time and funds to burn, what with mandating such an insignificant use of resources. Not only that, I was to suffer the supreme indignity of being trained in this preposterous class by that unendurable Granger chit. The very Mudblood who was the cause of all my trouble in the first place! The very witch who I cannot get out of my mind today.

Nasty little urchin. Beautiful little thing. How could magic as strong as she held be bestowed on the lowly likes of a Mudblood? How could someone who had been so unattractive in childhood suddenly blossom into such a rose? The fates, the gods, were losing their minds! Why did that Weasley boy sully his bloodline to associate, nay, defend her? She was filth! She exuded sex. Why should I even care! Why did I want her so badly?

She had grown into a striking woman, even with that feral mane of bountiful curly locks, so unlike Narssica's smooth, controlled white-blonde tresses. The Granger girl's eyes were of the deepest brown, nearly ebony, with a bright intelligence and warmth I've never seen before. They were like a window into her burning soul, and I knew at once that it heated her blood to boiling. My own wife's eyes are clear, light blue. Cold, astute, calculating. Like her soul, and regrettably, her body in the bedroom.

This Granger girl was conspicuous in an unusual way. A way that made me want to have her alone, and teach her how to treat a Pureblooded wizard with the esteem he deserved. Teach her how to fulfill those desires that so obviously smolder behind those eyes. Teach her how to suck cock and fill herself up with a real man, a wizard who can satisfy her.

"Smarmy little chit," I muttered under my breath.

"Periwinkle!" I called out. Another reason to hate Granger, I thought sardonically. I now have to pay for house-elf services, which are seriously lacking since she turned the beasts into employees instead of servants.

Striding to my enormous foyer, I called out again! "Periwinkle! Bring my cane and traveling cloak, immediately."

With a pop, the cocky house-elf appeared; my cane and clock in her grip. "Mister Malfoy sir, your items you be requesting." Her voice held a bit of umbrage, which pissed me off and made my lip curl.

"Where is your mistress?" I asked sharply, fearing I already knew the answer.

"She is needing a spa treatment today, sir. She saying to me, she is being gone all day, not to expect her for dinner, sir. Not to expect her till late this evening." The elf shuffled her sock-covered feet on my Italian marble floor.

"The truth, Periwinkle." I shot the tiny creature my most practiced sneer. When she began to tremble I knew she had broken.

"Mistress is needing a rendezvous with her secret lover, Sir Malfoy, sir. She is being gone all day to the French Riviera with young Master Zabini."

"Insolence!" I boomed. "Get out of my sight!" The horribly wrinkled thing screamed, and with a crack, and vanished.

I had suspected at much. Narcissa had never been much more than a convenience. After the war, she was almost a heroine for saving Scarhead's life. Since then, it has been one young lover after another in her wing of the Manor, while I live alone, and have to sneak out to visit my mistresses. Oh well. I don't need her any more than I need sensitivity training.

And so today, I'm off to Hogwarts for my instruction. Another horrible day, I'm sure. How did I get to this place, this time? Why can't I get that woman out of my head?


I flipped through my scrolls, slightly nervous to present the first of five lessons on wizard sensitivity to a bunch of bastard ex-Death Eaters. What the hell was Kingsley thinking, making me take on this assignment? Of course, I understand how to be wise and sensitive to the feelings of others. How else could I have pushed for passage of the new Act On The Fair Treatment Of Magical Creatures? But didn't he know how uncomfortable it made me to be in the presence of Lucius Malfoy?

Tonight's lesson would be an overview and introduction to the subsequent lessons. Then the students would learn the first key to sensitivity. I ran through the Keys to freshen my memory while the first 'students' entered.

Compassion: Awareness of the suffering of others

Understanding: Ability to perceive and explain the nature of someone; have knowledge of a situation or circumstance.

Sympathy: Ability to enter into, share another's feelings

Kindliness: The act of showing consideration and caring

Acceptance: The realization of a fact of truth; the toleration of something without protest; willingness to treat somebody as a member of a group or social class as an equal.

Minerva…Professor McGonagall (I will never get used to calling her 'Minerva' no matter how many times she insists that I must use her given name now that I am no longer a student at Hogwarts)…had given me an excellent classroom in the dungeons. It has no windows, which was an advantage. I wouldn't have to deal with a bunch of people who didn't want to be there anyway staring out the windows instead of focusing on me.

As the former Death Eaters filed in, I wasn't surprised to see who had been ordered to take my class. Of course there were both Mafoys and Goyle, since they had been involved in the altercation that precipitated the course. I shuddered at the sight of the Carrows, brother and sister. While I had not been at Hogwarts during their reign, I had heard way more about it than I wanted from Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom. I doubted any amount of sensitivity training would work with them.

Then there was Delores Umbridge. Why in hell she hadn't been given "the kiss" escapes me to this day. In all my life, I never met a less sensitive, less sympathetic person. She is so self-centered that I suspect she was never really a supporter of Tom Riddle; no, her involvement was purely a matter of being on the side in power, no matter which side that was.

The last two students were Albert Runcorn and our "old Quidditch friend", Ludo Bagman. I knew that Runcorn was hard-core Pureblood. He used to turn in Muggleborn wizards for Umbridge's inquisitions. Bagman, on the other hand, as I understood it, only became a sort of "junior Death Eater" to pay off his many gambling debts. However, since he owed much of that money to goblins, it was no surprise when I learned during the class that he had developed an unreasonable hatred for non-human magical creatures. I only hoped I wouldn't be forced to use Auror tactics with this lot…


Oh how I wished I had finished the bottle of Ogdon's prior to attending that travesty. The whole lot were degenerates, save for my son. And if I'm to be completely honest with myself, he was and is suspect as well. We, (and I say that as a loose representation of the whole), made our way to the dungeons following that old crow, McGonagall. Treated like some common criminals being herded like cattle. The only thing that was more displeasing than being rousted about like mere rabble was entering the windowless dungeon room.

That was when I saw her, the Granger girl, bold as brass, positioned at the head of the room standing behind a huge oak desk. There was a time when I, like most Slytherins, found the dungeons comfortable…much like home. But now, here was a Mudblood ruling over our classroom as though she deserved to be there. The torchlight from the wall sconces set her terrible hair aglow in the most horrid chestnut color. She wore dowdy, drab, black robes and the silliest little girl shoes I have ever seen; the kind with the little strap and buckles that perhaps a child of five might wear. I clucked my tongue in abhorrence.

"Take a seat, if you please," her mellow, honeyed voice rolled out into the cold room. Commanding little thing, for one of such small stature.

I decided to take a seat in the front row, just to intimidate her. It pleased me greatly to see her stiffen slightly, and purposefully avoid eye contact. Being a man of unique ability to perceive the 'sensitivities' of others, I knew right away that I had an adverse affect on one Hermione Granger.

Gregory and Draco, of course took to the very last row. I was annoyed to see Delores Umbridge slide into the seat next to me. Awful, wretched women. No finesse, no tact and certainly no class.

My attention was quickly drawn back to the little Mudblood, who took no time in dominating the room. She owned it, in fact.

"I am Ms. Hermione Granger and I will be instructing this Ministry mandated class on sensitivity. I expect that each of you will receive the information and training with an open mind. It will benefit you, and wizarding society.I guarantee after completing my lessons, you will never be the same again."

"Ah-hmm," came a tiny throat clearing noise from Umbridge.

The Granger girl completely ignored the uncouth shrew, continuing on. "There will be no examination. Instead, the format will be a combination of lecture, scenario, open discussion and several role-playing situations. I will, however, be evaluating individuals on participation and conduct."

"Ah-hmm, Miss Granger," Umbridge rudely interrupted. The vile women's simpering laugh was nauseating. "I feel I must interject. What qualifications do you posses in order to teach this class?"

Granger stared down the older witch. "Delores. Delores Umbridge is it?" She spoke with an air of annoyance. "Well, Ms. Umbridge you will address me as Ms. Granger. You will raise your hand if you wish to verbalize unless I've given advanced permission for students to speak freely. Do I make myself clear?"

Umbridge's eyes narrowed to slits, her lips twitched a fraction of a second before curling into an unctuous smile. "Ah-hmm, yes. Perfectly."

I had to snicker at this, in fact I did. What spirit! What fire! But I can hardly admire a Mudblood for being so crass. Surely it must come naturally.

"Mr. Malfoy, senior, do you have something you'd like to add?"

I was shocked she would address my idle chuckling. "Why, no. I only find it slightly amusing for you to address one of your former instructors in such a discourteous manor."

The little firebrand rounded her desk, stalking purposefully to my seat. "What you all need to understand is I am the instructor and I will not tolerate disrespect in my classroom, from anyone. While you are under my charge, you will give respect in order to get it. Insubordination is grounds for failure of this course, which will result in a mandatory sixty-day stint in Azkaban. It's your choice. Now, unless there are any other questions let us begin. Anyone?"

Leave it to Draco to crack his biting wit. "Father, do you have to land us all in Azkaban? Isn't bad enough we're here due to your… lapse in judgment?"

I shot him a warning glare to which he responded appropriately, sinking down into his chair.

Granger's voice called my attention to her stern gaze. "Mr. Malfoy? Any other remarks?

I cocked my eyebrow at her, smiling congenially. "Not from me, Ms. Granger. By all means, please, carry on." The most interesting thing to me was the twitching in my lions at her domineering, authoritative bearing. The most evil thoughts materialized in my head. I longed to tame her wild heart.

She returned my smile with a terse nod of her head. Oddly enough, I sensed a mutual fascination on her part, which for all I know may have always been present.


All in all, the first class went rather well. I explained Compassion and asked the students to give examples of others' suffering. Needless to say, they had no problem whatever describing, in gross detail, the suffering of others. The worst part was at the end, when I discovered Ronald waiting for me in the hallway.

The look on his face told me we were in for an unpleasant exchange.

"Hermione, how can you accept this assignment? They're making a mockery of you--Umbridge, the fucking Malfoy's. Blimey!"

"Ron," I soothed, "don't get like this. I can handle it. Besides, I think it went quite well."

"You do?! You're blind." He gripped my arm, began to usher me down the passage. "They'll eat you alive. I can feel it."

I knew he meant well, but his doubt and hindrance of me, as usual, had gotten on my last nerve. Not to mention the students in question were within earshot and had heard our discussion thus far. Shite. Now, I had to save face. I stopped dead and pulled my elbow from his grasp.

"Ronald, I'm going to have to ask you not to come to my training classes. I know you mean well, but it undermines my authority and… er… puts me in a bad light in front of my students." I gave him my most obvious look that said don't-you-get-it-you-buffoon?

Maybe he should have been in the class! He glared at me in incomprehension and stalked off. I knew he'd get over it. He probably wouldn't even remember if I made him a nice steak and kidney pie. The recipe his mum made sure I had.

The second class went nearly as well. I began the session defining Understanding. This concept proved more elusive for many of my students to grasp. Try as I may, I could not get them to 'get it'.

"Mr. Goyle," I said wearily, "if you kill the Muggle woman's husband, she will suffer. She will suffer loss of a spouse; loss of a partner in love, finance, and recreation… Do you understand how that might make her feel?"

"Please," interrupted Lucius, "this is absurd. Do you, Miss Granger, understand that Gregory doesn't give a flying Thestral what happens to the Muggle wench? Of course he understands how she'll feel if he kills her sodding husband. That's the point!"

His taunt was greeted with sniggering from his cohorts. I ignored it.

"Well, yes, Mr. Malfoy. I do understand your degenerate way of thinking. And that is the point--of why you're all here."

The lot of them seemed resigned to this fact. Lucius in particular shot me a searing glare of begrudged acceptance. I swear Lucius was worse then Draco in his egotistical need to be the center of attention.

It was the third class on Sympathy, where all hell broke loose. We had just completed the exercise in the Forbidden Forest, where I had blindfolded all of them and tied them together on a rope. They had to learn to trust one another and be sympathetic to each other's weaknesses. But when we returned to the dungeon, it was as though the entire lesson had achieved the exact opposite effect.


The Granger chit was making her points very well. Not that I ever expected her to fall flat on her face. No, she always was smart as a whip--even outscoring Draco in every blasted examination. Speaking of whips, no whipping I could hand Draco ever convinced him to pull ahead of that little Mudblood in his studies, either. Rubbish.

It was the third class, on Sympathy, which burst my resolve to remain a passive observer. I don't know what she expected to achieve by blindfolding us and tying us together with that rope. Was this some form of sexual perversion I had not heard of previously? If so, it was working its magic on me in ways she probably had not anticipated. I spent the entire time thinking of her, imagining what her body must look like uncovered by those shapeless old robes.

Meanwhile, my erstwhile classmates were being dragged, and dragging me with them, through the Forbidden Forest. I suppose we were expected to learn to rely on our other senses. The only increased sense I felt was my cock, which kept getting hard when I thought about Granger on her knees sucking it. The sensation of my erection rubbing against my trousers was, indeed, heightened when I could not see.

When she and her "friendly helpers" finally tired of torturing us, and brought us back to the classroom, I was loaded for lioness. In more ways than one.

"So, Ms Granger…am I now expected to be sympathetic to the needs of others," I began.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," she said, "I think you can indeed be expected to at least realize there are other people in the world around you. I should think this exercise would have taught you that others have needs, just as you do, and that you need to take their feelings into account with every action you perform, every word you utter."

I laughed. "Why do I care if Umbridge here is terrified of centaurs, or if Bagman over there thinks the goblins are after him again? By the way, Ludo, they are you know. Miss Granger…the only thing I sensed out there in the woods was the rustle of your robes against your thighs."

Draco and Greg nearly fell off their chairs, laughing hysterically. Umbridge snorted, and turned cherry red. The Carrows high-fived each other. Granger's face turned to stone.

"Father…you can't possibly be thinking about shagging the Mudblood," Draco exclaimed. "What would Mother think if she found out you dipped your wick into…?"

He never got to finish that sentence. I leaped from my chair and cuffed him on the side of his face. Hard. The classroom erupted in laughter, catcalls directed at various people in the room, expletives directed at me from my son, and insults hurled at Granger. It was chaos. I was delighted. Now this was more like it.

"Mr. Malfoy! Can you at least make an effort to control your baser instincts, or are you anxious to revisit Azkaban?" she roared at me.

"It seems to me that you are the one who is responsible for control of this class," I shot back at the diminutive young woman in the front of the room. I could not believe how feisty she was when she was angry. How sexy she was when she fought for control. How desirable she was when she was in command.

"You will stay after class," she ordered. "You and I have some very important differences to settle, or you're going back to prison. The rest of you…get out! Now!"


Why did he have to be such an effing prat? Okay, he was not a sensitive man, and perhaps he didn't want to be one. Maybe he could never overcome his Pureblood upbringing, or realize that all human beings are created equal. But couldn't he at least have the common courtesy to keep his mouth shut, and stop disrupting my classes. Some of the "students", especially Runcorn and that twat Umbridge, seemed to be catching on. But not him! I thought his only reason for complying with the Ministry order was so he could tweak me in front of an audience.

After the third class, I made him stay. I thought perhaps I could challenge him; that we might settle our differences privately. Maybe I could even make him an ally. For one thing, I thought I might at least create a situation where I didn't find my attention constantly drawn to him. A situation where I didn't find myself continually looking at him, thinking about him, wondering about what he would be like if we were thrown together in other circumstances. Hah!

"What do you want with me, Mudblood?" His opening words. Now there was a promising start to a corrective session if ever there was one.

"I had hoped we might reach some modification that would result in your no longer interfering with the class," I said. "It seems quite clear you are not going to accept my ideas, but I thought we might settle on …"

I never got to finish the thought. In an instant he was upon me, pushing me back roughly against the blackboard, his arms on each side of my shoulders, his hands on the wall as he leaned in close, trapping me.

"I'm disappointed," he hissed, his tongue snaking out to wet his lips. "I was hoping you were finally going to act on the intense feelings you obviously have for me. Where's your courage now, Gryffindor?"

His face was so close. His breath was so warm. His eyes were cold like steel, yet they seemed to flash with heat, almost like…lightning? Desire? Need? Could Lucius Malfoy actually need me? The actual thought of it suddenly filled me with a thrilling tightening in the pit of my stomach, and all at once it came to me that I just might need Lucius Malfoy. The tension between us, and within me, grew. It was familiar, and yet so new and different.

I also realized how wrong I had been about Lucius. It wasn't that he didn't 'get' sensitivity training. The reality was he didn't need sensitivity training. He was already much more sensitive, a much more perceptive man, than I had ever suspected. One of the things that he had sensed was that I wanted him…wanted him in a primal, very intimate way. Maybe he sensed it even more than I, myself had. I don't know how he became so aware of me, but suddenly I realized that I felt a connection with Lucius, something that had always been present between us, even during the war, but that I had never realized was there. And he had felt it too, sensed it too. Yes, he'd become aware of it long before I had. I was the one who needed sensitivity training. His low sensuous tone broke through my thoughts.

"And I intend to give it to you," he said, smiling.

I nearly fainted. Had I said that out loud? Had he read my mind? Was our link so strong that we didn't need words? Was that all it took to make two into one…the acknowledgement that we needed and wanted one another, and could each feel the other in this way?

"We are so alike, you and I, Hermione," he said, as if to answer my unspoken questions. "Brilliant minds, powerful magic, physically attractive, emotional and passionate. I don't have to read your mind or listen to you teach. I already know what you know--what you want--what you need, because I, oh, yes, my sweet Hermione, I know it, want it, need it too."

Almost imperceptibly, his lips were against mine, soft and hot--then hard, demanding. As he pressed his mouth against mine, touched my lips with his tongue, his arms came off the wall and went round my back, drawing me to him, tight against his body. His hips pushed against mine, pinning me against the wall.

I must have lost my mind, then. Rational thought deserted me. A musical beat went off in my head, a primal pounding rhythm that throbbed in my very core. I felt the heat of it, a powerful tingling only physical contact with a man could satisfy. Merlin help me, I wanted Lucius Malfoy. I wanted him to keep kissing me. I wanted him to slip his beautiful hands into my robes, touch my breasts. I wanted him touching me everywhere. I wanted his fingers between my legs, inside me. I wanted his mouth on my pussy and his tongue licking me until I came. I wanted him to fuck me.

"Now, Hermione," he purred in a low, nearly ominous tone, taking his mouth off mine for the first time. "I'm going to show you how a real wizard makes love to a witch."

I could barely breathe. "Please…," I moaned pathetically against his lips.

He kissed me again, but this time I was kissing him back with all the passion I had kept pent up inside. His hands seemed to be everywhere, stroking, touching, teasing. His fingers could be like feathers or pinchers, alternately giving pleasure or pain; both exquisitely erotic. I felt the wetness between my thighs, his cock growing hard against my belly. I felt his hands on my tits, his fingers pinching my nipples through my clothes. Then he was pulling off my jumper, unbuttoning my top, removing my bra, sucking my nipples into his hot, wet mouth. I nearly collapsed from pleasure.

Ron had made love to me many times, but never like this. Ron had been gentle, Viktor had been almost brutal, but somehow Lucius managed to combine all of their good techniques and none of the bad ones. I was so turned on, I could barely think straight; hell, I could barely participate. He had me completely undone, and all I wanted to do was tear off the rest of my clothes, tear off his robes, suck his cock, stick it in my pussy, and let him fuck me into a coma. I wanted release. I wanted to explode. I wanted him to make me ignite and burn to ashes.

He spun us around and pushed me back onto the desk. Stepping between my legs, he pulled off my shoes and knee socks, reached up under my skirt, and ripped my knickers off, tossing them to the floor. He pushed me back onto the desktop, pushed my legs apart, and trailed kisses up my thighs. I nearly died when he licked my slit, flicked his tongue against my clit, and slipped a finger into me. I exploded for the first time. I'm sure I must have screamed.

He lifted his head. "Did you like that, little girl? I'm just getting started with you. I'll tell you what I sense. I sense you really want it, want me. You don't need to tell me. I already know."

With that, he reached down and undid his pants, dropping them and his boxers to the floor. I was shocked at the size of his cock. Long, thick, well veined, with a satiny smooth head. I knew it was going to feel wonderful sliding into me. I knew I couldn't wait much longer to find out how it would feel. I needed him, hot and firm pushing into me. My pussy was dripping, lips swollen. My clit was hard and aching. He grabbed my hips and pulled me to the edge of the desk. His cock was rubbing against my slick slit as he let my juices lubricate him.

I wanted to suck him. I leaned up, watching that lovely, deep pink cock probe against me. "No," he said, sensing what I wanted to do. "I am only interested in pleasuring you. I know it turns you on, but save it for the next time. This time is for you, and only for you. I am not fucking you, Hermione. I am making love to you."

Still leaning up on my elbows, I watched him position that smooth shiny head at my opening, and push it in. Only a little. Only just the head. Then he withdrew, and I moaned in protest. He leaned his body against me, nuzzling his way past my curls to whisper in my ear. "You like that, don't you Hermione? You love the feel of me inside you, and you want more…so much more."

As I whimpered my agreement, I felt him, hot and hard at my entrance. He pushed in further and I nearly swooned. Then he pushed in all the way, and I cried out, I wrapped my legs around his arse trying to pull him in further, and I hunched my bum up off the desk as he filled me. "We fit together very well, don't we Sweetheart?" he crooned to me.

Slowly, he began to withdraw and thrust back in. It was a very controlled rhythm, his body slipping into mine, his smooth flesh sliding against my inner walls. Each thrust caused my lips to massage my clit and push against it from the inside. The waves of pleasure were indescribable, coming with each thrust, shooting through me like bolts of electricity, and building the tension in my muscles higher and higher as I longed for release. I was writhing on the desk, trying to get more contact, hoping I could get my clit rubbing directly against his cock. He sensed my need. He leaned forward, giving me the friction I wanted and needed, picking up the pace. A few more thrusts, and my world exploded…stars turned to supernovas behind my closed eyelids…the desk was moving and quaking beneath my arse…my pussy walls contracting around his cock and milking it…his hot cum shooting into me as he groaned through his own climax.

"I'm not done with you yet, little witch," he hissed, as he pulled out, dragging me off the desk. "Now, bend over and let me see the pretty little arse you've been shaking about."

No one had ever spoken to me in such a way and, truth be told, I liked it. As I bent over the desk, I felt him push into me again from behind. I couldn't believe how much more filled up I felt; how his ramming into me from this direction made me feel like I was his, to do with as he wished. Already I was so wound up, I knew I wouldn't last long… in fact, a climax hit me hot and hard almost as soon as he started stroking.

My thighs tickled with his dripping cum. I could barley catch my breath even though now he was taking it easy, slowly pushing in and out letting the friction on his prick excite him. I felt him get harder and harder with each thrust. As I felt him turn from hard rubber to hot steel inside me, he reached round my side searching between my legs to pinch my clit. I ignited for the third time. I couldn't get enough of this man. No one had ever fucked me like this; no one had ever been so enthusiastic, so caught up in giving me as much pleasure as he seemed to be getting. I sensed that it wasn't just that he wanted to be close…he wanted to virtually crawl all the way inside me if he could…suddenly, I knew the true meaning of "intimate".

Again, all the tension built unbearably inside me. I heard his ragged pants in my ear, whispering sweet and dirty words, encouraging me to enjoy him.

"Do you like it, witch? Do you like me fucking you from behind? I think you do. You're so fucking wet, I know you like it. Salazar's bullocks you're so fucking tight…I never thought you'd feel this good."

I reached between my legs, placed my fingers on the base of his pistoning prick, feeling it sink in and out of me, wet with both our juices. He sucked in a breath at my touch, picked up the pace of his thrusting until he was hammering into me, his balls slapping against me, the bottom of his cock rubbing almost painfully against the little ridge inside my pussy, the most sensitive spot. Sensitive. This man didn't need sensitivity training. I was bursting at the seams thinking I would combust--up in flames--right there on my desk. I let out a primal cry; a sound I've never heard from my mouth or even knew I could make.

"That's it Hermione, scream for me, little wench."

Like I said, Lucius Malfoy didn't need sensitivity training. He knew exactly what I needed and when. Reaching around me again, he fingered my clit, gave me release just as he exploded inside me for the second time.

Breathing hard, he stood behind me, still inside, still between my legs. I raised my feet off the floor, supported only by the desk I was leaning over, and wrapped them around his muscular calves.

He leaned over my back. His warm chest felt good pressing me into the desk.

"Well," he paused. "Did I pass the test?" he asked, laughing.