Disclaimer:The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. This story belongs to RobinL (aka flibbins). Please do not copy, translate, or repost without my express permission. All rights reserved.

Please note: This chapter has previously been posted on Granger Enchanted. This chapter has been altered slightly to conform to an M rating, without losing any important content. If you wish to read all the sexy (yet not entirely necessary) details, you may read the original version on Granger Enchanted under the penname flibbins. This is still an M version, so caution is advised for delicate readers.

In which Lucius has the vapors over Hermione's breakfast attire.


Hermione and Lucius returned just as the cheese course was wrapping up, in time to start off the dancing. For her first dance, she waltzed with all of her wizards, except Rodolphus, who was still in exile. She started in Arthur's arms and ended in Harry's, and thankfully the instruments repeated some of the sections to give her time for each of her husbands.

Considering she wasn't the strongest dancer, it went well. Arthur was less than sure of himself, but they managed not to embarrass each other. Lucius was the perfect partner, except she had difficulty controlling her blush as he held her close to guide her through the steps. Kingsley was rather curious about why she'd disappeared and wouldn't drop the topic until she gave him the details.

Severus was stiff, though graceful, and he brushed off her thanks for helping with the situation with Lucius. He also wouldn't listen to her apology for losing her cool earlier. "It is I who was out of line," he said. She was passed off to Cormac before she could assure him she'd accepted his apology.

Cormac held her so close they got tripped up in her skirts more than once, and she was relieved to be handed over to Greg. He wasn't the most graceful of dancers, but she couldn't help but notice how focused he was on her as they twirled, more or less on the beat.

Draco was born to dance. His lead made her look good and feel elegant. She couldn't help but be reminded of the Yule Ball their fourth year and how she'd envied Pansy Parkinson as she danced with Draco. Four years later she didn't have to be secretly jealous of the mean Slytherin girl—the Slytherin prince was all hers. She would have enjoyed the moment more if she wasn't feeling self-conscious because of the intimate acts he'd witnessed between her and—of all people—his father. It seemed he had difficulty meeting her eyes as well, a faint pink shading his high cheekbones.

It was a relief to be passed to Neville who was also an able partner and twirled her about the floor with ease. There was something very comfortable about being in his arms, which had grown sure and strong.

It was a good thing the final battle didn't come down to a dance competition, as Harry was as awkward as ever as a dance partner. Still there was something reassuring about dancing with him in any case, being held against his chest, his hand resting low on her back, her head on his shoulder. It simply felt right.

It was odd how quickly they fell into a more intimate relationship, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. She'd loved him in some form since their first-year. She'd even had a crush on him when they were younger, but when it seemed obvious his interest lay elsewhere, she set those feelings aside. His friendship was much too valuable to risk—even at fifteen, she was wise enough to understand that. And then Ron piqued her interest, and Harry had been strictly relegated to the friend category. They were the best of friends, more like family after all they'd experienced together, but she refused to contemplate the possibility of more. Sure, there were a few nights when she woke up aroused and sweating after a dream where she was caressed by a strong hand with olive-toned skin, not pale with red-brown freckles. In these dreams, this wizard often had striking green eyes instead of crystal blue. But of course there had been a few nights when her dream-lover had pale skin, ink-black hair, and a voice that made love to the English language with every syllable, so she wrote these and the rest of her fantasies off as a natural product of an adolescent mind.

But now an attraction was permissible, it was sanctioned…hell, it was required by law. And more importantly, it seemed Harry was embracing it. Perhaps he had been harboring a secret crush too.

As the music wound to a close, Harry winked and then dipped her, stealing a kiss to the amusement of all but one of their guests. They broke apart in time to see Ron Weasley slip out of the ballroom, his shoulders slumped.

Hermione woke late the next morning. The dancing at the reception had lasted long into the evening and with a shortage of witches, she'd rarely had a moment's rest. She had fallen into Harry's bed, asleep even as her head touched the pillows.

There had been some debate about where she should spend the night, but with her room out of commission, her choices were limited to Harry or Lucius as bed partners unless she wanted to have the elves prepare her another room, and she didn't want to be a bother. It went without saying that she wasn't comfortable spending the night with Lucius. They may have managed to get through their consummation without killing each other, but that didn't make them best friends.

The rest of the husbands were out because the Calming Draught was bound to wear off sometime during the night, and she needed a break after her vigorous pairing with Lucius earlier in the evening. Of course that didn't stop her and Harry from having a slow, sweet shag in the gray light of dawn.

Now it was a few hours later, and she woke alone, a few vials of potion next to her bed and a note beside it from Harry telling her he went to find food. Food sounded like a good idea to her growling stomach, but more importantly, she had been without caffeine for far too long.

She rolled out of bed, downed the potions, hit the loo, and threw her tangled hair up into a sloppy ponytail before shuffling out of Harry's room in search of breakfast.

It took her five minutes to find the main staircase and another ten to detect the aroma of coffee which guided her to a large dining room.

The table was grand enough to easily seat twenty-five, but for now it held only about half of her husbands. At the near end of the long room, Lucius sat at the head of the table with Draco and Severus at either side. Rodolphus was at the far end, while Harry and Neville were across from each other about half way down.

"Morning," she mumbled as she entered, heading directly to the sideboard from where the heavenly aroma originated.

There was a chorus of greetings in return, but one haughty voice overrode them all. "Really, Mrs. Malfoy," Lucius drawled. "Have you no concept of propriety? What in Merlin's name are you wearing?"

She ignored the pompous blond. Granted, her attire was unusual, but there was no possible way she could engage Lucius Malfoy in a verbal skirmish BC—before coffee.

It wasn't until she had the dark liquid in her cup and the first few sips in her belly that she tuned back into the conversation at the table.

"Does it say Potter on the back of that jersey?" This was from the snarky Potions Master.

Ignoring the irritable Slytherin men, she took her coffee and settled into a chair next to Neville.

"She didn't have her bag last night," Harry said in her defense, "so she borrowed some of my clothes. Personally, I think she looks good in maroon." He flashed a devilish grin at her and gave her a little wink.

"Looks better in it than you ever did, Harry," Neville said. "Good morning, Hermione."

"Hmmm," she said over the rim of her mug and leaned over against Neville's shoulder. He, of course, had shared enough breakfasts with her at the Gryffindor table to know what she was like BC.

"Really, it's bad enough that these…boors" —he gestured at Harry and Neville— "are in their sleep clothes, but is it too much to ask that you put on pants?" Lucius' lip was curled up in a sneer as if the idea of appearing in the dining room without proper attire was akin to casting an Unforgivable.

"I do apologize if you are offended by my bare legs, gentlemen. I have no idea where the elves put my things, and without caffeine, I wasn't much in the mood to care."

She glanced down toward the lonely far end of the table. "Did you sleep well, Mr. Lestrange?"

"I did indeed, Mrs. Lestrange, and allow me to assure you that I find your attire quite fetching, though I've always been partial to emerald green." His lips were tilted up in a little smirk.

"Why am I not surprised? Perhaps Draco has an old Slytherin jersey I can wear to breakfast tomorrow in the interest of balance." She shot a quick wink at the younger Malfoy.

Harry had gotten up from the table to fix her a plate while she bantered with Rodolphus. He set the full plate in front of her.

"You've got to have more than coffee, Mione."

"I would have gotten around to it." Harry gave her a look. She rolled her eyes and added, "Eventually." It wasn't until she'd started to eat that she remembered how hungry she was. She and Lucius had missed a large portion of dinner last night due to their unscheduled encounter.

"So any big plans for the day?" she asked once she'd inhaled most of her plate's contents.

"Kings and the others have already left for the Ministry. Neville and I have some time off since we wrapped up the last case, so nothing specific planned, except maybe a tour. It took me twenty minutes to find this dining room."

"I know what you mean. It took me a quarter hour, and I have no clue how to get back without the aroma of coffee to guide me."

Lucius interjected, "Perhaps Draco would be willing to show you about. It would be better if you didn't wander off alone. Some of the rooms are closed off with good reason. Also, I've owled a decorator to meet with you regarding your suite. She'll be here this afternoon to determine your tastes, though I would like to request a minimum of Gryffindor maroon if possible."

"In that case," Harry added, "let me cast a vote against Slytherin green. And no snakes. There are snakes all over this bloody pile of rocks."

"How dare—"

"Enough," she interrupted the men before a battle could break out, rising from her chair. "I will decorate my rooms the way I prefer as they are my rooms, and no one else gets a vote." She looked from Lucius to Harry, not relenting until she got a nod of acknowledgement from each of them. "Now, I would storm off, but I don't want to get lost, so Draco, I'd appreciate your assistance if you've finished your meal."

"Mione, I'm sorry—"

"I know, Harry, but I need a little space, and I would really like my clothes." She smiled at him them, just a little smile to tell him that they were fine. His shoulders slumped in relief as he grinned back.

Draco, dressed and coiffed impeccably, pushed back from the table. As he approached her, Severus spoke up, "Miss…er…Madam Granger, I will be brewing those potions we discussed. Your assistance would be…appreciated."

"Perhaps Draco can show me the way to the lab once I've found more appropriate attire."

The dour man nodded and then returned his attention to his teacup.

She fell into step beside Draco, for the first time feeling uncomfortable and underdressed in the oversized Quidditch jersey. In the hallway, Draco turned the opposite direction from where she'd come, confusing her even more.

"Where are we going?"

"Up to the Mistress suite. I'm assuming your things are there. If not, we'll get an elf to track them down."

"Aren't the stairs that way?" she pointed over her shoulder in the direction she thought was the main entrance and staircase.

"That is one way, but this direction is faster. Basically, the manor is shaped like the letter 'E' with three wings off of one main hall. We're in the west wing now and most of the rooms that the family routinely uses are in the west or central wings." He opened a panel in the hall to reveal a hidden stair, though it was hardly the dusty, cobwebbed affair that one would associate with the concept of a hidden stair. It was every bit as ornate as the grand stair in the main entryway with thick carpet and carved railings, curving up from the ground floor to the floors above.

They walked up one flight and then stepped through a similar panel into an almost identical hall. She would have sworn they were precisely where they started, and in the magical world that wasn't impossible, but she trusted Draco knew his way around.

"There are four bedrooms in this wing in addition to the Master and Mistress suites. Severus and Rodolphus have both taken rooms on this hall as have Weasley and Shacklebolt." Now at the end of the hall, he gestured to a set of tall double doors to the right. "These open into Father's sitting area" —he turned to the set of doors on the opposite side of the hall— "and these open into yours."

He paused when he opened the doors and saw the state of her rooms. "Merlin," he breathed. "I thought Father was exaggerating." He wandered in, looking at the scarred walls and bare floors in a bit of a daze.

She followed, taking note of the beautiful panoramic view of the grounds that this corner room afforded her during the daytime. In addition to the door which she recalled connected to Lucius' sitting area, there was also a door out onto a balcony which it appeared she also shared with her older, blond husband. Opposite the balcony, there were tall double doors which opened into what would be her bedroom. That room alone was the size of the upper story of the house she was raised in. It was difficult to comprehend such excess, despite its current nude state. Even without the furnishings, it was a lovely space with lots of light from the tall windows.

There were two doors opening from this room, one into the loo and the other into her closet. The closet, which was really a dressing room, was larger than her childhood bedroom. She was pleased to see her beaded bag sitting on the floor to one side next to one forlorn, abandoned hanger.

Once she had her bag, she found Draco standing in the center of her bathroom, staring at the spot where one of the large marble tiles was missing. Without looking up he said, "She even took the toilet seat."

Hermione chuckled. What else could she do? Anger wouldn't get her anywhere. A person had to be rather desperate to stoop to this level. "I suppose it is lucky she left the commode at all."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. You don't deserve this."

"Don't worry, Draco. I'm fine. I imagine it was more of a strike against your father than against me."

He nodded in agreement, still fixated on the gap in the beautiful rosy tiles.

"I've got my things. Do you know where there's a bathroom in working order that I can use? Or could you get me back to Harry's room?"

"Come, I'll take you to my rooms." He noticed the bag she was carrying and quirked one brow. "Is that all you have?"

"Everything I own." At his incredulous look, she added, "It holds quite a bit more than you'd think."

He simply nodded, looking doubtful and led her back through her bedroom and sitting area, into the hall.

"My rooms were recently moved to the east wing, to give me a little privacy from my parents. They're as far away from your rooms as they can possibly be, but when you can apparate, it doesn't really make much difference."

They elected to walk so she could get a feel for the layout of the house. As they passed doors in the west wing, Draco pointed out the hidden stair, an informal sitting room, and the four bedrooms belonging to four of her older husbands. They turned left when they reached the main hall and he identified additional rooms, including a music room, solarium, Lucius' study, and the chatelaine's office. They passed the grand staircase with its balcony overlooking the entry hall. Opposite the stairs, in the central wing was the library, which Draco promised to show her later.

Continuing down the main hall toward the east wing, they passed more rooms, another sitting room, an exercise room, and galleries. The hall in the east wing was the mirror image of the hall in the west wing, so it was little wonder Hermione felt turned around in this mammoth house. There were four bedrooms housing her younger spouses, including the one she'd shared with Harry, and two master suites, one of which was empty and closed off, the other belonging to Draco.

He led her into his room, which mirrored how her rooms were meant to look, though his décor was certainly more masculine than his mother would choose. The sitting area was done in dark greens and browns, but the openness kept it from being too oppressive. His bedroom was darker with the windows curtained against the morning light. It was dominated by a massive bed, a bed that she would soon share with him, assuming he didn't take her on the floor like his father.

She'd stalled in the middle of his bedroom until he came up behind her, close enough to feel the heat of his body against her skin, though they weren't quite touching.

"The bath is through there," he said in a low voice.

Hermione simply nodded and allowed him to steer her past the bed and into the bathroom.

"Shower or bath?" he asked, his warm breath brushing the fine hair on her neck, sending goose bumps down her arms.


He flicked his wrist to release his wand from its holster and used it start the water.

"I'll have an elf bring your towels."

She turned to thank him and realized just how close he was…and how good he smelled. He was quite a bit taller than her, and she had to crane her neck uncomfortably at this distance to see his face. "Thank you, Draco. I hope I'm not keeping you from something important."

It appeared Draco was holding his breath, he was so still, but finally he shook his head. "Pucey invited me to witness his binding later this afternoon, but I'm free until then."

"Good," she said in a breathy little voice. Either they were getting closer to each other or she was taking deeper breaths, because now with each inhalation, her front brushed against his.

He was still looking at her, his head tilting toward her ever so slightly. "I'm going to…"

"Okay," she breathed going up onto her toes to meet his lips.

Her mouth was soft under Draco's, giving and taking in just the right measure. When he deepened the kiss, she allowed him in with a little sigh. She tasted of mint and coffee and something else that was all her.

His cock, which had been hard most of the morning thanks to the tantalizing stretch of slim leg bared beneath Potter's shirt, jumped to attention now. It didn't seem to matter that he'd had his Calming Draught only an hour ago. He wanted her. Now.

He withdrew just far enough to speak. "Is this—"

"Yes," she said, before he could finish, her mouth finding his again, her arms flinging around his neck to hold him there.

His hands found the edge of the provocative shirt and slipped under, gliding up over the silky skin of her thighs until he found the curve of her bum and the lacy edge of her knickers. Her soft curves resting in his palms pushed him into a frenzy and it suddenly became imperative that the ugly maroon shirt disappear. He certainly didn't want to think about Potter right now.

He backed up enough to lift it over her head. Her breasts bounced free, pretty and pert and just as enticing now as they were yesterday when he'd seen them for the first time. Mesmerized as he was, he didn't realize she was unfastening his robes until they slid from his shoulders. His shirt was the next to go and then she paused, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

As she deliberated, he took the initiative and loosened his belt and then his trousers, letting them fall to the floor along with his pants. Ever the curious girl, she reached toward him and his cock twitched in approval. She glanced up as if afraid he would reject her touch, which was the furthest thing from his mind. He wasn't sure what she read in his expression, but it must have been enough of an encouragement that she finally wrapped her fingers around him.

"It's soft," she said in wonder, running her fingers up and down in the barest whisper of a touch. Her light caress was torturous, but he allowed her a moment to explore. He knew she was inexperienced, but he'd hardly imagined just how innocent she was. Despite her bookish ways, she'd always struck him as a passionate sort.

When he endured as much as he could take without embarrassing himself, he stepped into her, trapping her hand between their bodies. He resumed their kiss, wrapping his arms around her bare torso, appreciating the feel of her soft breasts pushing against his chest. As she became absorbed in the play between their mouths, he slid one hand down her smooth back to find the scrap of lace at her hips. His fingers slid under, pushing the knickers from her hips in his search of her heat.

She was ready and moaning as he teased her, making him moan in return when her hand reflexively squeezed him. With a few awkward, stumbling steps, he backed her into the steamy shower, through the water and back to the far side where there was a ledge at the perfect height, as if it had been crafted with this moment in mind.

Her squeal when her bum was set on the cool marble broke their kiss and made them both chuckle, giving them a moment to reconsider what was about to happen.

He leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closing as her hand tightened around him again. When his breathing was under control he said, "You're sure you're okay with this."

She nodded and hooked her feet around his legs to pull him between her parted thighs. "I want this. I want you, Draco."

He nodded, unable to resist any longer.

He took his time sliding home, and as strange as it seemed, it did feel like home, like something primal within him was satisfied when he filled her.

This was most assuredly not his first experience—his father had taken him to Finkley's brothel when he turned fifteen – and during fifth-year he'd slept his way through most of the willing Slytherin witches and a few from Ravenclaw as well. Of course his sexual explorations were arrested rather abruptly when he became a pawn of the Dark Lord. The few encounters he had during those dark days were desperate and unfulfilling. He couldn't recall, even in more innocent times, when he felt this sort of rightness.

Even with the hot water pelting his back and the steam filling the shower, he couldn't get enough of her heat. It would be perfect to bury himself in her and stay there.

But her little gasps and whimpers drove him on, and when she slipped over the edge, the feel of her was more than enough to take him with her.

After, his legs were like pudding, and he sank down to the floor, bringing her with him. For several minutes, they sat under the spray, no longer connected, but still entwined.

He looked down at his wife—it would take some time to get used to that word—and he was taken with her lopsided smile and warm brown eyes, water droplets clinging to the dark, curling lashes.

She lifted her hand to his cheek. "You okay?"

He turned his head and kissed her palm. "I'm perfect." And for the first time in a very long time, that was true.

Next up: Brewing with the Master of Potions...