Special Delivery For: curia_regis, pt 3 Title Resurrection of the Body, pt 3 Authorleni_jess Recipientcuria_regis Rating N17 Word Count ~39,000 words Pairing Lucius/Hermione Summary Hermione's memories of being tortured in Malfoy Manor include images Bellatrix created of Lucius hurting her in a different way. Now she finds herself and Snape helping him using sex magic, working from a script neither of them can read, getting closer to him all the time. Being a Gryffindor really stinks, sometimes. Warnings Sex magic, rock 'n' roll, and Slytherin debates on good and evil. Also angst, romance, and maybe even a touch of fluff (avert!). Oh yes, EWE and Snape is alive, too, though the story's faithful to canon otherwise. More seriously, intermittent dubious consent on both sides. Disclaimers Characters and settings are JKRs. The plot and the magic you don't recognise are mine. No profit made. Author notes Thank you, most heartily, to my beta readers S and M, and to ragdoll for being a wonderfully generous and forgiving and patient mod, waiting out my writer's block. Without my beta readers, who found massive amounts of extra work for me to do, this story would not be anything like what I so much wanted it to be; they forced me to make it better. Heaven bless all beta readers, who work hard for no reward!
Five days after completing the spell for hearing Hermione had the spell for the restoration of vision off by heart: words, actions, and movements. She decided she had better get the next part of the sex show over with, pay the debt before the due date was uncomfortably close.
Once, Lucius had tentatively indicated, with tactfully fuzzy images, that he would like it if she joined him in his bed. She had firmly said "No". That was hard to misinterpret, as she had borrowed a Muggle road sign to use for refusal: the red circle with the diagonal red slash. It was also difficult to present gently, though she tried.
Only then had she remembered that Lucius could hear her now; they still communicated frequently in images. She had said his name, and felt him respond in her mind, a sort of waiting which they both used to signify attention.
She had said carefully, "I don't want to. Please don't ask." Lucius did not again proposition her.
He was going to be very confused when she not only came back to his bed without being asked, but did something for him he could guess she disliked. Heigh ho. Was there a universe in which she was not destined to be Lucius Malfoy's whore, in some sense?
She had read Irene's Ending Stasis in full by now, and had every intention of attempting to make her own copy, later; not yet, in case The Book of Small Changes took offence. It was a consolation to reflect that at the end of the ritual Irene not only had her husband back; she herself was still alive and able to write her overview, and struggle fiercely with The Book of Small Changes for control of what she wrote. The Book had not been willing to let Irene give details of the sex magic, but Hermione was not surprised to find clear indications that the sex became more intimate, more demanding. Irene suggested that the last act of all had been very difficult. But what, Hermione asked herself, could be worse than being raped by Lucius Malfoy, several times in a row, with and without magical compulsion, even if it was only in her head?
Perhaps that had been too cavalier a thought. It was followed by a particularly severe flashback to one of the images Bellatrix had forced on her, where she found herself again lying helpless under Lucius, paralysed, but able to feel and fear everything he did to her, knowing that he was probably enjoying her pain and terror even more than his own mere physical pleasure. It would be unfair to impute such enjoyment to the real man, but it was hard to avoid feeling like that.
When she was able to pull away from memory, and finally to stop shaking, she thought, "Lucius Malfoy, you owe me. If only because you married that bitch's sister. You'd better be civil when all this is done." She put the ritual off to the following evening, and eventually charmed herself to dreamless sleep.
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Hermione's classes ended after noon the next day, and by then she was taut with apprehension, so she returned to her flat instead of going to the library to do research for a medical school assignment as she ordinarily did. Get it over with, and resume some kind of normal life.
When she arrived she gave Tiko the same instructions as before, rejecting his offer of lunch with faint nausea. She went straight from her bathroom to the side of the blind and immobile man lying on the narrow bed that was a twin to her own, and waved the wizarding wireless off.
She hesitated at the bedside, then said as calmly as she could, "Lucius. Still interested in sex?"
His response was wary rather than eager, with the expected confusion behind it.
She hesitated, then said rapidly, calm eroding, "I am going to go down on you."
Unfortunately that only got her reinforced confusion, and she thought irately, What do wizards bloody well say? before she remembered Snape's terminology. Lucius better understand that, or she would just get right down to it.
She muttered, "I'm going to suck you off."
Hermione was astonished to see at once the "No Entry, Go Back" sign. Lucius conveyed, as delicately as he could, his understanding that she did not want to. Now he had to be a gentleman, possibly for the first time in his life?
Gritting her teeth, she said, "You don't get to choose, Lucius. Neither do I. It's going to happen, so the sooner the better."
She could feel the lowering storm clouds blowing up in his mind, but he controlled the anger almost at once. A vigorously flashing question mark appeared over the roiling nimbus image, even as the clouds towered higher.
Hermione hesitated. She did not want to blame this on Snape. Then she remembered that the Malfoy library had been the source of both The Book of Small Changes and Daryavoush's commentary. Carefully she projected an image of the two books, side by side. Yes, he did recognise the binding of the Daryavoush. Puzzlement remained.
She asked, "You've heard of The Book of Small Changes?" and waited for confirmation (not really a surprise, even if he didn't know his family library held a copy), then went on, "It has a long and complicated and very secret ritual called Ending Stasis."
He did not wait for a further question. He did not know the ritual, but the name alone excited him enormously. Patiently Hermione waited out the fireworks display, and then the mix of hope and fear that made her nearly as sick as it made him.
While Lucius was still wrestling with his emotional response she went and sat beside him on the bed, after pulling the sheet away. What was there to be afraid of in helping a helpless man who was both elated and terrified, a man who for whatever reason had been unwilling to allow her to do something he knew she was averse to?
When he calmed down she parted his legs, as before, and moved to kneel between where she could comfortably reach him with her lips.
She put her hands on him first, stroking, cupping, and felt both his physical response and his continuing mental reluctance. She slipped one hand down to cradle his balls, beginning already to tighten, and thumbed the finely-haired velvety skin of the sac gently, before she paid particular attention to each in turn.
She said, "Why don't you turn off your head and think with your cock, Lucius? Most men don't seem to have a problem with that."
She got a flash of feeling that she was almost sure would translate as "arrogant little Mudblood", but there was no more rancour in it than had been in her suggestion.
"Yes, yes, do be quiet," she said soothingly, and leaned forward and started licking the half-erect cock presenting itself to her eagerly, while she petted the silvery blond floss surrounding it.
It did not take long at all. His body was very ready, and hardly to be restrained. While she was more willing than she would have believed possible, doing this was more like attending to the needs of a sick patient than something she herself might gain enjoyment from. She took him into her mouth, wrapping her hands around him so that he was completely enclosed, but she did not use her fingers to pump him. She did not know how picky The Book of Small Changes was, and would take no chances, just held him firmly while her lips sucked vigorously on him or her tongue gently lashed the head of his cock.
It seemed quite extraordinary that no part of his body responded, when his sexual organs were fully excited: no movement, no muscular tension, no hastened, harsh breathing, no flush of colour in his face, no sounds of any kind. She suddenly resented both Stasis and The Book of Small Changes very much on his behalf instead of her own. If she thought this limited response was weird, how must it feel to him? It must drive cruelly home his imprisonment inside his own body.
Afterwards, when Lucius was sinking back towards both physical and mental calm, and a sort of peaceful ease that was ordinarily foreign to his mind, Hermione found that she was crying. She thanked Stasis, then, that he was still blind, and tried not to make a sound. She let him slip out of her mouth, and without looking wiped her lips on the towel she had brought with her, then carefully spat. She had made the effort to swallow for Ron, sometimes, but she was not going to do that for Lucius Malfoy, however suddenly sorry she was for him.
Nonetheless, when she had washed out her mouth and wiped him off with a warm wash-cloth, she lay down beside him and pulled the sheet over both of them, and held him warmly, her head tucked into his shoulder.
Only then did she find out he knew she had been crying. He showed her a fairly abstract image of tears falling, and behind it she could feel regret.
"It wasn't you," she told him, "it was that book. I think I was angry, as much as anything. Don't fret about it, Lucius. It's done, that's what matters. You have your hearing back, and it's not on credit any more."
He accepted that quietly, and did not try to communicate with her further.
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When Hermione arrived in Snape's laboratory at dawn on the day of the next stage of the ritual she said as soon as she saw him, "Done."
As briefly to the point, he said, "Normal intercourse."
She sighed. "I can manage that. I suppose. Yes. Two to go after that. Let's hope their imaginations didn't get too overheated."
"I don't know." Snape sounded uneasy.
She reminded him of what had been her consolation: "Irene Argyra lived through it."
"And was doing it for her husband."
She sighed. "Did you need to remind me? There's no more information leaking out from behind those blank pages?"
He shook his head, so they went on to their rehearsal and the few preparations they needed to make so much in advance.
After the ritual for vision was successfully completed that night Hermione again spent quite some time going over the spell-book and the commentaries' texts with Snape. She wanted to be sure there were no sneaky bits that had concealed themselves from him.
When she shared that thought with him he was a little horrified. Then he confessed that, given the ritual's secretiveness, and the certainty that after this point two different sorts of sexual activity would necessarily be required to cement the magic, depending on whom it was being performed for and by, it would be just as well if she checked every word in the commentaries with him, just in case the books gave her a different message. Hermione nodded; she had worked that out.
When she returned home she went to stand beside Lucius before she commanded a dim light in her bedroom with Lumos. After so long, a bright light might be enough to do more than blind him temporarily; it might do damage. Or was that Muggle scientific thinking again? When she lifted the eye-mask his eyes opened abruptly as light penetrated the thin skin of his eyelids for the first time in six months, and focussed on her almost at once. She felt his astonishment, and felt him driving back the need to weep, too.
Hermione sat beside him quickly and gripped his shoulders.
"You've probably been able to see for a couple of hours," she said quietly, "but of course it's been dark in here, and you've had your eyes covered." She went on, "We started the ritual for sight at eight o'clock; it's nearly midnight, now."
Hermione felt the question, and involuntarily answered mentally rather than in words, giving him an image of herself standing inside a blur of lines traced in hot wax and sand and sea-water, wand lifted towards the gold cauldron, and of Snape standing watchfully back, one hand resting on a large leather-bound book.
Then she smiled ruefully, and put it into words. "I do the spells. Severus translates for me. Or rather, he teaches me the spells by rote, because they don't want to be translated. He can explain the intent. I have to do the spells, even though he's the one who can read them, because it has to be a woman."
Dryly she repeated what The Book of Small Changes said: "'You will then do as you must, within the next ten days, woman to man or man to woman, as is written.' Then it takes study of three separate books to find out what's 'written' this time. It's not visible until just before the spell is to be cast."
Lucius enquired, with remarkable delicacy, what she would have to do to confirm the spell for vision, with an image of Hermione sitting at his side, one hand on his body, and a small pair of flashing question marks.
With careful cheer she answered, "Just straight sex. Well, I don't know about you, Mr Malfoy, but I think of it as straight sex. No alternative action, this time, but the real man-woman McCoy."
Hastily she corrected that, and for want of words, or rather from a reluctance to use vernacular terms, she flung at him an image of herself astride his hips, moving rapidly, followed by a diagram straight out of one of her medical studies textbooks. She could feel his mental laughter before he sobered, and a sense of apology.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "You didn't ask me to do this, Lucius. No one made me do it."
She did not mention that Severus Snape had been less than forthcoming; initially he had probably not been aware that anything but spell-casting was required.
She finished, "Draco is my friend, and you did your best to protect him. So let's call it square."
A frivolous image of an outlined square with a question mark dashing about inside it, bouncing off the lines, presented itself to her, and she laughed aloud. "What can you expect from me but Muggle metaphors? Draco got used to it; maybe in the next month or so you will too. His life is worth this. So is yours, I find."
She stood up, saying, "I'm very tired, I need to sleep."
She did not ask if he could go to sleep; she knew very well by now that he was fully conscious all the time. She did not know how his brain could cope with that; even in Stasis there should be experiences to process.
She only said, "Would you like me to leave the candles lit?"
A small red circle with a slash across it popped up briefly, and she nodded.
"Thanks, Lucius. I'll see you in the morning."
When she was ready for bed, however, she hesitated, then asked, "Would you like me to sleep beside you?"
Instant assent was trailed by uncertainty.
She said, "I wouldn't ask if I didn't feel like doing it," and got under the sheet with him, pulling the light quilt up over both of them. "Goodnight."
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Hermione overslept a little the next day, a Sunday. Later she spent mutual free time with Snape, starting to understand and commit to memory the spell for the restoration of bodily movement. As she might have expected, this was both elaborate and long.
Once Snape had taken her through it for the first time she bit her lip and said, "It's going to take a long time to learn all that."
After a moment she added, "And I meant to spend more time at home with Lucius, too. Well, the house-elf will just have to hold books for him."
"How is he liking being able to see again?"
"Very happy with it, what do you think? Ever since he got his hearing back I've had Tiko read the Daily Prophet to him, and the more sensible bits of Witch Weekly, and anything else he wants. Tiko was still doing that this morning while I had breakfast, I suppose because reading something as large as a newspaper without the use of your hands, even when you're propped up on pillows, is difficult.
"When I left he had half my library strewn over the bed, and Tiko turning pages. I told him he'd go blind if he went on reading at that rate, and it's remarkable how easily he passed on the image of a thundercloud scowl without being able to change expression. Then he had the nerve to tell me that if I wasn't blind he wouldn't be. He's become very good at communicating in images."
"You taught him," Snape reminded her.
"Yes, well, images only need practice. He had every motivation. And to simplify things I've found more useful shorthand signs in the Muggle world than among our kind, that's certain."
She was not sure what Snape's rare approving smile was for, but did not reject it on that account.
Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon committing the ritual to memory, and the magical processes it required; she had found doing it this way made learning the nonsense syllables of the spell easier, as she had something solid to tie them to. Later she started work on the spell itself. Well into the evening Snape sent her home after he found her dozing over the pages of Irene's overview, and told her to sleep.
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Classes ended early on Monday, and Hermione decided that she would give herself a rest from learning the spell. Instead – what a pleasant change – she would pay her debt to the ritual and have intercourse with Lucius. Thinking of the event in severely clinical terms made it a little easier.
Once she could never have imagined anything she was less likely to choose to do. Hermione doubted if merely wishing to be a good Samaritan – a metaphor opaque to the wizarding world, what did they say to mean disinterested helpfulness? – would have been enough to get her voluntarily into that, not with him. Perhaps these months of being close to him had made that difference.
Her mind frivolously wandered away after metaphors, reflecting that disinterested helpfulness must be quite rare if the one reference had persisted for two thousand years. Irene had certainly not been disinterested; she had been passionately determined to rescue her husband from what she believed to be an undeserved punishment. Though it did seem likely she had loved him enough not to care how deserved or not it was.
Hermione thought how strange it was that after more than seven years in the wizarding world, when she had spent less than two months of the year with her Muggle parents, she still obstinately thought as a Muggleborn. Her language was still heavily laced with Muggle terms, though nowadays most of her cultural references were from the wizarding world, and her approach to resolving problems was almost invariably scientific rather than magical. There had even been the odd occasion when the Muggle science studies she had kept up during the summer vacations, determined not to be helpless and ignorant, had given her knowledge not available to the wizarding world.
Only a few months ago Madam Pomfrey, whom she had recently been invited to call Poppy, had been helpless to bring down a high fever in a patient by magic. Poppy had been desperate to find a stronger spell, but Hermione had pushed her into using simple Muggle physical means, immersing him in a bath full of ice-water. That had worked, and Poppy had been unduly impressed, asking if it was something new she had learned in her Muggle medical studies.
Hermione had laughed till her laughter turned to hysterical sobs, which Poppy had dealt with in a very old-fashioned way common to both worlds, and then explained that no, you could see that kind of thing on Muggle television any day of the week. Explaining television was rather harder; she had finally settled for "Muggle entertainment like a play presented entirely in wizarding photographs". Poppy had not been impressed by that, but conceded that if it could spread useful knowledge it might be worth having, for Muggles.
Reluctantly Hermione forced herself to start thinking about what she was planning to do with Lucius, rather than almost anything else that darted into her frightened mind. First, the image she had given him, of herself astride his prone body, was how she would need to do it, and that in itself should be easier than sitting in his lap, compelled by his hands, or, far worse, lying under him.
She told herself, not for the first time, or probably the hundredth either, that she would be in control. That was the key to mastering her tendency to panic. The Book of Small Changes should not object if she used her hands to rouse Lucius completely, and only then mounted him; that would be very difficult to do otherwise. It would make the experience more tolerable, too. Using her hands kept him at a safe distance. She had not been precisely clinical about it, the last two times; she had even found a certain enjoyment in it. She suspected, however, that it was power, rather than sex, that she had been enjoying, however aesthetically pleasing his body was. Certainly she was not interested in having a climax herself.
When it came to do the thing, she found that Lucius objected to her lack of interest. It took quite a lot of mental to-and-fro, and in the end Hermione asking explicit questions aloud, to narrow down what it was he felt, to make him articulate it, and to understand why he wanted her to join him in sexual pleasure. It was a relief to discover that what she looked on as mere male pride (powerful though she knew it to be) did not lead him to object. It wasn't a feeling like "if a woman has sex with me of course she will have an orgasm".
Eventually, with astonishment, and against his resistance, she discovered it was a sort of tenderness moving him. Hermione planned to do for him something she very much did not wish to do. He felt it would be easier if she sought her own pleasure as well as his.
At last she compromised, saying, "If it happens, it happens, but truly, Lucius, I don't feel like making a lot of effort for it. This is for you, not for me."
His resignation had a distinct flavour of "unnatural martyr" to it. Certainly the word she supplied for his feeling was hers, not his.
One thing the argument had done: Hermione was not, at present, in the least frightened of having intercourse with Lucius Malfoy. It seemed like a good time to do it. She did not, this time, demand fastidiously that he be absolutely and freshly clean before she touched his body. She knew quite well he was clean; Tiko had seen to that as he did every morning. She found, too, that she looked forward to smelling sweet grass, and winter air, and later sea breeze on a remote beach, rather than soap, however carefully chosen to match his body.
She started by tasting his mouth. That was something she had found real pleasure in, and she wanted it again. She knelt astride his hips and kissed him, at leisure and at length, playing with his hair, stroking his chest, sucking on his tiny nipples, enjoying all the different tastes and textures. Her mouth drifted to his throat, but the absence of a pulse there was disconcerting, so she returned to his mouth and then started kissing his closed eyelids. They fluttered, and she ran a light tongue caress along his lashes, first one eye, then the other, then outlined with her tongue the elegant shape of the eye itself and the bones of brow and cheek.
At that point she received a rather insistent message: "Enough play, get serious!"
Hermione laughed softly, and told him, "I thought you wanted me to join you? If you do, you'll have to wait a while yet."
An image of over-excited, highly coloured exclamation marks, dancing impatiently, and flexing suggestively, presented itself, and she lifted her head long enough to say, "If you can make so clear and fancy an image, Lucius, you're not in that much of a hurry to get down to business."
When she slid further down his body she was already aware that it would not be necessary to use her hands to bring him to readiness, but she touched him all the same, first with a stroking finger, which got her a pained mental scream of frustration, then firmly, taking him in her hands and kneading him. Quite evidently that was more appropriate.
Cautiously she touched herself with a fingertip, and was surprised to find herself quite damp. She had not expected that. Touching him was almost more aesthetic than sensual, though she had felt a growing warmth, but while her mind had been appreciating his body as a living art work her own body had clearly responded to it more basically. Thoughtfully she moved so that she could caress his erect length with those full, wet lips, and got an instant, strongly positive response, both physical and mental.
Show time. She took him in her hands again and placed him carefully, then slid on to him, slowly. There was no discomfort at all, and she felt him register that with approval (and a sort of "See, I told you so!" hanging in the background). Rather more briskly she seated him fully inside her, then she began to move, carefully angling her body as she had learned to do when making love with Ron, to try to ensure that she achieved orgasm with him rather than needing to stroke herself, or have Ron stroke her, afterwards. She had effectively forgotten her belief that this would not work with Lucius. There was pleasure in this movement, no pain or even discomfort, and how could she be afraid of a man who was not only incapable of compelling her in the slightest way, but also very willing for his body to provide her pleasure, in whatever way seemed good to her to choose?
When Hermione felt him climax inside her – distinctly different from the normal feel of having a man thrusting hard to achieve that – she was able to let herself go too. Later, lying across him, her hands idly flexing in his hair, and her tongue occasionally stroking the nearest nipple, she felt very pleased indeed with herself.
Her own climax had been satisfying, but the real achievement was knowing there was no need to be frightened of Lucius – certainly not while his control of his body was out to lunch like this. A Lucius in control of himself, and physically able to control her, might be different.
Lucius appeared to be a very contented man, when she roused enough to check for his state of mind. She ignored the suggestion that she do that again, some time soon, but she did not reject it, either. He did not understand the principle of inoculation, but she thought it would make a good excuse, if she ever found herself shocked at the idea of actually wanting to make love with Lucius Malfoy. Only later did her choice of words surprise her.
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Movement
ritual date Thursday 16 September 1999
That confidence sustained her through the next few days of hard work committing the longest spell of all to memory. It wavered when, on the morning of the ritual to restore movement, Snape refused to tell her what she had to do with Lucius to confirm it.
He said flatly, "Concentrate, Miss Granger. Tonight will be very difficult; you don't need to be distracting yourself with speculation."
After he had snapped at her for inattention three times in the first two minutes of the full rehearsal of the spell she apologised, pulled herself together, and forced herself, for the next couple of hours, to concentrate solely on the words of the spell and sketching out the associated movements and actions.
At the end of the rehearsal Hermione sank down onto a chair and said thankfully, "I'm glad I only have to go to classes now, not to give them, like you."
Snape did not seem concerned with his own mental weariness; he had been less stressed than she. He asked, "A long day ahead? You need a good rest this afternoon, to relax, and prepare yourself."
"I'm cutting the afternoon seminar," she admitted, "I have permission to attend a different one, this week."
Snape's faint smile had its customary sourness, but that seemed only token when he remarked, almost affectionately, "A most conscientious student."
He packed her off to St Mungo's before she remembered he had still not told her what the sex magic next required of her, but she was tired enough not to care by now, and for the rest of the morning was glad to be able to think of nothing but the demands of diagnosis using a wand.
Hermione did rest, and returned to Snape's personal laboratory confident and prepared for the exacting ritual ahead. That went faultlessly, though it ran almost to midnight. They were another hour cleaning up afterwards, Hermione soaked in nervous sweat and Snape not much better. She accepted when he suggested she take a bath, though she chose the Slytherin girls' bathroom rather than his own, which he offered her. A cleansing spell refreshed her clothes and robes sufficiently for her to put them on again without distaste.
She did not repeat her demand to know what was next for her. By now she suspected strongly it was going to be something she would dislike; there were, after all, not too many options left for different sex acts between a man and a woman. Tomorrow night would be soon enough to hear the bad news.
She was tired enough to crawl into bed and sleep instantly without any exchange with Lucius beyond a brief, "Good night." She slept in her own bed.
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Severus Snape had passed on Professor McGonagall's invitation for her to join them at the professors' table for dinner at Hogwarts the next night, since she and Professor Snape were doing so much work together. Hermione accepted, thinking this was going to feel very strange, after the seven years just completed of sitting in the Great Hall looking up at the school staff. She knew all of the teachers.
Minerva McGonagall welcomed her formally, but she did not announce her presence to the students, which relieved her. Nor did she quiz her about the ritual she and Snape were carrying out, or their progress. In the end, after some enquiry from Poppy into the progress of her Healer studies, she and Snape and Aurora Sinistra had a scholarly conversation about research methods into which Professor Flitwick put the occasional sentence, in between discussing school affairs with the Headmistress.
Afterwards Snape left her in his sitting room while he conducted his usual sweep of the Slytherin dungeons, looking for signs of problems, she knew by now, rather than evil-doers. When he returned he took her to his laboratory and fetched out Irene, and the two commentaries, but not The Book of Small Changes itself. Once they were seated at the reading desk he opened Irene's Ending Stasis to the section on the ritual for movement, and had her read that again. She raised her eyebrows at him – it briefly vexed her that she could not cock a single eyebrow, as Lucius Malfoy used to be able to do.
Snape said bluntly, "Irene didn't turn a hair at the sex in this part of the ritual, but I expect you will, unless you and Mr Weasley were rather more adventurous than I would have expected."
With resignation Hermione said, "Thank you for that consolation, Professor Snape. Why don't you just tell me the worst, then go away while I scream and throw things?"
"Anal intercourse."
At her frozen look Snape opened his mouth again, scowling, but Hermione said hastily, "I know what it is, you don't have to be more explicit."
She closed her eyes, bent her head, and sensed Snape was watching her whole body close in on itself, while she wrapped her arms around herself and hunched on the stool for a few minutes, every muscle tensed. She felt much smaller, suddenly, and much younger.
At last Hermione lifted her head again, though the tension hardly relaxed at all, and said without emotion, "Oh Merlin. That was number two on my list of likely, and number one on the hate-like-hell-to-do-that list. I've never done that with anyone, and I don't want to do it now, either. I kept getting stuck on how I could do it, when I could make myself consider it at all."
Quite gently though without obvious sympathy Snape said, "I can tell you how to make it as easy as possible."
Drearily Hermione replied, "So can textbooks. I read up on everything the books said was possible a few weeks ago, once you told me we were doing sex magic too, just to stop myself having nightmares. It doesn't help."
She shook herself. "No use going catatonic," she muttered, and at his look of enquiry said impatiently, "Oh, freezing with fright. I must stop this. I'm using more Muggle technical terms than ever now I'm living entirely in the wizarding world. Do you realise that this summer I spent a total of two days with my parents?"
"Concentrate, Miss Granger," Snape said, sounding unsympathetic. Rather ruining that effect he asked, "Does using their language help you to keep it at a distance?"
"Yes," she said ruefully. "It's just a form of twittering with terror; don't take any notice."
"If you go about it carefully," he offered, "anal sex doesn't have to be a problem, even for a woman, who probably won't get out of it quite what a man would."
Hermione snarled and Snape withdrew the explanation he had been about to make. No doubt her textbooks had told her all about the male prostate too, and maybe more than he personally would wish to know.
"This won't get baby a new pair of shoes," she sighed, after another uncomfortable silence, and did not bother to apologise for obscurity this time. No doubt the general intent was clear. "All right, Professor Snape, tell me."
So he gave her the same lecture he would have given to any adolescent boy afraid of his own curiosity, and if some of it sounded a trifle odd when addressed to a woman the sense was clear: prepare carefully, use lots of lubrication, keep your muscles relaxed, go slow, avoid major or sudden movements....
"At least," he finished, "you don't have to worry about cautioning your partner to be careful."
Her eyes widened, and she sounded panicked as she exclaimed, "Don't I? That ritual we did last night has given Lucius movement back – Snape, I do not want to be raped by Lucius Malfoy for real!"
Snape was concentrating too hard on soothing her alarm to take her up on her thoughtless exclamation. "Calm down, Miss Granger, and remember what Irene said about being afraid the ritual at that point had not worked properly for her husband. She doesn't say any more, but it seems to me that the ability to move the body and its limbs may come back by stages, rather than all at once."
"In that case," Hermione said with shaky resolution, "I am going home to Lucius to get it over with right now, before he's got much control over how it's done."
"Test," he advised, "and find out how much movement control Lucius does have now. And bear in mind – it's true he can be an inconsiderate bastard, but he owes you a lot, and he may remember it."
Hermione allowed her expression to show her doubt of that, and noticed Snape clearly was thinking she might know Lucius a lot better than he had supposed.
Although she had felt that Lucius was being honest with her, in their mental contacts, there was the possibility that he had learned to conceal things from her: easy enough, since communication was all in the form of deliberately constructed images. On the other hand, he had certainly not had much success concealing strong feelings from her. And on the third hand, when he did have speech back, he would certainly be able to lie to her.
Snape forged on, over her alarm, "The other thing is, if he wants to be helpful, to make it as easy as possible for you, he has the experience. Though it always seemed to me Lucius never really liked having sex with his own kind, it was something he made himself do – some arcane Malfoy principle, perhaps. Not that that helped his partners, I suppose."
Hermione snapped, "That's really encouraging – I have to have unnatural sex with a bastard who doesn't know what consideration is, and on top of that he doesn't like it! If he can control his body, and he wants nothing more than to get it over with – Aaagh!"
She broke off abruptly and Snape said anxiously, "He won't like it if you tie him to the bed, either, Miss Granger, but you can do that, if you need the added security. It might help a little."
She shook her head. Then she said, a lot calmer, "I think you're wrong about his not liking it. He said once –" she stopped again.
Very sharply Snape demanded, "Don't tell me he had Potter as well as me!" For a moment she stared at him, then closed her mouth and shook her head firmly. "Lightning blast Lucius, how many students in this school has he tried to corrupt?"
She waved off that concern. "I don't know that he made a habit of it, but from something he said, he'd used it with a younger male friend in a stressful situation, and to take their minds off that they – ah..."
She eyes her former teacher warily, trying to estimate the degree of propriety he would require.
Snape offered, "One of the current expressions is 'fucked like bunnies'."
Hermione stared, then giggled, then gasped, "Have you ever seen rabbits mating?"
Bemused, Snape shook his head.
"The male goes at it like a crazed clockwork, it's true, but when he's done the poor little thing just – just falls off, and lies there panting."
She laughed harder, and before her laughter overcame her reflected that probably no one had ever brought Snape so close to breaking up. He had choked, then snorted, before he folded his lips tightly.
When he spoke, though his tone was stern, his lip was quivering slightly again. "I shall treasure that image. I would advise you not to have it in your mind when you next see Lucius, though."
The semi-hysterical laughter cut off. "No," she agreed more soberly, "but maybe I'm not as frightened of him as I used to be."
He cautioned her, "Don't forget that for the first time in a long while Lucius may soon be in a position to do whatever it is he happens to want. You said a few weeks ago he was both polite and patient; remember he's a Slytherin. We wait till the right moment, and we don't well tolerate being laughed at."
She bit her lip, hard, and he said sharply, "Don't do that!"
She exhaled deliberately slowly, then said, "Living in a war zone does really strange things to people's heads – it did to Harry, and to me, and maybe to masterful Mr Malfoy, too. I think I'll go home, Professor Snape, and take your suggestion: I'll see how Lucius is. For that matter, if he has only partial movement, he may be a very frightened man right now. Certainly this morning he was quite uncommunicative, and I haven't seen him since."
Snape was thinking of suggesting to her that Lucius Malfoy hardly deserved consideration of his fears from her, before he realised that the prospect of being needed, and able, to help him was steadying Miss Granger considerably.
Before she left he arranged that she should return the next afternoon, to start learning the spell for the last ritual, for restoration of speech.
He said darkly, "Not that I'm sure the world really needs a Lucius Malfoy able to talk," which made her smile faintly.
≈≈≈LMHG≈≈≈
Hermione went straight to her tiny bathroom for a self-indulgent shower and made preparations along the lines her textbooks suggested. Then, in her dressing-gown, she went and sat down beside Lucius in the dark. She kept a hand on her wand, in a pocket, just in case Lucius Malfoy the predator was back. Her free hand touched him, then sought for his hands; as usual his arms lay at his sides, hands slightly cupped and inward turned.
As she sought for him in her mind she received an overwhelming sense of relief replacing fear, and knew that something was disturbing him very much.
"Lucius? Can you move at all?"
The apprehension returned full force, and she felt his right hand rotate then move gently beside her hip, the fingertips caressing lightly as his fingers opened and closed like Crookshanks' claws kneading. She took the hand in her left, and abandoned her wand, reaching over his body to take the other hand. That too could move, but not beyond the wrist. She questioned him carefully, and discovered he could also move his toes and feet, swivel his ankles, open his mouth and lick his lips, twitch his nose, and turn his head a little on his neck, but no more.
She said reassuringly, "Then movement is starting to come back. That's good."
She received a panicky simplified image of a body outlined in black save for the flesh-coloured extremities, with several large red Xs dashing frantically about, unable to settle, but clearly conveying a deep fear of continuing paralysis. Lucius had certainly adapted very thoroughly to the Muggle use of signs and symbols.
"Easy, Lucius. It should be all right. Snape says Irene's book suggests that this is gradual, rather than all at once. Control of all bodily movement involves much larger systems than say, hearing."
She clasped his hands together and wrapped her own about them, hoping to calm him. "I wish I'd realised this before we did the ritual, the night before last, but I had no idea. I could have warned you. I'm sorry, Lucius."
There was no sense of blame in his mind, rather of gratitude. Hermione reflected that Lucius Malfoy must feel very unlike his normal self a lot of the time these days. This was probably not the best time to reveal to him what the sex magic needed next; let him get some ease of mind back. On the other hand, she didn't want him feeling too confident and in charge; after six months of Stasis it might go to his head, and in any case his ability to control himself might be severely eroded. Tomorrow night, perhaps.
The following evening Lucius's hands were capable of a stronger grip, but he still could not exert much leverage. He could now move his forearm from the elbow, but not lift his arm. Similarly, he could rotate his lower leg from the knee, but not raise the knee much itself.
Hermione made encouraging and approving noises, and discovered Lucius had a much better control of his emotions now that improvement was clearly discernable. She took the opportunity to point out that while Tiko had been spending hours each day exercising his muscles, this was not going to be as effective as his doing it for himself.
Lucius must have had a flash of how weak and helpless he would be, if Hermione had not insisted on this from the very beginning, from the time Harry had taken charge of him, and overcame the flare of terror with difficulty. She caught a strong sense of gratitude, and took the opportunity to dismiss it. Hermione suspected strongly that gratitude, in Lucius Malfoy, could have its own traps, which he might bite very hard to free himself from.
Hermione carefully concealed how very disturbing she found it that he was still not breathing, his heart was not beating, and hence his blood could not be circulating either. Stasis still had a brutally tight hold on him.
≈≈≈LMHG≈≈≈
When Lucius was calm enough to recollect that the most recently performed ritual had to be confirmed by sex between them, he asked what was needed this time. He was anxious to regain full movement, and to do that was prepared to undertake whatever was needed, which was probably persuading her to do what the ritual demanded. His left hand was lying across her thighs at the time, and he felt her muscles tense. He had done his own thinking on the subject, but carefully refrained from sharing his opinions with her. If she had been repulsed by the idea of taking him in her mouth and reluctant to have him in her body, Salazar knew how she would respond to the need for greater intimacy, and by now he understood how vital her willingness was to his recovery.
In a tight little voice that reflected her physical tension she told him, baldly. Lucius was not impressed; that was not something he was in the habit of doing with women, not if the sex was for mutual pleasure, at least. He was able to project to her his wish to soothe her quite untouched by sexual enthusiasm.
In the last few weeks he had gained the ability to conceal his thoughts from her where he felt the need, or at least to pass them through a filter of discretion. It helped that he passed them by images, unless they needed to exchange detailed information, painstakingly spelled out, which required self-control and made self-editing automatic. At last that limitation had a use, though he was not glad of it. Lucius was still prone to spill his stronger emotions shamefully all over her mind, however, exposing himself to her in a way he hated but could not control. Hermione had been strong for him often enough; now he needed to be strong for her, or he might be imprisoned like this for ever. It irritated him profoundly that he could not use words to calm her; it would be so much easier than images, which had an unfortunate tendency to be too immediate.
Hermione became aware of his irritation, and indignation pulled her out of her growing fright. Lucius seized on her restored ability to catch the images he was trying to transmit. He had decided that trying to reassure her about the sex itself was useless just now; it would be more effective to assure her he was harmless, to remind her that she was doing this, not he. Deliberately he transmitted an image similar to Severus Snape's suggestion: of herself standing by his bed, wand in hand, and strong magical bindings pinning his hips and thighs to the bed.
This met with a mildly miserable agreement, so he suggested something else: lie down beside him, holding him as she had several times done, and calm herself by cuddling up against him. It was not clear to him why doing so should calm her, but it had done, and consoled her, before, so he was ready to suggest it again. He followed it up with an image of her hands taking his and wrapping his arms around her body, and of his hands petting her gently. This was astonishingly well received, which again seemed quite irrational to him, but he was not going to quarrel with her emotional reflexes. Hermione seemed to be quite glad to do as he suggested. Poor little Gryffindor, overmastered by her noble impulses.
She cried for a while, then stopped, and sighed, several times, before she murmured, "Thank you, Lucius; I was being stupid."
He sent her a question he had carefully constructed while his hands brushed her hair, and her shoulders, and his fingers soothed the nape of her neck; a pleasing exercise in itself, with the definite assurance of sexual pleasure ahead. Was she afraid of him, or of the act The Book of Small Changes demanded?
It was a relief to discover she was not afraid of him, not at present, just as he recognised that normally her fear would not disturb him at all. He spent a while trying to overcome her fright, which he truly thought as irrational as her willingness to allow contact with his body to comfort her. Eventually he was reduced – after a cautious query as to whether she knew about this – to replaying for her his sensations, being fucked by the young Severus Snape.
He was interested to discover it was not really news to her that they had been lovers. Severus must trust her to a remarkable degree. But then both of them lived more in the mind than the body, though both, he suspected, were capable of far more profound bodily experiences than he had ever managed to impose. He ignored his momentary irritation at that; Malfoy arrogance could have its field day later, if he did this right.
Lucius was amused to discover that she had assumed it had been the other way around, exclusively, and managed to convey to her his scorn at the idea of being afraid of anything Severus could do to him. As an afterthought he also passed to her images of Severus's pleasure in being taken by him. He did not realise how clearly she perceived a difference between his experienced and self-controlled enjoyment, and Severus's incredulous submission to totally new sensations. His main point, however, was not their mutual enjoyment, but the ease with which they had achieved it. He did not reveal how extremely careful he had been not to offend his partner. Severus might have been a skinny eighteen-year-old with very limited sexual experience, but as a magician, and as an enemy, he had been formidable even then. Lucius had not wanted his vengeful attention.
Since Hermione seemed to be quite calm now, Lucius turned to strictly practical matters, and discovered her textbooks had informed her impeccably. His fair eyebrows twitched at the thought of allowing a mere book to dictate one's sex life, before he reflected that he had met people like that before; Severus Snape, for example.
By this time Lucius was suffering from considerable frustration, though it did not express itself physically at all, and he was careful to conceal it. However long it took, he had to wait this out. It did however lead him to encourage her to get the sex over and done with. No point in letting her know that his interest currently focussed on the act itself, rather than the aftermath of security, no matter how much depended upon that.
Hermione slipped off the bed, and moved the sheet back, then began taking off his nightshirt. Lucius wondered why she did not use her wand as she had done last time, but did not ask. Let Miss Granger do whatever kept her calm and happy. Maybe she was reminding herself, yet again, that she was in control here. He could snarl about that some other time, when she was less likely to notice.
She said, "Going for lubricant," and returned with a bowl and a bottle. He managed to turn his head to read the label: olive oil. Fair enough; inert, not able to harm her body or his, but effective, and minimally messy.
He did not know Hermione had stood in her kitchen resisting the impulse to have hysterics while she contemplated the label on that bottle, and also on the other, much more expensive, bottle labelled "Virgin Olive Oil" which she kept for salad dressings. Right now Hermione did not want to think about virginity. She had not enjoyed her previous first time, and that had been with a boy she loved.
She stripped off her own clothing briskly, fighting reluctance. She had panicked about this for days and was tired of it; whatever it was going to be like, just get it done. Lucius did seem to be willing to help, as Professor Snape had suggested. As Hermione straightened up from easing off her panties she caught the image Lucius was projecting: put herself and the bowl of olive oil in reach of his hands and he would see to the rest. She flinched from the idea, but it might be easier than doing it alone.
It felt very strange. Merlin and Nimuë, did it feel strange. A long, slim, slick finger pressed against that opening that nothing had previously penetrated. It pressed gently in against the resistance of the ring of muscle, with the unearthly patience Lucius Malfoy could command when he wanted co-operation, and explored till she relaxed, realising that this was not going to hurt. A second finger entered her, the pressure stronger now, marginally uncomfortable, but certainly not painful. Hermione carefully refrained from visualising his erection. No way he could prepare her fully for that.
Her attention was caught by his other hand, stroking gently and very specifically between her legs, while those intrusive fingers rotated gently, opening her. She gasped and leaned forward involuntarily, willing a closer, firmer touch. Both of his hands responded as if wired to her nerves.
Internally Lucius Malfoy smiled. Got her! He did not let her escape. He was patience itself until he had her helpless and totally dependent on him. So much for her control. She was his now, but he would keep the bargain, do what they had to do to satisfy the ritual, and bring her to a climax the like of which, with any luck, Master Weasley had never given her, and satisfy himself. Oh yes. That, he wanted, and Miss Granger's body was astonishingly addictive. He would worry about that some other time.
Lucius saw that Hermione's mind had decamped long ago. When his fingers withdrew she obviously felt it only as a deprivation, not a warning. Her impatience for satisfaction made her welcome the feel of the blunt, strong, oil-coated cockhead pressing against her. When he pulled her onto it, it hurt her a little, but she only gasped and sank her fingernails into his shoulders.
She was not thinking, and Lucius was very careful that she should not start, encouraging her body to move on him slowly. He had waited for this till he was frantic, but she was further gone. Now his fingers moved on her with delicate, absolute confidence, in time with her movements, and he drove her into dissolution before he submitted to it himself.
It did not occur to him until much later that once he had her welcoming him he could have done what he pleased without reference to her wishes. If he had, quite involuntarily, waited for her to be ready for climax before he acted, that was a worry. Maybe some Slytherin reflex had cut in, knowing he was still totally dependent on her. He could hope. He very much did not wish to need more from Miss Granger than he was already aware of.
Hermione slept, briefly, like the dead. When she woke, Lucius's awareness was waiting, and it was her turn to transmit gratitude. He in turn dismissed it. Lucius was perfectly willing to addict her to his body, but letting her know what was happening was not desirable. He had suggested, each time they had had sex to satisfy the ritual, that she might come to him again solely for their mutual pleasure, and so far she had refrained. Maybe next time.
A couple of months ago that had been the least of his problems, but now he was aware both of his frustration and of the supreme need to satisfy the ritual she was following for him, Salazar knew why. Did she really value Draco so much? She had said nothing about him for ages. Why was this stupid, sweet little Gryffindor torturing herself to save him? In anyone's terms, she owed him nothing. Was she doing this because she loved Draco? He would kill both of them. No, no, that would be a mistake. He wanted Draco alive. He wanted her alive too. Stupid, noble, stubborn little Mudblood. Oh Salazar help me, I haven't fallen in love, have I? It's enough of a handicap to love my son. I won't. I won't.
When Hermione surfaced she found a waiting question mark. She followed it. Why? Draco, yes, she might have her reasons for wanting to help him as she had done over the last year. And he was grateful; he had not known, then, how grateful he would be, how conscious that he could not help his son as much as he wished. It still surprised him, but he was used to it. But why should she help Lucius? So much pain, so much terror, to save a man who was nothing to her.
She had no problems answering that. Lucius was Draco's father. Draco loved him; of that she was quite confident. Lucius allowed her to hold him close for a long time and tried very hard not to fall apart before he asked why care for Draco should create care for himself.
She could not give him words, except by spelling them out, but again the feeling overwhelmed him. How he hated Gryffindors and their emotions. Unfortunately it was impossible single-mindedly to hate the slight young woman who sat up beside him smiling and wiped his eyes as well as her own. Draco would be ruined for ever, if that was what he was associating with. Lucius snapped and snarled restlessly, and turned his head to kiss her fingers.
She kissed his mouth, gently, but not briefly, and when he responded without thinking she lay down beside him again and clung and kissed him as deeply as he suddenly wished to be kissed, while he suppressed his fury that he could not take command as wholly as he wished. Soon. Oh please, soon.
≈≈≈LMHG≈≈≈
There was over a week before the next spell in the ritual, which as far as Hermione knew would complete the cycle. That last encounter with Lucius had relieved her of an enormous burden of anxiety, since he had proved to be trustworthy and helpful. As a prophylactic against the horrors of whatever the last of the binding sex magic rituals turned out to be Hermione allowed herself to get into the habit of making love with Lucius every night before she went to sleep. Very well, maybe just having sex. Whatever, it was more than enjoyable, it was sustaining.
≈≈≈LMHG≈≈≈
Lucius was elated, irritated, and alarmed by turns, because he found it more than enjoyable too. He did not tell her that he was feeling less trustworthy by the day.
Towards the end of the ten days between spells Lucius had effectively regained full control of his body, though it was still quite weak. That maddened him as well, but he exercised determinedly, following the suggestions in textbooks Hermione brought home from university for him. It also drove him crazy that he still could not make a sound, and more so that Hermione found his mental explosive visual riffs on the subject amusing, even as she tried to console him.
Tiko had started keeping out of Lucius's way when Hermione was not around, which he belatedly recognised as a bad sign. He had to control his temper. Had to. Nothing must frighten Hermione off before the ritual was completed. Lucius would not acknowledge a feeling that nothing must frighten Hermione, full stop. By the end of the ten days he had some sort of emotional balance again, and Tiko seemed to have lost his wariness.
Though he had better control of himself and his reactions, however, Lucius was confused by his thoughts as well as his emotions. He should be planning for the future. Hermione had taken him in because he needed help, for Draco's sake, and because Harry could not offer him the level of committed care needed. She was not going to keep him for ever, like a pet, and he did not want to be kept. He thought.
Lucius was still, as far as he knew, legally in limbo between life and death. When Draco had last come to see him he had not looked well, ridden by exhaustion and effort to do all the things Lucius was incapable of doing, and might still be. Whether either of them still had a home, property, or even a few galleons in cash he had no idea. Somewhere, he supposed, he had an ex-wife, and was glad of it. Narcissa had left him in anger at what he had brought on her and Draco, and most particularly on Draco; however little he liked it he understood her feeling. At least his personal relationships should not be in a hopeless tangle when he was once more man alive, and acknowledged as such. The resurrection of Lucius Malfoy promised to be rife with confusion and provoking inconvenience of other sorts, at the very least.
And what was he doing? Planning what next to do in bed with a simple-minded, sweet Gryffindor who didn't know enough to be afraid of him. Folly. She wasn't just a Gryffindor, she was Muggleborn, a Mudblood, for Salazar's sake. He should be planning to take advantage of her interest in him, to enslave her more deeply, to use her to claw back to some degree of acceptance and safety, and was deeply disgusted with himself that he could not develop an interest in making appropriate plans. At the very least he should be planning to persuade her to seek Kingsley Shacklebolt's influence in his favour.