Continuing Tales


A Harry Potter Story
by MizSphinx

Part 11 of 12

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When Hermione woke up the next morning, she found herself in her bed, tucked comfortably beneath her sheets. Upon rising and swinging her legs off the bed, she further discovered herself wearing one of her yellow t-shirts and a pair of light-yellow cotton knickers. The knickers – moreover, the fact that she was wearing underwear – was the trigger for the memories of the night prior.

A reel of images scrolled across her mind's eye. She saw herself at Fran's waiting for Legolas; herself retelling him what Draco had said; holding hands with Lucius on their walk to her flat; her legs wrapped around Lucius' hips as they kissed feverishly against her wall, her sitting on Lucius' lap, her dress down and around her hips, her head thrown back with abandon as she rode his…

Hermione bowed her head and covered her face with her palms. The age old mixture of shock and horror upon realising the mistake of what one had done and with who one had done it – especially one-night stands – coursed through her. Gods above, below, and somewhere in the middle – she'd had sex with Lucius Malfoy.

The shock and horror petered out into hilarity. She'd had sex with Lucius Malfoy! Her hands fell away from her face, and she threw head back and laughed and laughed. Yes, she'd done it and damn if it hadn't been effing fantastic! As a matter of fact, if given the opportunity for a second go round, she'd jump on it (and on him) so fast, it'll seem like she'd ambushed him into sex.

Her laughing dissolved on an indelicate snort of incredulity. What was worse, he'd obviously taken the time to clean her up, put new clothing on her, and tucked her into bed. He hadn't needed to bother. He could've left her there half naked on her sofa, his semen drying between her legs, her expensive dress crumpled around her hips. But he had not. How considerate of him. And to think she'd told him he wasn't nice…

You're not a very nice man, Mr Malfoy.

And you're a very nice woman, Miss Granger.

And it's so very ironic that I should fancy a man like you…

The shock and horror returned tenfold. Oh God. She'd said that, hadn't she? Told Lucius Malfoy that she liked him, and in that way. She'd been so sleepy she'd not been able to properly filter her words. Times like these an illegal time-turner came in handy. In the events of inanity (which were frequent where Lucius Malfoy was considered), all she had to do was spell herself back to the awful moment and physically slap some sense into her past self.

Hermione exhaled heavily. Now what was she going to do about this? How was she to handle the inevitable moment when she would face Lucius Malfoy again? Would they pretend as if nothing had happened or should they talk about it? Was it a one-off for him? For her? Just a quick something for them to get some much needed release? Or was this the impetus for something a lot more serious? A long-term relationship? Did he want that? Did she want that?

Yes, her subconscious answered.

No, Sensible Voice denied.

You like him. Draco said he likes you. What's the problem?

You don't like him. You like Legolas.

Ugh. Legolas. That bastard. This confusion currently roiling through her was his fault! Had he arrived at their agreed upon time, she'd not have encountered Lucius, thereby not having sex with that blasted man. As a matter of fact, instead of waking up to an empty bed, her heart filled with doubt and confusion, Legolas – having already revealed himself to be superbly handsome and fabulous in sex – should have been occupying the other half of her bed, fully awake, and enquiring what she'd like to have for breakfast so he could make it and bring it to her while she relaxed.

I was late, she reminded herself. I could very well be at fault for our botched date.

Whether or not that was true would be clarified when she sent him a letter – which she was going to do right this minute. After that, she was going to make herself the strongest cup of coffee ever existed, shower, head off to her bookshop, and try her damnedest to forget about Lucius Malfoy.

The weekend went by and so did the following week, and during that time, Hermione had not heard from Legolas, and she'd failed spectacularly in her mission to forget about Lucius Malfoy. Truth be told, all she could think about was Lucius Malfoy!

She'd not seen or heard from him since their last encounter Friday night, and though she pretended that his sudden silence did not affect her, it really did.

Has he used me? She often thought with mixed feelings of anger and dejection. Has he already moved on to what's-her-face who'd stood him up the other night?

Absolutely, a voice sounding suspiciously like Sensible Voice usually agreed in snooty and gleeful tones. You're silly to have believed he'd care two Sickles for you. All he wanted was a bit of an appetizer to tide him off until he got the main course – which isn't you by the way.

She often refuted this logic with the desperate argument that she'd not intended to get seriously involved with him, anyway. They were two consenting adults who had found each other attractive and had acted on that attraction. There was no law that stated that sex should invariably lead to a relationship. This wasn't the days of old where Lucius would be bound to marry her upon 'defiling her virtue.' Neither of them had made any promises to the other.

As a matter of fact when examined closely, she had been the one to initiate intercourse when she'd kissed him in her foyer. What if Lucius was in his manor twiddling his thumbs in anxiety, awaiting some form of contact from her, and growing agitated by her continued silence? Wouldn't that be the height of irony?

Hermione began to consider the idea of sending Lucius a letter, but she squirmed at the notion that she might come across desperate or needy. Still, something had to be done. They needed to talk about what had happened, especially after what she'd said before falling to sleep. She may have enjoyed hiding, and avoiding and ignoring the events of Friday night but that was immaturity at its finest. They were adults, and so, ought to handle such a situation in kind.

So, that Monday evening, Hermione went home determined to owl Lucius Malfoy. After making herself a cup of tea, she went and sat at her desk. She dawdled, rearranging her quills and ink bottles, sweeping away non-existent debris from the desk's surface, standing to open the window nearby before reseating herself, then standing again to close the window when the autumn breeze blew too cold.

Finally, she firmed her resolve to get it done, and opened one of the drawers in search for new parchment. She did not find any; apparently, she'd run out. Bugger. If she'd known, she'd have purchased a few new scrolls before coming home. She searched around her flat, and when she was still not able to find clean parchment, she eventually returned to her desk.

I'll just have to erase the words off another parchment, she thought.

She retrieved a stack of parchment from one of the drawers and began to sift through them, looking for one that did not carry pertinent information. The first few were her Gringotts banking information, the ones beneath her business licence and tax information, and the others at the bottom a few of Legolas' past letters. From the letters' dates, she gathered they were some of the first that Legolas had sent her.

An impressive pseudonym. Perchance you are a Greek mythology enthusiast as myself? … The last book I've read? That will be Alfred Bercarius' Potions and Poultices, and yes, I did enjoy it. … Rather, I'm an…opportunist. … However, there is one wish I've nursed for the past few months. … But life is filled with incredible ironies, Athena. I believe it is Fate's way to keep us dancing for her own enjoyment.

Hermione had been glancing through the paragraphs, not quite reading each line, but now she stopped. The final line in one of Legolas' letters gripped her attention.

But life is filled with incredible ironies, Athena. I believe it is Fate's way to keep us dancing for her own enjoyment…

Her forehead creased, a quizzical expression on her face. She'd heard that line before. Somewhere…someone had said it. Where? Who? Had she read it in a book? No. That wasn't it. She swore someone had spoken it aloud, had told it to her at some point in time; recently, too. Had it been Harry? Ron? Ginny? That didn't sound like any them, though. That line was filled with far too much cynicism, and –

Lucius. Lucius said it.

Remembrance returned to her in short spurts and trickles. That night…Friday night, after they'd had….after they'd finished, she'd been so tired, so sleepy. And she'd asked him…she'd asked him about the woman he was seeing, and then had told him he wasn't nice. And he'd replied, 'And you're a very nice woman, Miss Granger.' Yes. She remembered him saying that because, like a numpty, she'd confessed that she fancied him afterwards. She'd told him how she thought it ironic. Their situation ironic. And he'd said…Lucius Malfoy had said those same words with the exception of her name, Athena.

Well, life is filled with incredible ironies. I believe it is Fate's way to keep us dancing for her own enjoyment.

What are the odds of Lucius Malfoy and Legolas sharing the same words? They were two very different men. Had they read the same book where this particular saying was featured? Was it a Wizarding slang she'd not been aware of all this time? Lucius Malfoy wouldn't use slang, would he? Neither would Legolas, to tell the truth. They both spoke so formally. They both had this air of coming from a privileged, refined life. They were both wealthy men. They both...

had been married…

had a son…

were opportunists…

had an interest in Potions…

were confessed Pureblood elitists…

To Hermione's rapidly mounting horror, more and more similarities between Legolas and Lucius Malfoy began to manifest themselves. Before she'd got Legolas' first letter, Lucius Malfoy had requested that same book – Alfred Bercarius' Potions and Poultices – and look, there, in Legolas' letter in response to her question as to the most recent book he'd read, Legolas had answered: Alfred Bercarius' Potions and Poultices!

Hermione reread each letter a bit more carefully now, on the verge of hyperventilating.

I feel, inexplicably, that I must apologise for that boy's behaviour. I suppose I'm suffering from second-hand embarrassment for the boy. Or, perhaps it is that I see a bit of myself in him…

His reply to her tale about Draco's verbal abuse during Hogwarts. Surely Lucius Malfoy's roundabout way of apology!

Regrettably, I've not made any potions worthy of even the tiniest mention in the Daily Prophet, let alone any known potioneer journal. Though, that honour would have been swiftly attained by a dear friend of mine. A brilliant man. But he is dead now. The anniversary of his death draws near…

This letter was dated at the middle of April. The anniversary of the War had been a few weeks away. The only 'brilliant' Potions master she knew who'd perished in the War around that time was…Severus Snape – a friend of Lucius Malfoy!

If ever I've cherished a gift, it is the one you've recently sent me. Fidelus Melkin's Potioneer's Extraordinaire Kit…

She'd sent Legolas that Potions Kit, and mere days later, Lucius Malfoy had waltzed into her bookshop, requesting she order him the kit's encyclopaedia. If she remembered correctly, the kit she'd sent Legolas had not included the encyclopaedia, and the encyclopaedia was worthless without the kit…

I was a Pureblood supremacist who despised – no, not despised, misunderstood – all things Muggle. I didn't (and still don't) hate Muggles, I just did not understand or respect their culture. … And my distaste for Muggles kept on growing until I met one remarkable Muggleborn. A powerful being. A selfless, beautiful, honourable soul … I yearn to show this person how much I've changed, but I am unsure if they will ever give me that opportunity. I can only hope…

Oh, sweet Merlin, he'd been talking about her, hadn't he? How could she not have seen this?

Digging frantically through the drawers, Hermione unearthed the other remaining letters from Legolas, and in almost every one, there was some telltale titbit that referenced Lucius Malfoy in some way. She reread Legolas' accurate description of her features. She remembered how he'd purchased her favourite chocolates for her. She recalled the bracelet he'd sent her and the unidentifiable look that had passed over Lucius' face when he'd saw her wearing it that night for her date with Legolas…with him.

I've come to meet someone...

As much as I'd hoped otherwise, our meeting was too soon. She was not ready.

Ready for what?

To see me.

So, she didn't show, then?

In a way, yes…

The woman you were supposed to meet tonight – is she important to you?

Yes, very important. But she does not seem to know this as yet…

You're not a very nice man, Mr Malfoy.

And you're a very nice woman, Miss Granger.

And it's so very ironic that I should fancy a man like you.

Well, life is filled with incredible ironies, my dear. It is Fate's way to keep us dancing for her own enjoyment…

Lucius Malfoy was…

Hermione's hand dropped lifelessly at her sides, the letters drifting from her hands onto the floor. Her head fell backwards and her mouth fell open in unadulterated astonishment. She stared up at her ceiling, not quite seeing the speckled white surface. Her breathing came deep, as if she'd been recently submerged beneath water beyond what her oxygen capacity allowed. She wanted to scream; she struggled not to.

Lucius Malfoy was…

Tolkien's Legolas was an elf. An elf with fair hair like Lucius Malfoy's. Tall and of a noble bloodline. Just like Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius Malfoy was…

Lucius Malfoy, that wicked, awful, deceptive man was the same sweet, gentle, caring soul named Legolas.


A Harry Potter Story
by MizSphinx

Part 11 of 12

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