Continuing Tales


A Harry Potter Story
by MizSphinx

Part 7 of 12

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I kissed Lucius Malfoy.

And I liked it.

Hermione flung herself face down onto her bed, and in a stint of immaturity, screamed into her mattress while beating her hands on the springy surface like a child in the throes of a tantrum. Revolving in her head non-stop ever since she'd got home from her dinner with Lucius:

I kissed Lucius Malfoy. I kissed Lucius Malfoy. I kissed Lucius Malfoy. I kissed—

Be quiet, brain!

But her brain disobeyed. It replayed every single millisecond before and after their kiss with such astounding clarity, it was as though she were reliving the moment. Even now, the memory of Lucius Malfoy's lips on hers, his hands on her sides remained. If she concentrated, she could even remember the scent of his cologne.

Merlin's saggy balls! How she wanted to forget. She wanted to forget it had all ever happened, yet, deep, deep down, past the entrenched denial, she did not want to forget. That ignored part of her glorified in the knowledge – or fanciful idea – that she had somehow managed to obtain the interest of the president of Muggleborn Hater International enough for him to kiss her.

Or, as you've been suspecting thus far, it could be a ploy for a greater and much more devious agenda.

Her body grew still.

What if that was the case? What if he was out to seduce her for some nefarious purpose? After all, he did mention an 'ulterior motive.' But then, if he was concocting an evil scheme concerning her, why would he hint at it? And when she considered it further, after all of his struggles to clear his and his family's name from their past wrongdoings, his public disassociation with his erstwhile Death Eater comrades, and his continued donations to charities and foundations that supported victims of the War, why, then, would he return to his old ways? Most importantly, why would he target the most known Muggleborn, Harry Potter's best friend?

The more she thought about it, the more she doubted Lucius Malfoy had any designs on her, but, she would be a fool if she believed him completely guileless. He wanted something, but she just did not know what. And instead of lollygagging, instead of allowing herself to fancy him so easily, she ought to confront him and demand the truth.

And come the next time she encountered him, she was going to do just that.


I, too, imagine your features in moments of solitude. I've gathered bits and pieces about you from our letters, and coupled with some imaginative license, I've managed to construct your face in my mind.

You once mentioned you've curly hair, and were oft teased by your peers because it was particularly unmanageable during your formative years. For some reason, I imagine it to be the colour of russet, and perhaps your eyes might be the same. They'd be friendly, yet cautious. Intelligent. Your lips would be soft and full. Perfect for tasting and kissing, and yet so easy to tighten in a pout when you are angry or determined to have your way.

Perhaps you look nothing like what I've described. Correct me if that is the case. There is more, but if I were to confess all that I've fantasised about you, Athena, doubtless you would proclaim me perverted and cease sending me letters. Unless you don't mind?

Shamefully besotted,


"And do you mind, Hermione?"

Face red, Hermione quickly flipped Legolas' recent letter facedown on her desk's surface and turned on her stool to confront a smirking Ginny. The stool wobbled with the sudden movement but she managed to keep it grounded by holding on to the desk's edge.

"Ginny! Were you reading behind my back?"

Ginny's smirk did not diminish. "'Shamefully besotted?' Quite the charmer, isn't he?"

Hermione blushed harder. "Aren't you supposed to be helping me unpack the new shipment of books?"

"Unlike you and your old-fashioned Muggle habits, I prefer to do things with magic." She folded her arms. "Mum's taught me lots how to get things done fast. Besides, the operative word here is 'help.' I was to be helping you, but here you were with the silliest smile on your face as you read your love letters."

A guilty look on her face, Hermione replied: "I'm sorry, Gin. I couldn't help it. The owl came and I just had to read his reply."

Ginny made a dismissive motion with her hand. "I don't fault you. He's a fantastic sweet-talker."

Hermione smiled wistfully. "He's more than that. So much more. I just…I've never met anyone like him. Sometimes, I think he's the perfect man, and that's rubbish! Nobody's perfect. I'm very sure he's got all sorts of flaws I don't know as yet. There are going to be things I don't like about him. But for now, I really, really fancy Legolas and – what? What is it?" She broke off for Ginny had suddenly begun mouthing the words, "Stop. Stop talking," while darting pointed looks behind her.

Hermione turned sharply on her stool, and surprised by the sight of Lucius Malfoy for the first time since their kiss three weeks ago, off she tumbled to the floor with an unladylike expletive escaping her mouth.

Ginny knelt swiftly to help her to her feet, but Hermione swatted her hands away, and remained sprawled on her carpet. There commenced a series of harsh whispering.

"How long has he been standing there?"

"Ever since you began talking about Le -"


"- about you-know-who."

"Do you think he heard everything?"


"Oh sweet Merlin!"

"Miss Granger? Miss Weasley? Surely it does not take quite that long to rise from a fall. Unless you're hurt, Miss Granger? Do you require medical attention?"


"Or unless you're avoiding me, Miss Granger? If that is the case, that's hardly polite or intelligent. I need only to come around your desk to find you."

The whispering returned: "Why are you avoiding him?"

"We kissed three weeks ago!"

Shocked, Ginny spoke in her regular voice, "Seriously?"


Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in shame. Ginny, for the first time, looked unsure what to do.

"Very well. I will come around, then."

Hermione scrambled to her feet, and so did Ginny.

She cleared her throat. Swallowed. Avoided eye contact with Lucius.

"Th-that won't be necessary, Mr Malfoy. I'm unhurt, as you can see. I just…we just…err -"

"One of Hermione's earring fell off and we were searching for it," Ginny supplied, eyes round and innocent. "Hard little buggers to find. No disrespect meant."

Lucius eyed Hermione's bare, earring-less ears, his eyebrows lifted in such a way as if to say, "Do you really expect me to believe that?" But instead, he said, "I see," and then Ginny chose that moment to proclaim, "Well! Got to get back to unpacking those books, Hermione!" and, smiling, left Hermione and Lucius by themselves. Alone. In silence.

"Do you want something?" she asked, daring to meet his gaze.

He stared right back. "Yes."

Why did she feel like he was not talking about books?

Excitement coursed through her bloodstream. "What do you want?"

He leant closer. "I was wondering if I could have you…"

Her eyes grew wide, her heart began thumping faster. She'd never felt so astonished, and yet so pleased in her life. Lucius Malfoy wanted -

"…order a copy of Fidelus Melkin's Potioneer's Encyclopaedia?"

He smiled.

"Oh," she replied, fighting to mask her disappointment. "Oh, alright. Yes. Certainly. I'll put in an order right away." Then, trying not to sound hopeful: "I-is that all, Mr Malfoy?"

"Yes. Thank you, Miss Granger. Good day."

Quietly, "Good day."

And he left her bookshop.


I wouldn't mind.

I'd really like to hear how far your fantasies have carried you.



I've often thought about the way your face would contort, the way your breasts would taste in my mouth, the way you'll feel on me, around me as I fucked you.

Does that shock you, my dear?

I hope so.



Yes. It does. Who knew your mouth could be so dirty. And here I'd been under the impression you were too cultured to be so coarse. Is it shameful to admit I like it?

I've often thought about you fucking me, too. I suspect you'd be very good.

Do you smell that? It's 'Love-Ink.' I discovered it while shopping for new ink. In a thoroughly girlish fit, I bought it. Do you like it?

I'm not usually this brazen, but you bring out the worst – or maybe the best? – in me.



Too cultured to be so coarse? Indeed, you bring out the worst – or best – in me as well.

Yes, I do. It has the sweet, alluring scent of roses. I imagine you'd smell the same. And, perhaps, taste the same? No. You'd taste far more delectable.

'Very good?' No. I'll be your best. I assure you.


"Well, I'm off."

At the sound of Ginny's voice, Hermione quickly refolded Legolas' recent letter and tucked it into her pocket. Standing, she went and hugged her friend.

"Thanks for visiting, Gin. It was great having you for the month."

Ginny smiled. "It was great being had. Thank Merlin I didn't have to stay with mum. She'd have driven me mad."

Hermione grinned in return. "Well, you rarely get holidays this long. No sense wasting it on insanity, right?"

"True. And I did get a lot of research done for this new project I'm on." She shuffled her rucksack a little higher onto her shoulder and hugged Hermione again. "Anyway, I've got to head off. I've got to meet Mark in the next five minutes. The Port-Key will be activated soon."

She went and grabbed up a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. Then, turning to Hermione with her tell-tale mischievous smile,

"Owl me the details when you do meet up with Legolas, yeah? You know, if he's handsome, if he's as nice in person, if he's a good fu-"


Cackling, Ginny stepped into the fireplace and waved goodbye before calling out her destination and zipping away to it.

Hermione stood there in front of the fireplace for some time, smiling at the spot where Ginny had once stood. All of a sudden, she felt lonely. Sharing her flat with Ginny for the past month had been the most fun she'd had in some time. Ginny's vibrancy was infectious, and her dirty mind filled with even dirtier jokes had leant itself to days of continued hilarity.

Ginny had been given a month's holiday after her big success breaking an incredibly powerful curse on a tomb in Egypt. And now that the month was up, she'd been called away to Rome for another huge project that involved the undergrounds of Vatican City. Even though she was mere minutes away via Port-Key, Hermione was still going to miss her.

Returning to the sofa, Hermione retrieved Legolas' letter and read it again, biting her bottom lip as she did so. Ginny was right. He was quite the sweet-talker, wasn't he? And ridiculously overconfident, too. I'll be your best. I assure you. Oh, please. When – if – they had had sex, she had half the mind to voice her great disappointment (even if untruthfully) afterwards. That'll serve his arrogant arse.

Sex with Legolas. What would it be like?

She closed her eyes and began to imagine herself on a bed –

That's awfully boring.

Okay, the floor, then. On her living room carpet –

Ugh. Carpet burns? No thanks.

Fine. Bent over her kitchen counter like a proper tart, her legs spread wide. And he'd be right behind her. Yes. Right behind her, his cock out, hard and ready and waiting. Thick. And she'd already be so wet for him, yearning to feel him deep and full in her. Impatient for his cock. So impatient that she'd turn around and grab it and stroke it and pump it, watching as his slate-grey eyes turned darker. He'd like that. He'd like it. He'd like it as she pumped him and then eased herself onto him before pulling away. Eased on, pulled off. Eased on, pulled off. Just a taste. Just a tantalising taste. FuckYes. He'd bow his head to watch, strands of blond hair falling over his shoulders. And he'd like it. Like the sight of it. But she'd still ask him if he did. She'd ask him: "You like that, don't you, Lucius? Don't you? Don't you, Lucius?"

Hermione's eyes flew open, horrified, firstly, that she'd inadvertently transposed Legolas for Lucius Malfoy in her sex fantasy, and, secondly, that she'd somehow worked her hand into her knickers and had began to touch herself. Springing to her feet, she ran to the bathroom to wash her hands, conscious of the heavy wetness between her legs.

When she'd finished washing and drying her hands, she sat on the lid of the toilet, rested her elbows on the tops of her thighs and covered her face with her palms.

Dear Merlin, help her. She wanted two different men.

Time for a threesome!

Absolutely not! Obviously Ginny's dirty-mindedness had rubbed off on her just a bit.

Still, it was undeniable: she was attracted to both Legolas and Lucius Malfoy. What was she to do? She couldn't be with them both. Not to mention, there was the little fact that, as of yet, she was unaware of Lucius Malfoy's intentions towards her. He'd kissed her, and then three weeks later he'd finally shown his face again only to pretend as if nothing had happened between them.

Maybe it's because he'd overheard me talking about Legolas?

Would that deter Lucius Malfoy from pursuing her? Did she want Lucius Malfoy to pursue her? Why would she want to be involved with such a complicated man? Legolas, on the other hand, had been nothing but straightforward.

And, if she employed her infallible tactic of list-making:

Legolas – kind, honest, charming, polite, witty, I know lots about him now that we've kept up a correspondence for more than six months.

Lucius – I hardly know anything about him besides he's handsome, he was once a prejudiced bastard (probably still is), he was once married, and he has a son as old as me.

Wasn't it wiser she chose a man least likely to prevent any outrage once her close friends discovered his identity? Wasn't it a lot more pleasant she chose a man with whom she did not already share a turbulent past? Wasn't it simpler she chose a man that did not always keep her guessing? So, wasn't it logical that her only choice should be Legolas?


But it really was a shame that her heart had thrown logic out the window ages ago.


A Harry Potter Story
by MizSphinx

Part 7 of 12

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