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Hermione sat alone in her room, wrestling with the unfamiliar corset. The weight of frustration settled heavily on her as she fumbled with the garment’s laces, each attempt to tighten them by herself only making things more tangled. Her fingers ached from pulling at the stubborn strings, and she could feel tears pricking her eyes, her patience nearly frayed.
Outside, she could hear the others—voices drifting down the hall as the men assisted each other with their robes and formalwear, tensed teasing and laughing, their excitement and anxiety palpable. Everyone else seemed to be faring moderately well, moving swiftly through their own preparations. But here she was, defeated by a bundle of laces and fabric, all too aware of the ticking clock.
Hermione had always prided herself on her independence. Yet now, with each passing moment, she was forced to admit that she couldn’t do this alone. She took a shuddering breath, pushing back the embarrassment. Desperate and at a loss, she realized there was only one person who might be able to help her without treating her distress as a spectacle—Lucius Malfoy. His demeanor, though distant and severe, was unfailingly composed.
Swallowing her frustration, Hermione steeled herself and walked down the corridor to his door and knocked softly. The door opened, and Lucius looked at her, his brow arching in mild surprise as he took in her strained expression. She swallowed her pride and explained, voice soft and shaky, “I… I can’t manage the laces. It’s… too difficult on my own.”
After a moment’s pause, he nodded, his expression unreadable, but his eyes showed a faint glimmer of understanding. He gestured for her to step into the room, guiding her to stand in front of the mirror.
“Hold still,” he murmured, his voice low, a hint of amusement lacing his tone as he gathered the corset’s laces.
Hermione’s heart pounded as he tightened each lace with deliberate precision. His touch was light yet firm, his fingers brushing against her back, leaving trails of warmth that seemed to linger on her skin. She held her breath as he leaned closer, his breath grazing her ear. “This is hardly a task you should attempt alone, Miss Granger,” he remarked, voice rich with an intoxicating mix of mockery and intrigue.
She forced herself to keep her eyes on the mirror, but her pulse quickened at their reflection—his tall, elegant figure standing close behind her, his hands moving deftly over the laces, pulling them tighter and tighter until the corset hugged her waist with an almost possessive snugness. She swallowed, feeling her composure slipping under the weight of his presence.
“Breathe,” he murmured, voice a soft command, his fingers lingering at the last tie. His eyes met hers in the mirror, the hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. She did, feeling the tension in the air grow thick, heavy, electric, as though some unspoken understanding had passed between them.
Hermione breathed for what felt like one moment before she held her breath, her pulse racing as Lucius stayed behind her, his hands deftly adjusting the layers of her attire. The brush of his fingers against the fabric sent a thrill up her spine as he worked on the bustle, each touch lingering just a fraction longer than necessary, making her hyper-aware of every slight movement.
The rich fabric of her petticoats rustled as he smoothed them over her, his hands light yet possessive. His movements were almost reverent as he pulled the overskirt into place, his fingers grazing her waist and hips with practiced ease. The intimacy of it—the slow, deliberate adjustments, the weight of his gaze, the near-silence enveloping them—left her barely breathing, heart pounding as he took his time, each adjustment a reminder of his control over her appearance and, in that moment, her composure.
Lucius leaned in, his voice a soft murmur close to her ear. “Perfection takes patience, Miss Granger,” he drawled, his hands lingering at her waist. She met his gaze in the mirror, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, caught off-guard by the palpable tension.
“Your stockings are loose, my dear,” Lucius murmured into her ear, his voice smooth and low, igniting a fire in her cheeks. “Did you wear garters?”
Hermione felt her face blaze with embarrassment as she quickly replied, “I don’t need them; no one will see under all my skirts.” The words felt defiant, but they only seemed to amuse him.
Lucius tapped a finger against the corset in gentle reprimand. “The Blacks are traditional. They will know, and they will not be pleased.” With a flick of his wrist, he summoned the garters from another room.
With a smirk playing on his lips, Lucius held the garters up to Hermione's gaze, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and authority. These are made of the finest silk, imported from Italy.
Heat pooled in her core as she watched him gracefully lower himself to his knees in front of her, holding the garters with an elegance that sent her heart racing. The position was intimate, charged with an electricity that made her skin tingle. She swallowed hard, trying to maintain her composure as he carefully secured the garters, each movement deliberate and precise, making her acutely aware of the space between them.
As Lucius’s fingers brushed against the soft skin of her inner thigh while securing the garter, Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. Her knees felt suddenly unsteady, the sensation heightened by the way her heels threw off her balance, making her feel almost vulnerable. His touch was light, seemingly casual yet exuding control, and her heartbeat quickened. Her hands clenched at her sides, fighting the urge to steady herself by reaching out.
Lucius’s gaze flicked upward, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he noted her reaction, pausing as though testing her resolve. His expression remained composed, but the hint of a smirk suggested he knew exactly the effect he was having.
“Steady, Miss Granger,” he murmured softly, one hand gently pressing her knee as if guiding her balance, his tone rich with amusement.
A blush bloomed across Hermione's face, cascading down her neck as her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling visibly in the low-cut décolletage of her gown. The warmth of Lucius’s hand resting on her knee sent a shiver up her spine, grounding her in place while igniting something unfamiliar and intense. She couldn’t ignore the image of him kneeling there between her legs, an imposing figure even on his knees. Her pulse raced as his steady gaze held hers, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary.
His expression remained unreadable, yet his fingers brushed up just slightly, as though testing the waters, drawing her skin to life. He leaned forward almost imperceptibly, and she felt the rich scent of him envelop her, adding to the heady feeling building in her core.
Lucius’s gaze didn’t waver as he continued adjusting her garters, his fingers brushing tantalizingly close to her skin with a deft, almost leisurely confidence. Hermione’s blush deepened as she felt his hands settle on her thigh, briefly anchoring her in place as though she were a work of art he was meticulously arranging.
The sensation was overwhelming—Lucius’s fingers, warm and deliberate, seemed to linger on purpose. Each movement, controlled and precise, felt like a silent question, daring her to hold his gaze. Her breath caught as he finished with a slight pull, adjusting the garter perfectly into place before allowing his touch to trail just a bit further than necessary.
Keeping his eyes on her, Lucius's fingers slid higher along her inner thigh, brushing the edge of her panties. He stroked the skin there lightly with his finger, watching Hermione. Hermione knew what he was waiting for - what he was asking. Her head moved, just barely, but Lucius who had been watching her intently caught the slight nod. Without further wait, he slipped the fingers of his right hands along her folds, smiling pleased when he found them wet.
A satisfied smirk played on Lucius's lips as he felt the evidence of Hermione's arousal coating his fingers. He pumped them slowly, savoring the slick warmth of her flesh.
"Mmm, already so eager, aren't you, my dear?" He purred, his voice dripping with sensual intent. "It seems the mere thought of being in my presence has you quite... excited."
He added another finger, stretching her delicate entrance as he thrust gently. His thumb found her clit, rubbing in firm circles that made her gasp.
"You're going to be a delightful companion tonight," Lucius breathed, his eyes never leaving hers. "So responsive, so willing..."
With a final, deep stroke, he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth. He licked them clean with relish, his gaze locked onto hers.
Hermione's breath came in short, sharp pants as she watched Lucius's lips close around his fingers, his tongue darting out to taste her essence. The sight sent a jolt of lust straight to her core, her body aching for more of his touch.
She stepped closer, her skirts swirling around her legs, until only a breath separated their bodies. Reaching out, she grasped the lapels of his formal coat, her fingers digging into the luxurious fabric as she pulled him in.
"I think it's time we left, don't you?" She whispered huskily, her lips brushing against his ear. "Before I change my mind about attending the dinner at all."
"The dinner can wait," Lucius purred. He leaned in and pressed slow kisses up the inner side of her right leg.
Lucius's lips trailed fire along Hermione's leg, his hot breath ghosting over her sensitive skin. He paused at the juncture of her thighs, his mouth hovering inches from her soaked panties.
"Just a taste first," he murmured, his voice a seductive growl. "To ensure you're properly... prepared for the evening ahead."
Without warning, he dipped his tongue beneath the lacy barrier, licking a long, deliberate stripe up her slit. Hermione's moan echoed through the room as he savored her flavor, his fingers curling into the flesh of her hips to hold her steady.
"So sweet," Lucius groaned, his tongue delving deeper to circle her clit. "And all mine for the taking."
Hermione's knees nearly buckled as Lucius's talented tongue worked its magic, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her veins. She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him in place as he devoured her, his skilled mouth coaxing forth a torrent of liquid heat.
"Yes, Lucius," she gasped, her hips undulating against his face. "Just like that... don't stop."
Lucius kissed her clit before licking inside her pussy, alternating slow and fast. His tongue plunged deep, fucking her with relentless strokes as he reveled in her sweet surrender. He could feel her walls clenching around him, her juices flooding his mouth as she rode the crest of her climax.
"That's it, darling," he coaxed, his voice muffled against her throbbing flesh. "Let go... Give yourself to me completely."
As her orgasm crashed over her, Lucius suckled her clit, drawing out every last tremor. When she finally stilled, he gentled his ministrations, lapsing into soft, soothing kisses that helped her catch her breath.
"Now, let's get you fixed for the dinner," he said, rising to his feet with a wicked grin. "We wouldn't want to keep the others waiting."
Panting softly, Hermione leaned heavily against Lucius, her legs still trembling from the force of her release. She gazed down at him with hooded eyes, a dazed smile playing on her lips.
"Y-yes, of course," she managed to reply, her voice husky with lingering desire. "I wouldn't dream of keeping you waiting either, Lucius."
"Good girl," he purred. With his help, she steadied herself.
He smoothed down her skirts and Hermione caught a look at herself in the mirror - she looked debauched. Lucius came stood behind her and kissed her neck.
"Perfect," he murmured, his voice a low, velvet rumble that sent another shiver through her. He lingered there, allowing the proximity to speak what neither would dare say aloud.
Hermione felt his erection press against her and she rolled her hips back, drinking in that low, uncontrollable moan that erupted. She watched his in the mirror as his eyes fluttered, forcing himself to control his urges.
She did that to Lucius Malfoy. Her!
Before Hermione could do it again, Lucius gripped her hips tightly. "Naughty girl," he scolded, tapping her hip with a finger.
Hermione smirked. "I could help you with that," she said but Lucius only shook his head once.
"Darling, everything I want to right now wouldn't be enough because we don't have the time to do it all," His right hand slid up the side of her corset and gripped her breast harshly.
Hermione moaned, whining when his thumb lightly swept across her erect nipple, covered in clothes that couldn't stop the sensation.
A small, knowing smile played at the corners of his mouth, as though he took some satisfaction in her reaction, in the way her eyes betrayed the turbulent emotions she fought to hide. He leaned close, his breath warm against her ear, whispering softly, "I knew you’d be beautiful in this attire. But I didn’t realize quite how… enchanting.”
“Thank you,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper, the moment stretching between them, heavy with unspoken tension.
The words hung heavy in the air as Lucius stepped back, finally releasing her from his captivating grasp, leaving her to collect herself in the wake of his departure.
Right. The dinner with the Blacks.