A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. The characters and settings belong to JKR and those who helped bring it all to life (publishing companies and movie studios, etc.), while the song on which I've loosely based the story belongs to Christina Perri and her recording company (Jar of Hearts).
This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. If you see one, please let me know.
Canon-compliant, up to the epilogue. I normally save one or more of those who died in the course of the war in my stories, but I can think of no reason to do so for this one, so anyone who died is dead. Of course, I am futzing with Jo's ships, and Ron/Hermione may not be the only one… We'll see what else happens as I'm writing.
Warning: This is endgame Minerva/Hermione, but that's endgame. To start, Hermione, who is bisexual, will be with a man, and there will be a certain amount of smut present for both relationships. That means there is both straight and lesbian sex in this story, although I'll try not to be too graphic, so if either is out of your comfort zone and not what you want to read, please go ahead and close this out before you get too deep into things. Thanks.
Extra note: This story is a WIP that I've been sitting on for some time. I haven't actively worked on it in over a year. What is written is exclusively focused on the straight sideship that leads to the MMHG goodness that was to happen later on. I don't have any idea when I might come back to write more than I currently have, but feel free to follow for when I do. My main focus at this point, writing-wise, is still She Who Turns Time, and I don't see that changing until a large portion of the remaining story is done. Enjoy this.
It started so easy, or so it felt at the time. She'd always known she was attracted to those outside her own age group and to those who had power. How else could her second-year crush on Lockhart be explained? She had quite a bit of power herself, though she hadn't always, and now that she did, she just couldn't imagine herself with anyone lacking in this indefinable aura. As for the age thing, she found that age brought experience and knowledge which could be shared with her, and nothing attracted Hermione Granger more than learning.
Her heart was heavy as she pondered these things, realizing that the two things that most attracted her to other people were sadly lacking in the man with whom she had finally begun to form a romantic relationship, after such a long time spent dancing around each other.
She knew Ron had his strengths; she would never have become his friend, troll or no troll, if he hadn't, but his fickle weaknesses had reared their heads all too often in times of stress and need, and once the spectre of death and war had been removed from their lives, she found she just couldn't look past it all any longer. Stammering and scratching at his head, he agreed that while he did love her as a friend, she just wasn't what he wanted, either.
Soon after, she was approached by a penitent Draco Malfoy, who invited her over for dinner to talk and to apologize for all the ways in which he'd been such a little shit during their school years. She agreed, not thinking for once about all the reasons she should refuse him.
She tried to tame her wild mane, cursed and spit at its stubbornness, then finally gave in and let it wreath her head like a crazy brown halo. A minimum of nice makeup done the right way, and in contrast to her hair, she wore a sleek little black dress, sleeveless, scoop necked, and fitted to the waist, where it flared slightly into a knee-length skirt that would flutter just a bit with every step she took in three-inch stiletto heels, the color that as a child growing up as a Muggle, she'd called "fire-engine red."
She smiled thinking back on that phrase, knowing that none of her magical friends would understand the reference. If there was a fire in the wizarding world, everyone banded together and cast multiple Aguamenti charms to douse the flames, apparating in and out to retrieve those trapped within.
He showed up at her parents' house, and tactfully didn't ask about its slightly run-down façade, its Muggle neighborhood, or her lack of parents. He did compliment her on her own appearance, though, and offered his arm for side-along apparation.
In retrospect, she should have expected it, because after all, she was going to dinner with a Malfoy, but when they'd reappeared in the entrance hall at Malfoy Manor, she'd felt a queasiness begin to build. She swallowed it down, assured him that she was fine, and was escorted down the hall, nausea growing with every step. As they approached a familiar door, her stomach gave a sickening lurch, and it was all she could do to keep the meager contents of her stomach down. It took all of her concentration, and as such, her feet kept going, mindlessly following Draco's lead. They stepped out of the hall into the drawing room, and memories of Bellatrix washed over her in a flood, causing her stomach to finally expel its contents all over Draco's expensive shoes. She fell to her knees in the aftermath, tears streaming from her tightly closed eyes, and Draco jumped away, shocked and trying to avoid getting anything else on his shoes.
"Draco! What in the world were you thinking?" Narcissa rushed over, vanishing the sick perfunctorily and trying to scoop the trembling girl into her arms. Hermione skittered away from her touch, backing up to the wall, her hands scrabbling to grip the baseboard. Her shallow breathing combined with the adrenaline of the post-traumatic panic attack was beginning to cause spots to dance along the inside of her eyelids, and the blood rushing through her head rendered her all but deaf, cutting her off from the conversation going on around her.
"I told you to bring her into the smaller sitting room, and we would join you momentarily. Don't you remember what happened to the poor girl in here?"
He shouted, "Of course I remember! I can't bloody forget! It's part of why I brought her here tonight; to apologize for that amongst all the other many wrongs we've committed against her over the years." Draco's voice quieted as he continued. "More than you, I have treated her horribly, calling her names and belittling her at every turn, not to mention the physical attacks. I was so sure we were in the right, but … we weren't. And I wanted to tell her that I know that I was stupid and wrong, and to beg for forgiveness." He sighed. "I just didn't think before bringing her in here. It's one more in a long line of offenses I've offered her since we met."
"We were all caught up in the mores of our upbringing, son, and convinced of our superiority. She, more than the rest, has shown many of the Dark Lord's followers just how wrong we all were. And she needs to know that, but here and now may not be just the right time." Narcissa ran a well-manicured hand through the fringe of her bangs and over the top of her head, unsettling the long strands of black and blonde.
Standing back and watching and listening to his family, was Lucius. Silvery eyes assessed the girl who was huddled, shivering and shaking, against the wall of his drawing room. Dismissing his wife and son from his attention, he took slow, soft, silent steps toward the girl, focusing solely on her, and noticed that where she had jumped immediately away from Narcissa, she was showing no reaction at all to his approach.
He came up to her side and crouched low to the ground, his hand trailing against the wall, fingers trailing along the expensive fabric which papered it to help maintain his balance.
"Miss Granger?" His voice was low and soft and completely calm, speaking the way he would to an unfamiliar horse when he was allowing it to get to know him.
Her eyes shot open and zeroed in on his, her breath coming jagged and harsh. She had never seen eyes like his before, not this close. They were dark silver-grey; almost the shade her father used to call 'gunmetal,' but with an inner and outer ring that was brighter, more like a bright new sickle.
That aura which had always been missing from Ron was found here in abundance, and it was filled with such serenity that she could do nothing except begin to calm down, her breaths evening themselves out slowly. He was speaking, but she could make no words from any of the sounds, only responding along with his aura to the pleading in his eyes for her to come back to herself and to leave the horror of the past back there where it belonged.
Slowly, the images of dark, curly hair faded to the platinum tresses framing his face. The sounds of high-pitched cackling laughter gave way to his deep, pleasant tones, words finally forming in the nonsense. "Yes, that's right. Calm down. Come back. She is no longer here, and she never will be again. You are safe. You are warm. She can't ever hurt you again. Breathe slowly, Miss Granger. Yes, that's right. Soft and calm and slow. You're doing wonderfully. Come back."
Twisted lips and rotting teeth disappeared from her eyes, replaced with pale, full lips moving gently as he spoke, perfectly straight and blindingly white teeth peeking from behind them as they moved.
After her experiences of the previous year, she didn't much care to be touched, but where her hand gripped the baseboard between them, she could feel his large hand softly resting on hers, his thumb tracing a random pattern of swirls on its back. It was comforting somehow, and she finally fully returned to herself, her eyes focused on his mouth.
"They're so straight. I doubt he ever needed braces."
"Braces, Miss Granger? The metal contraptions they put on the teeth of Muggle youth? No, I never had need of those, nor of the spells we use in their place when necessary. Have you come back from the past now, then?"
Her face filled with color as she realized that she'd spoken aloud. "I believe I'm over the worst now, Mister Malfoy, thank you." She refrained from mentioning his teeth again, though she did have a few questions about the Wizarding dentistry process.
"Do you think you can stand? We can retire to a different room; one without quite so many negative memories for you." His eyes hardened for a split second and flashed toward his son, still arguing with Narcissa, before returning to meet hers. "My apologies, by the way. We did tell him not to bring you in here, but once again, he just didn't stop to think of the ramifications of his actions."
"It's not his fault that it happened or that I haven't had time to properly deal with the experience yet. I think I can stand, and yes, I would appreciate being … elsewhere."
"If you would just take my hands then…" He took hold of the one hand already in his grip, and reached to take the other as well. Bracing his feet, he began to push upward, slowly rising and pulling her with him. She kept her eyes on his as they stood, mesmerized with the way the light played across his multi-hued irises and how they contrasted with the dark pupil, a mere pinprick in the center betraying his concentration as he helped her up.
When they reached their full heights, her knees locked and she stumbled against him. On her way back down, he swept her up quickly and with ease, one arm around her back and the other beneath her weak and faulty knees. He could hear Draco and Narcissa still arguing in the background, and sighed before calling out that he was taking her home. "Dinner and apologies be damned," he thought, "She needs to be home where she can recover in safety."
With a still soft voice, he urged her to relax against him if she could, feeling as she slowly did so, arms tentatively reaching up to loop around his neck and shoulders. A few long strides later, he was at the front apparation spot – for safety reasons, there were only a few locations within the house where the anti-apparation wards were dropped, and there only for family members and their guests.
He closed his eyes, breathed in, and without a sound to mark the passage, he disapparated, appearing a moment later behind her house. "How did you…?"
His grip on her tightened and his body tensed up. "As things turn out, you were wise to remove your parents from their home, Miss Granger. When you three didn't show up for school, this was the first place we were sent to look for you. He was most upset when it appeared abandoned and there were no signs that you had ever lived here. Potter's Muggle relatives in Surrey being gone as well further distressed him, but he had wanted to make a special example of you and your parents."
"You were one of those who partially destroyed it, then?"
"I was here, but no. That was someone else having a temper tantrum." After her reaction to the drawing room where Bellatrix had tortured her, Lucius refused to tell her that was who had done all the damage. "And as to how I knew you were living here and not elsewhere, Draco mentioned where he was going to pick you up tonight."
There was silence between them for a long moment as they ruminated on their conversation, broken finally by his still low, calm voice. "Where shall I take you, Miss Granger?"
Acutely aware that he was still holding her, she inhaled sharply and replied, "I think, actually, that I may be able to stand now, if you'd care to put me down."
"I think that's unwise. I would rather take you inside first, so that if your legs are still unable to bear your weight, there's a sofa or something else soft close enough in case my reflexes are not so quick this time. Your garden is mostly comprised of gravel instead of grass, and I could not, in good conscience, allow you to injure yourself on my watch."
Her face colored slightly, thinking of Lucius Malfoy being inside her house – her Muggle house – before remembering that he had been inside before. She silently incanted the password for her wards and felt as they shimmered to allow them access. "Through the door, please, and up the stairs. I'm sure my legs will hold me this time, but just in case, I'd prefer to be close enough to just go to bed and sleep this off."
"Of course." He, too, had felt the shimmer of her wards accepting him as an allowed visitor, and as they approached the back door, he silently flexed his magic and watched as the door swung open to admit them into the kitchen. Another silent flex, and it closed quietly behind them. He was aware as he strode toward the stairs of her breath puffing warmly against his neck and her heart beating more quickly against his arm where it rested along her back.
Climbing the stairs, he felt her breath hitch for a split second when her fingers idly twisted a long lock of his hair between them. He sighed lightly, always having enjoyed having his hair toyed with, and at the quiet sound, she dropped the strand as though it burned her fingers, and the rhythm of her heart sped up against his arm.
There was something going on. It was something he was all-too familiar with, and something he would be willing to explore under more favorable circumstances, but tonight was not the night for such things. At the top of the staircase, he stopped, unsure which door was hers.
"It's the last door on the left," she nearly whispered, answering a question he'd yet to ask.
Another flex of magic had the door opened when he reached it, and he stepped with her into a room he wouldn't have imagined was hers. It was decorated in dark cherry woods with deep jewel tones used as accents, Carmine blending nearly seamlessly with Hunter. He had thought to see a bedroom done in whites and pastels, but the darker palette was more pleasing to his eye than the brighter tones would have been.
He crossed to a high, plush bed, and bent slightly, slowly pulling his arm from beneath her knees, enjoying the feel of her silken skin as his hand swept across it. Her grip on his shoulders tightened as she tested her legs, her body sliding against his as he straightened and her knees held. She waited a second longer than was proper to let go, topaz eyes drowning in silver.
"Thank you, Mister Malfoy, for everything. I believe I'll be just fine now." She finally forced herself to pull her hands away, and they fell useless to her sides.
"It was nothing, Miss Granger. I am only sorry that a visit to my home precipitated such a state of affairs. There is much that I regret about my participation in the war, and that one so lovely as you was so grievously injured in my own home … I can never hope to be able to make reparations. The Malfoy family owes you a debt, payable whenever and however you deem fit. For my part, I owe you another debt of my own. If you ever need anything, and I do mean anything, Miss Granger, please don't hesitate to ask. If it is within my power to grant – and there isn't much that is not – you shall have it."
She felt the hum of magic behind his debt oath, and she knew that his statements were magically binding.
"I can think of nothing I need right now, Mister Malfoy, apart from a good night's rest, but I promise that if that changes, I shall let you know."
He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to its back before releasing it and taking a step back. "Lucius, please. I have enough people to call me Mister Malfoy."
"If you insist, Lucius, but then you must call me Hermione."
"Of course. Good night, Hermione. I wish you a restful night's sleep, unhaunted by spectres of the past. I can make my own way out." He bowed lightly from the waist and turned to leave.
"Good night … Lucius."
She stood unmoving until she felt the wards shimmer with his exit, at which time her knees finally gave back out and she collapsed into the bed, lucid only long enough to banish her clothing and crawl beneath the thick duvet before succumbing to sleep, deep and troubled by memories of Bellatrix despite Lucius' best well-wishes.