Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. All characters and phrases recognized belong to her and those affiliated. I am merely a fan.
A/N: Needed a distraction from my main fic and this came out. It's still pretty rough (I may go back and better it if I decide to delve deeper into their story), but hopefully it's enjoyable! (Please note that it's rated M for a reason! ! !)
AFTER THE STORM
DKM
"If someone asked me what my future looked like, I'd show them you."
-Rashad Nasir, The Second Kiss
Diagon Alley, Wizarding London; Late Summer 1992
Lucius watched the young girl, surrounded by a gaggle of Wealseys: laughing happily and unaware of the horrors she'd face. He eyed her carefully, taking in the childlike curves of her face and naivety in her eyes. Somehow, he found that he couldn't quite manage being upset about her presence.
He understood. Though, he still couldn't quite stomach the idea of her disappearing without explanation. And, honestly, he wasn't prepared for just how greatly she resembled the quiet, fiery beauty of his past. He could see where she kept the innocence that surrounded her even through what had happened, and he found himself outraged.
Nothing ever should have happened to her. She should have never been tainted by that Half-Blood filth's treacherous campaign. He should have gotten to her in time.
Malfoy Manor, Wilshire, England; Winter 1996
"And the Muggle girl?" Lucius asked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass slowly.
From the corner of is eye, he could see the boy scowl and down the Fire Whiskey before pouring himself another glass. The older Wizard said nothing, allowing the crackling fire to fill the silence, unable to deny his son the beauty of drowning sorrows in spirits.
"Granger," the young Malfoy spat, unable to keep the sneer from his face. "What of her, father? She's still a brainy little cunt, if that's what you're asking."
Lucius allowed a smile to quirk the corners of his mouth, one that didn't go unnoticed by his son. Righting his features, he forced indifference to replace the pleasure of memories swelling his head. "You really shouldn't let her get to you, son. She's a lowly Mudblood. Scum shouldn't be in your realm of consideration…nor should it be besting you in your schooling," he took in a mouthful of the liquor and held it, allowing it to burn the foul words out of his mouth.
"I'll do better, Father," Draco remarked.
Lucius turned to study the boy. He was his mother's child, taking only the proper shade of Malfoy blonde for his hair and grey for his eyes. Lucius supposed, watching his son lengthen his legs and lace his ankles carefully, that he's gotten his height from him as well.
His eyes began to water from the liquor.
Despite himself, he wondered what could have been if only she'd had more time…a few more days would have done it. They would have achieved perfection. He could have protected them forever.
He swallowed. Leaning his head back, Lucius felt coldness spread across his chest, despite the warmth of the hearths blaze and Whiskey. "See that you do," he heard himself say.
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England, Spring 1998
The Malfoy patriarch felt his lunch churning in his stomach. He couldn't believe his eyes, nor could he blink or tear them away. He couldn't even move.
Torturing Potter meant nothing to him. Having captured he and his little friends had been reassuring –he could keep her safe in the dungeons, after all. But this: her screams echoing off the walls of his ancestral home; her pain evident in the shrill, potent tone she begged his sister-in-law to stop; her strength shocking every member of his family into silence.
She'd lied to him. She'd led him to believe that it was Grindelwald that butchered her arm and tortured her mercilessly. She'd…she'd warned him against this, and he hadn't listened.
Biting back a sob, he continued to watch the girl. This had to happen. The witch he'd known was strong and resilient, getting through this and making it to him to put the pieces back together for her. She could take it, and he would deal with knowing that although he'd caused it, he'd also been giving the chance to build her into a stronger women.
It wasn't quiet time yet. Lucius would do what he had to right now. She would be his again soon enough.
Hogwarts Castle, Scotland; Spring 1998
Lucius glimpsed the witch on the battlefield, her face set and skin dirtied with blood and dust. She'd been beautiful, her dark, chocolate curls windswept as she ran through the woods, flowing behind her like wings. And it was only after she'd passed him that he realized she'd been dressed properly. Her black sweater clinging to her body like a second skin, dreadful corduroys caked with mud and blood so ironically that he found himself smiling, Wizarding hunting boots laced smartly at her feet. Lingering within the trees, he told his wife he'd be right back before running after the girl, his strides long and strong, far greater than he was feeling.
He reached her at the forest's edge, grasping her from behind and pressing his hand over her mouth to quell her shrieking. "Shut up," he whispered, pulling her flush against his body. "You're going to get us both killed, Granger. Stop squirming."
"Draco?" She questioned in disbelief, trying to turn her head to see him.
He kept her from looking at him. "One up. What are you still doing here? Are you trying to die?"
She managed to rip away from him, turning with wide eyes to stare at him. The shock was evident in her expression, and her lips pursed to lay into him before he pressed her into the tree, hand groping at her neck to find the string of the chain he knew was there. She fidgeted and fought against him, and Lucius found himself talking a deep breath of her before pulling the Time Turner from under her shirt. "Get off of me, you filthy, arrogant, prick," she spoke loudly enough to get her disgust across, and the blonde bit back his hurt.
"I won't have you dying, witch," he informed, spinning the Time Turner carefully. "Not so close to the future I've been waiting on for years."
She was still fidgeting, pushing and fighting to get away from him. As the quiet ticking filled his ears, he looked hard at her, wondering if this was unfair of him to do. He had no idea what the future truly entailed; he only hoped that there would be room for them in it. He just needed to know that she found as much beauty and pleasure in their time together as he did, and the only way for that to happen was to send her back.
Just before she faded from view, his lips ghosted over her forehead. "Trust me," he murmured, collapsing into the now empty space. Trust me.
Potter's Field, Scotland; Fall 2000
Hermione sat silently next to Lucius, her hands tucked under her thighs as they enjoyed each other's company. They'd been doing this for a year now, sitting in quiet content on a graveyard stall, and that was the only way to describe their meetings, arriving and departing at the same time every Tuesday. Neither ever said too much, the other's presence being enough to fill whatever voids had filled them, nor had they ever mentioned their time together.
It was real. It'd happened. But it was over, and on the outside, they were both okay with that. But, Hermione felt differently today. She turned to look at him, smiling at the soft expression on his face, grinning happily as it turned into a frown as he turned to look at her. It was so familiar that she found herself moving closer to him on the bench. Her heart threatened to burst when he didn't move away.
"I heard that they offered you your position on the Hogwarts Board of Governors," she spoke loftily.
His lips quirked. "How does that make you feel?"
"I'm happy for you. Does it make you feel better?"
"I just want to person I love to be proud of me," he told her heavily.
Hermione felt herself blush fiercely.
"I am back on St. Mungo's Board as well," he supplied. "All very eager to get back to taking my money."
"St. Mungo's is very thankful for all that you've given them," she plugged, having already known about the hospital's decision. In fact, they would be honoring the Malfoy family for not only their donations through the war, but for the substantial donations they'd made anonymously, when the hospital had been pressured to stop taking them (admittedly, they couldn't function without every sickle offered). She'd been privy to this information because she'd been working for their administration team since she'd graduated Hogwarts, attempting to figure out what to do with her life.
"Are you thankful for anything?"
"My life," she told him honestly. "You?"
"'71."
Hermione blushed again, inhaling deeply and smiling softly. She was sure that you could cook something on her face with how warm she suddenly felt. This hadn't been where she'd been intending to take the conversation, but she couldn't help it as the next few words fell from her mouth. "I still remember how you touched me," she murmured quietly, eyes focused on the tree behind Draco's grave. "There are times I still swear I can feel your hands on me."
Silence fell between them, and Hermione wondered if she should go into detail about how much she still craved him. Her need was so great that she didn't even need a pensive to relive her favorite moments with him. All she needed was a quick scent of a cinnamon to recall how his breath tasted just before he kissed her. Even catching the scent of jasmine and mint reminded her of waking up wrapped in his sheets; the gentle, Egyptian cotton a dream against her bare skin. It was one of the few luxuries she allowed herself these days: Horace's Dream, the exact same import he'd used all those years ago.
Even an ocean away, on her parent's new property in America, she was reminded of him. The mossy cedar wood forest behind their home left her craving his skin against her own. She wasn't even talking about sex –though it was something she'd given up after realizing no one could touch her quite like he did. It felt good to have him near, and she wondered if those things were still the same about him. Time after time she felt herself straining to remember whether or not he'd smelled earthy when he'd captured her against the tree at Hogwarts; if his breath smelt like cinnamon as it ghosted across her face, but it was to no avail. She wasn't interested in those things at that point. All she could remember was how broken he'd looked physically, but how his eyes sparked with hope as they'd contacted hers. And how greatly it had confused her.
Now that she was thinking about being intimate with him, though, she couldn't but feel her senses go into overload. It wasn't appropriate. She tried to put an end to the feelings, but the more she fought the stronger they got. Over the smell of Scottish rain, his clean scent assaulted her senses. He was a mixture of mint and moss –Merlin why hadn't he changed his soaps in all these years?-, and she inhaled deeper to capture it in him in her lungs.
Lucius was next to her, alive and well and sitting with her willingly after all these years. It'd been a little over two years for her…and a lifetime for him. She wondered if she could still affect him like she had during their seventh year. All she had to do was lift her hand from her side to touch him. But, she couldn't. What if he rejected her? What if all he wanted was to chat? He and Narcissa were still together, after all. She'd been single for two years and he'd been with his wife for far longer.
Like a dream, his hand lifted, nimble fingers brushing her cloak away before his hand came in contact with her knee. He settled there heavily, drawing her into memories of meal times. Only this time, there were no thick tights in the way of their skin. His warmth filled her. His power bleed through his hand into her body so familiarly that tears filled her eyes. He was different from how he'd been at seventeen, obviously; darker, stronger, more aware and subdued of his magic, but no less potent.
Her head felt light with his presence. Lucius Malfoy was touching her on his own accord, his presence sure and sturdy against her. And she'd been craving this for too long.
"Why do you come here?" He questioned.
Hermione stiffened, and she knew he felt it, too. His fingers tightened reassuringly, and she closed her eyes. "Someone has to, right?"
"I doubt Draco would be very excited to know you sit by his grave every week," he admitted. "I apologize for that. For him."
Hermione felt the hair on the back of her neck raise. She wanted to tell him that he didn't have to, that she understood, but found that she couldn't. The words didn't fit well in her mouth. Besides, if Draco wanted his father to know he was still earth bound, he would have showed by now.
Her eyes slipped from the tree to her schoolmate's headstone, taking in the gentle swirl of his name. There was a Latin phrase beneath it, right above his birth and death date, and she found herself reminded about how wealthy the Malfoy family really was. Even in death, in a burial ground for those lost during the Battle of Hogwarts, he was better than everyone else.
Slowly, her brown eyes shifted to the right. Next to Draco's headstone sat a smaller, but equally haughty one. It hadn't ben her first choice, but Harry had insisted, stating that if they were going to do it, they were going to do it right. However, unlike the wizard's headstone, the smaller one only held a date a few days after the Battle, 'Lavinia swirling prettily into an English rose.
"I come for her," she whispered. Fortunately, no wind blew as she'd spoken; if it had, her words would have gone unheard.
"A friend of yours?" He asked, genuine interest in his voice. The tears in her eyes fell onto her cheeks as she bit back a sob. "Miss Granger? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"
She cut him off by resting her hand over his. "Lucius," she breathed. Honestly, she'd known this moment would come. The only problem was that she hadn't prepared for it. Swallowing the hollowness of her throat, she inhaled as he wrapped his fingers around hers. It was more than she'd expected.
"Tatiana hadn't seemed like the right name when I saw her," she told him. He gripped his hand at the sound of his mother's name, taken a sharp breath in. "Lavinia felt right."
"Oh, God," he breathed, eyes heavy on the smaller headstone. "I thought you just didn't want them to know me. I didn't know…a daughter," he sounded as though he would break into pieces at any moment. Hermione turned to look at him, taking in his strong profile and his eyes brimming with tears. "I'm so sorry, poppet."
He lifted their joined hands, kissing her knuckles. Hermione had cried too many tears to breakdown now, but she felt the emptiness brimming within her. "What happened?"
"I don't know," she told him honestly. "I got back after the battle ended, feeling far more pregnant than I had when I left you. Harry found me, on the edge of the forest, and got me to my parents old home. Something happened, between the Time Travel and the apparition…and the after affects of Bellatrix's curse. She was alive for a few days. She had your eyes," she smiled at him and he made a funny expression. He'd really hoped for their child to have her eyes; she'd known that from the beginning. "And I daresay your dreadful temperament," the witched laughed sadly.
"But?"
"She was in a lot of pain. There was nothing physically wrong with her. It was…all me. The magic. I couldn't protect her from it."
He gripped her hand in both of his. "It was my fault. I should have listened to you." His voice was clear and void of emotion, and he spoke their daughter's name under his breath like a prayer. "You shouldn't be afraid to move on. You should get married and start a family."
"I don't want-"
"A chance at happiness?" He questioned gently, fiercely.
"-anyone but you," she countered.
He closed his eyes and held his breath for a long time. Finally, once she'd grown worried, he inhaled, sounding forced and upset over it. "I am an old man now, Miss Granger. My cane is not for show. My body is weak. I can not give you what you need."
But he didn't let go of her hand. And his acknowledgment of her was all she really needed. She found sick, twisted hope in the fact. It would be okay. Even if this was all they had.
Minister's Home, Diagon Alley, England; Winter, 2000
Hermione lingered by the punch bowl, her eyes downcast as she swirled the liquid in her crystal class. It was a strange feeling, being surrounded by so many people she knew and cared for, but feeling so alone.
Suddenly, she felt someone's gaze on her, and smiled to herself. Looking up, her eyes found Lucius, and a smile played on her lips as their eyes met. He'd forgone robes for evening, choosing to wear an inky, all black tuxedo, with a silver tie that brought out the freckles in his eyes. His skin had picked up color in the few weeks that had passed since she'd last seen him (they'd both decided to take December off and reconvene in the near year), his hair –Merlin, he'd trimmed it above his shoulders, tying only a portion of it away from his face- brightening with life, and she found that she couldn't deny how good he looked. Years had been taken off of him since he'd rejoined the Wizarding circuit of galas, Governor's Board meetings, dinner parties, and whatever else she wasn't privy to as a Muggleborn –though, that wasn't quite something she liked to dwell on; she was a war heroine, after all, she'd fought against all that privilege.
All she wanted was to tug him into a dark corner and kiss him senseless. With his eyes on her, she wasn't so lonely anymore, and she gave him a small smile before turning away and sipping from the crystal. She caught Ginny's eye and waved; however, before she could make her way over to her friend, she heard a throat clear beside her.
"Miss Granger."
Taking a deep breath in, she turned to find Lucius Malfoy smirking at her, a tumbler of Fire Whiskey over his cane. She smiled, unable not to, and glanced around before meeting his eyes, "Lord Malfoy."
He offered her his arm and she took it without hesitation, eyes closing and she briefly reveled in his nearness and familiarity. "I missed you," she told him. It felt good to get it out. "The hair," she lifted a hand to touch it, but thought better of it. They weren't there yet. She didn't know if they ever would be. "It suits you. I'll bet it felt good to let go."
"Surprisingly, you're correct," humor coated his words and lit his eyes brightly.
She laughed. "You look good. Better."
"Thank you," he murmured, pushing the door open for her. "I've wanted to speak with you all evening. You look ravishing, you know. Blue is your color." He smiled as she blushed, and he turned her in the middle of an empty hall. They stood for a minute, just taking each other in, and Hermione couldn't help but feel her insides light aflame. Her mind didn't know what to do with his attention.
Sure. They'd spent months together in the graveyard, but they'd barely looked at each other then. It felt amazing to have his eyes on her, his attention obvious and potent and, Merlin, she never wanted this moment to end.
After long, her gripped her elbow gently. "Humor me," he murmured, leaning closer to her to inhale the honeyed scent of her skin. It made her head dizzy.
As Lucius lead her down the hall, they exited a set of French doors and stepped into a vespertine garden. She felt his magic surround her in a warming charm, and smiled at the gentle feel of it.
It spoke to how acquainted he was with the home that he knew exactly where to go to get to this place. At the farthest edge of the lawn sat a gazebo, which he led her to slowly, silently admiring the view. As they reached it, she moved to the outermost corner, admiring the lake behind the property. "I'm still amazed at what magic can do," she commented, barely able to comprehend the fact that they were still in Diagon Alley.
He enveloped her from behind, humming in recognition as his chin moved to rest in the curve of her neck. "I've missed you so much, love."
Her hands moved to rest on his forearms. Wiggling just a little bit to get closer to him. "I'm sorry I left."
"You had to. I understand. I'm sorry for not listening, and for not being there when you got back. I got scared. I watched you get tortured on my floor and I felt ashamed. Why didn't you just tell me?"
"I couldn't alter the timeline that much."
"But, you could have a child?"
"Lucius," she breathed, just as he began to apologize for the harsh comment.
"I wish I could make it up. I wish it could just be you and I."
She felt tears in her eyes, but held them back. "Could you kiss me?"
He let go of her, allowing her to turn to him before he brushed his fingers over her bared shoulders and face. Leaning in, his lips slanted over hers, and Hermione sighed happily before wrapping her arms around him tightly. He still tasted like cinnamon, and it set every nerve on edge as she felt her panties dampen. She let out a needy cry that caused him to chuckle before deepening the kiss. Moaning in pleasure, she lifted her fingers through his hair, momentarily massaging his scalp. She was conscious enough of her actions to tug the ribbon from his hair and vanish it to her room, an action she had no control over that went unnoticed by him. At his hum of pleasure, she smiled, peppering his jaw with kisses before feeling his hand grip her face and expose her neck to him.
Lucius nipped and sucked at her skin, enticing moans and mews of pleasure from the witch. Lifting her, he placed her on the banister of the gazebo and moved between her legs, absently thankful for the layers of silk that made up her dress. He ground into her, feeling her gasp at the feel of what she could still do to him.
"I've missed this," he told her lowly, a growl sounding from his throat as her hand gripped him over his trousers. He pulled away slightly, peering into her eyes, and Hermione guessed that he found what he was looking for in them because all she could think was that she needed him and he was suddenly on her, hands working to pull the skirt of her dress above her knees and over her waist before he moved on to unzipping the bodice, pulling it beneath her breasts and latching on quickly.
She encouraged him by running her fingers through his hair, holding him there as he unfastened his trousers. "I've waited so long for this," he told her, righting himself long enough to kiss her mouth soundly before moving on to the next breast. Hermione moaned as he pushed her panties to the side, fingers slipping into her slowly.
The first was tentative, giving her a chance to stop him, and the second entered thoughtlessly as her thumbed her clit. He groaned against her, and she felt it pulse through her body as she reached for him blindly, tugging him closer before releasing him from the confines of his pants. A third finger slipped into her, causing her to cry out at the invasion. She was so wet for him that she could hear his ministrations, but nothing in her was embarrassed.
It'd been so long, damn it. And he was finally there, touching her, filling her, his breath warm and sweet on her skin as he brought her to incoherency. Very clearly, he needed this as much as she did, and it only encouraged her.
"Lucius," she mewed, feeling his smile as he circled her clit pumped his fingers into her with vigor.
He licked up her chest, neck, and jaw, kissing her lips chastely before pressing his mouth to her ear. "Cum for me, Hermione."
Hearing her name on his lips, like a prayer, as he throatily chanted the words sent her over with a sharp scream. He chuckled happily, kissing her hair as her forehead fell onto his shoulder, fingers still trapped within her. She reached between them, hand clasping his wrist and encouraging him to continue touching her, glossy eyes watching as his digits, wet with her juices, worked her with ease.
Her own hands never felt as good as his, and the memory of his encouragement wasn't quite as sweet as truly hearing it. She wanted to stay like this with him forever. Childishly, she decided that the garden and gazebo were secluded enough for them to get away with it for a few hours, at least.
Lifting her head, she pressed her lips to his throat and let her hand fall away from his wrist, moving toward him thoughtlessly. His groan filled the air and she stroked him gently for a few seconds, loving the feel of having him back in her hands. She smiled at him, admiring the careful slope of his nose and the way his eyelashes bushed the noble curve of his cheeks. Her free hand brushed slowly over his face, causing his eyes to open.
"I need you now," he told her, and she nodded, directing him to her entrance as his hand gave her one last stroke to her inner walls. The wizard groaned as she gasped, pushing his length into her as though he had all the time in the world. He pulled away very slightly, watching himself fall away before steadily driving back in, disappearing into her heat. "Oh, gods, witch."
Her hands moved to rest on his hips as his pace picked up, encouraging him to go faster. "Luca," she groaned, using an old nick name. He pressed his face into her shoulder, inhaling the rosy scent of her skin and honey of her hair as he continued to drive home. One arm wound around her as she rolled her hips, keeping her from falling over the edge of the gazebo, as he lifted his other hand to knead at her breasts.
"You're just as I remember," he murmured against her, feeling her heat tighten around his length. "Like heaven."
She could hear the teasing tone in his voice, but also the truth. Still, she kept the tears away, wanting to remember every moment of this homecoming. She hadn't been with anyone since leaving him, despite having tried, and was quite sure she wouldn't be with anyone for the remainder of her life. He felt too good and fit too right within her for there to be anyone else in the world with the ability.
He was whispering incoherently into her skin as he pumped in and out of her, smiling as she moaned throatily next to his ear. Their holds on each other tightened. "So tight," he murmured, "So fucking wet."
Hermione felt her skin light aflame. "Only for you," she told him honestly, breathlessly. "Always only for you." Fidgeting a bit, she lifted a hand to caress the back of his neck.
She felt his teeth on her pulse point, marking her skin familiarly, and arched her body in a way that exposed more of her neck to him and pressed her pelvis into his, allowing him to sink deeper into her. They both groaned, and one of his hands fell from her breast to her swollen flesh with ease, pinching and tugging at the skin before rubbing it soothingly, rhythmically. The feeling of her core tightening further caused her to gasp loudly, fingers curling into his hair and pulling him away from her neck. He kissed her roughly, claiming her with little hesitation.
She chanted his name. "I'm going to cum," she pleaded with him, and the need in her voice nearly sent him over. "Oh, god, Luca. I'm going to- oh, god."
Lucius worked his fingers quickly and was rewarded with the feel of her pulsing around him, body shaking uncontrollably. He continued to push into her as her heat milked him desperately, pulling a growl from his chest as he pressed his mouth to her in another all-consuming kiss.
The pair remained still for minutes, breathing each other in as he remained inside of her. They'd spent too many years a part for them to give up this togetherness just yet. Hermione wondered, desperately, why it'd taken so long for them to get back to this. She'd wasted years keeping away from him in fear that he would be disgusted with her, not only for using him so callously but for losing their child as well. And they'd wasted years sitting in Potter's Field like a couple of pathetic, morbid creeps.
At length, he pulled out of her, remaining close as he tucked himself back into his trousers and helped her right herself. He left gentle kisses and love bites over her skin as he moved, barely leaving an inch of visible skin untouched, and once his eyes came back to hers, she saw that he was crying.
"Oh, Lucius," she sighed, reaching for him. He allowed her to wrap her arms around her shoulders, his own tightening at her waist as he cried into her chest. Hermione soothed him with her fingers through his hair, occasionally rubbing down his back.
"I wish something could come of this," he admitted once he'd gotten ahold of himself, his fingers brushing her stomach thoughtfully.
He'd confessed to her that he was sterile one afternoon in the graveyard, commenting on the fact that the Malfoy line would end with him due to his foolish and desperate need to commit to Voldemort. He'd said it was for the best, though he was unsure where all the wealth would go, and she'd gone home early to cry. The resignation in his voice had smashed her already broken heart to pieces, and still it took months for her to mention that their own child had died.
"I love you," his voice filled the air urgently as he pulled away enough to see her face. "I've loved you and I love you and I will love you." Grey eyes bore into her in desperation.
She nodded soundly. "I love you, too."
He was still crying. "It's the only reason I've lived this long," he confessed.
"You're not," she shifted uncomfortably, and he made to move away but she latched onto him quickly, unwilling to have him far away. Hermione had no idea when she'd get this again. "You're not dying are you?"
He gave her a sad smile, tears streaming silently down his cheeks. "No. I live off the hope that I will see you move on, and happy again."
"I'm happy right now. I don't care about kids or whatever else you feel you can't give me. I'm happy with you."
His tightened, warm and assuring as the heating charm finally began to give away. He rested her forehead against hers. "Merlin, Hermione. I'd give you my flesh and blood if you needed it, but I won't take your future from you. I love you too much for that. You'll realize one day. You deserve much more than the shell of the boy you remember."
"Say my name again," she requested.
"Hermione," he murmured, leaning in to ghost his lips over hers. "Hermione, Hermione, Hermione," he repeated it over and over, resting his chin atop her head as he continued to embrace her.
And she cried into his shoulder, clinging to him, for longer than she cared to admit.
Dublin 4, Ireland; Summer 2005
Hermione leaned into her SUV, gathering her son from his car seat and pulling him into the light of day. He pressed his little face into the curve of her neck, attempting keep the sun from his eyes, and she smiled softly as she fished his sunglasses out of her purse. After securing them on his face, she placed him on the sidewalk and locked her car before taking his hand and starting down the sidewalk.
"Mummy, we playing?" He asked as they neared as they neared the crosswalk, spying a familiar playground in the distance.
"Not quite," she smiled down at the little boy from behind her own sunglasses, taking in the honey blonde of his short curls and the reddened state of his checks from being out in the sun for too long over the weekend. Fortunately, the salve she'd picked up during her last outing to Diagon Alley had helped to stop his tears and fierce rubbing of the sun rash, but it didn't lessen how dreadful it made his sweet little face look. "Mummy has to check in at the shop for a little bit, and then maybe we can play."
"We play now," he recommended sweetly, "work later."
Hermione found herself laughing as they hurried across the street. Decidedly, she could allow her son a little while on the playground, and she led him over with a small smile on her lips. Once they stepped onto the grassy fields, he let go of her hand and charged for the small group of children that were already playing. There was a group of nannies taking over the picnic tables, so she moved to sit on a nearby park bench, close enough to keep a sharp eye on her son but far enough away to at least focus a little on some paperwork she'd been attending to before picking him up from camp.
At length, Hermione looked up, feeling eyes heavy on her. However, no one was around. Glancing at her watch, she realized that 15 minutes had passed, and she really needed to get to work. "Hugo!" She called, drawing his attention instantly.
He'd pushed his sunglasses up on his head, forcing his hair back and causing him to seem a year or two older than he actually was. Smiling goofily at her, he bid farewell to the little boy he usually played with and ran over, collapsing over her legs with his grin still in place.
"Work time," he sang, reaching for her hand after she'd gotten up.
Neither noticed the man following them a few paces behind.
.
.
Hermione sat behind the counter at her bookstore as the cashier took lunch. She could hear her son's happy giggles as the shop cat humored him, and couldn't help the smile on her lips as she continued with her paperwork.
Hugo had been a pleasant surprise, her stomach only expanding after she'd realized that she'd missed nearly six menstrual cycles. By then, she'd already opened her shop in Muggle Dublin, and decided it best to simply move away from the Wizarding world all together. Things had been tough for her, with Ron incapable of understand that she didn't feel the same for him, and the Weasley's constant disappointment in their lack of relationship weighing upon her like soggy clothes, and it helped her decision come with ease. Beyond that, she and Lucius hadn't reconvened after the ball at the Minister's home, which was heartbreaking enough to leave her wishing she could just give up.
She'd seen him once since then. It was just after she'd given birth, and she'd popped in to Diagon Alley to get some ice cream. He'd been there with a pretty witch a few years younger than himself, which would have been surprising if she hadn't seen an old copy of the Prophet, informing her of he and Narcissa's divorce. He'd smiled when he saw her, eyes appraising, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder what he saw. If he thought she was happy, or just some fat girl buying ice cream after remaining under the radar for months. She was happy though, as little Hugo was a dream, and dipped out with her chocolate-and-sugar-quill cone as quickly as possible, disappearing to her home in Ireland.
Dublin was a fresh start, and the capital welcomed she and her son with open arms. Her shop provided a wide assortment of world literature, as well as a place to host open mics once or twice a month. It was a surprising success, one that inspired her to open a second shop in Diagon Alley for fun, and although she spent as little time as possible there, she was always happy to see whoever popped in while she was behind the counter. (She was also incredibly happy to see that Lucius Malfoy had opened a tab at the store, frequenting the place multiple times a week, and sometimes a day. She'd taken to buying books she knew he would like and having her shop girl, who'd just graduated Hogwarts the year before, inform her whenever he chose one of the texts she special ordered. The former Ravenclaw had even told her that he was a professor there now, and Hermione couldn't help the tug in her chest at the news. The few years she'd been gone had been good for the both of them, and that was all she could hope for.) She'd opened it in High Diagon, blocks away Flourish and Blott's, catering to the more refined witch or wizard, offering more intellectual texts than fictional literature –though she would order anything a guest requested with no problem.
She had it all, she really did. Her son was a smart and healthy boy that charmed everyone he met. Her businesses were bustling with life and prosperity. Hell, she was even dating a Squib doctor. It all felt amazing. She felt amazing. There was absolutely nothing missing from her life.
Except for the fact that he was missing. She felt a hole in her heart whenever her eyes caught the ribbon she'd stolen from his hair, but she couldn't throw it out. Her chest tightened each time she went out with the doctor. Despite having everything right, she felt wrong. Like she was living a lie. There had been so many times that she'd penned him a letter, but they remained stacked on a shelf in her home library, burning a hole in her mind. The only satisfaction she got was knowing that she had to strength to not send them every time she glanced at the pile.
Chiming bells pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up with a grin on her face that very slowly fell into a thin line. Lucius Malfoy was standing in her shop, dressed casually in Muggle attire, his long blonde hair tied into a bun at his nape. Her heart swelled in her chest, and exploded as she heard her son's giggles filling the air.
She prayed he would stay wherever he was.
"Lord Malfoy," she greeted charmingly. "Welcome."
He stared at her for a long time, and Hermione found herself counting the seconds. She could get him in and out, she really could. He wouldn't even see Hugo. He'd continue ignorant of the little boy, and she'd be home free.
"Looking for anything in particular?"
He tilted his head. "Yes, Miss Granger, I am." He stepped toward her, and Hugo charged right out of an aisle, directly in front of him.
The child had touched his leg as he circled him, attempting to get ahold of the cat before darting back into the security of the shelves. Hermione held irrationally onto the hope that he didn't recognize a thing, but she knew better, really. She'd known that she was being watched for days now, and had assumed it was another bout of Ron's stalker tendencies. But, seeing Lucius proved to her that it hadn't been the red, and she didn't know what to do.
"Perhaps I could help," she told him, but didn't budge from her seat.
"Your hair is longer," he told her thoughtlessly, eyes cataloguing every inch of her. Hermione blinked. "Motherhood suites you."
She swallowed, looking away very briefly. Hugo erupted with laughter from somewhere within the shop, and a pained look filtered across Lucius' face as sound of little footsteps hurried toward them. This time, she got up, tugging her son into her arms before he could dart past them again.
His grey eyes collided with his father's and there was no denying anything in that moment. Hugo leaned into Hermione and whispered into her ear, "Daddy."
She nodded, her eyes never leaving Lucius as he took the little boy in. He wiggled from her hold and offered his hand to him casually, as though he completed the action regularly. The older wizard clasped his son's hand in his and shook it surely, a mixture of awe, pride, and devotion swirling around him.
"Hugo."
"I'm Lucius."
Hugo smiled coyly before turning back to his mother, "Colleen's takin' lunch."
"You've already had lunch," she looked down at him.
"Chips," he told her, as though it was the answer to everything. And than he raised his eyebrows and gestured between the adults before pulling a face that told her he wanted no part of it.
Hermione okayed him leaving and smiled thankfully at Colleen, who turned the closed sign behind her as she left. "Would you like some coffee?" She magicked the door locked and gestured for him to follow him.
"I'd like to know when you were going to tell me."
She was quiet until they reached the break room. "I wasn't going to."
He closed his eyes painfully, lips pressing together firmly. "I have the right to know."
"You teach at Hogwarts, don't you? You would have seen him."
"Are you hearing yourself?" He questioned disbelievingly. "I would have missed everything. I've already missed so much."
"You told me to move on and be happy," she told him measuredly. It was unfair, but she didn't care. He'd made it quite clear that he wanted nothing to do with her when he'd left her in the garden.
"That's my son, Hermione! What's wrong with you?"
"I did what you asked, Lucius. I'm sorry if what happened didn't exactly fit into your plans. I'm not asking you for anything. You made it clear that you weren't interested in any sort of future with me. So, what's the problem?"
He looked at her as though she'd grown a third and fourth head. "If I told you I'd like a future with you now, what would you say?"
She laughed bitterly. "I wish I could say fuck off," she told him honestly, mind recalling seeing him on the cover of the Prophet a year ago, kissing the pretty witch she'd seen him with at the ice cream parlor. "But, honestly, I'd give you my flesh and blood if you asked for it."
He looked pained. She felt herself softening.
"I hadn't known I could have children. If I had…I wouldn't have insisted that you find happiness someplace else." The honesty in his voice was raw, and it sliced through her like a knife. "A son, Hermione," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "And you weren't even going to tell me."
She didn't want to tell him that she'd planned to, after she'd seen that he and his wife had divorced. But then she'd seen that woman and it wasn't worth it. He'd moved on. Again. And she was still stuck in love with a man that would never be her own. She'd done what she had to do.
"How old is he?"
"He'll be four in August."
"That soon?" His head fell onto the back of the chair, exposing is pale neck to her. "I have a four year old son," he murmured. "He's so small."
She nodded, not really sure what to do or say.
"I can't believe you weren't going to tell me I had an heir."
"He's a Granger," she told him soundly, watching as he tensed. It was a truth she wasn't going to let go. Hugo was hers, and for as willing as she to share him with Lucius, he would remain her own.
He didn't argue with her. He swallowed it down and sat up. "You all live here."
"I have a flat a few blocks from here, we stay there during the week. We spend weekends with Harry or at my home in Howth."
"You're doing well for yourself, then."
"Obviously."
He acted as though he didn't hear her. "Harry fucking Potter knew my son, and I didn't. I work with that sod."
"You can't be in his life if you swear like that. Hugo's at an impressionable age and I can't have that negativity around him."
Lucius blinked, leaned his head back, and laughed heartily. "I missed you."
She didn't respond to him, eyes falling down to her hands. It felt weird to be around him again.
"Hermione," he murmured. "Is there someone else?"
"I'm dating this Squib, but he's revolting, really. You should see him. He's tall and blonde and every time I look at him," she took a deep breath in, but it didn't help her in any way. "And you moved on, anyway. You found yourself someplace else. So, don't ask me that. I hate you."
He had the decency to look wounded. "I didn't find myself anywhere else. I gave you everything I had, tooth and fucking nail. I have nothing left."
"No, I gave you all of me. I told you I was only for you," she spoke angrily. "I told you and you left. I thought maybe it was karma, but whatever it was, it wasn't fair. I had no choice, you had very one in the world. And it wasn't me. You're engaged for fuck's safe, Lucius."
He was shaking his head, and decided to stand up, pacing the room in long, easy strides. He looked like an angered panther, and she wondered how far he would go to lay claim to Hugo. The courts would rip her son away and hand him over to the Lord; Merlin-forbid such a great family fall to pieces over a silly thing like war. Regardless of what side he was on, he'd been apart of British Wizarding history from the start, and she couldn't beatthat.
Hermione would have to give him sort of option, but she hated herself for even thinking in. He'd chosen, and it wasn't her. It wasn't them. She'd finally gotten close to acceptance, and he'd found her.
"How'd you figure it out?"
"Ronald Weasley, believe it or not. He cornered me at your High Diagon location. Must of saw a photo of Potter's boy and ours."
"Mine," she told him. He needed to know that.
He froze, turned, and studied her before allowing, "Yours."
She sighed and rubbed at her temples. "What do you want, Lucius? Why are you here?"
"I want to know my son! I want him to know me, and his legacy."
"He knows you," she told him, watching as surprise filled his face. "You think I would keep that from him? Not to mention the Draco problem."
"The Draco what?"
It was her turn to look surprised. "You still don't know than? Your son is a ghost. You'll probably see him around the shops. He's attached himself to Hugh and I."
He ran his hand over his hair, blinking profusely.
"How long has he been with you?"
"Since we stopped meeting. He missed the company."
"He was in the graveyard? While we were?" He looked disbelieving.
She nodded. "He's a rather good baby sitter." Hermione brushed her hands through her hair, letting it fall over the back of the chair she was in. "The point is that he knows. Hugo knew you the moment he saw you. I'd never keep that from him."
"But you'd keep him from me."
"Like I said, Lucius. I've moved on, I'm happy. That's what you wanted."
"And if I said I wanted to be a part of his life?"
"I wouldn't be opposed to the two of you spending time together."
"And your life?"
"What of it?"
"I want to be a part of it. To get this right."
She shook her head. "You're engaged. You're happy. And now you've an heir. You have no need for me."
He looked at her for a long time, pain and loathing making up his features. Finally, he asked, "What happened to his face?"
"Sun burn. We spent the weekend in Spain."
He smiled softly, sadly. "Draco used to get terrible sun rashes. They stayed for the while summer," he recalled softly. Hermione knew; that's why she knew what salve to get for him. Lucius hesitated. "Could you tell me about him?"
The tension she was feeling lessened, allowing her to relax his shoulders. "His birthday's 7 August. He was a big baby, nearly ten pounds," she smiled at the memory. "He's a happy child now, but he was really upset for the first few months. Not fussy or anything, he just didn't smile at anyone but me, and he didn't really care to be held by anyone else, either. He almost always slept through the night though, which is good, because it was just he and I…and Draco. Which was weird, but I'm thankful." She continued on, telling about his first words and steps and his favorite foods and stories.
Lucius continuously asked for more, obviously passionate about his need to know his son. Hermione found herself feeling bad about keeping such happiness to herself, but thought little about it as she recalled little facts. He'd moved on.
She felt the wards on the shop tingle, and Hugo's happy laughter could be heard from the front. Without anything more to say to each other, they left the break room. He stopped her before they emerged from the shelves. "I really have missed you."
Against her better judgment, she hugged him, inhaling the woody scent of his skin. His arms were strong, warm, and wonted around her. She felt his lips in her hair, and she closed her eyes to keep back tears. This doesn't change anything, she told herself.
"God, I've missed this," he breathed.
Hugo ruined the moment, squealing when he found them and charging at her legs. He hugged them, smelling heavily of grease, pressing his little face into her thigh and leaving a bite mark behind, much to her chagrin. "Hugo!" She pulled out of Lucius' arms and found her son peering up at her joyfully.
"I eat you up I love you so," he attempted to quote his favorite bedtime story, and Hermione found her irritation dissipating. "What I said to my fries!"
She frowned, and Lucius laughed, sharing a smile with his son. Nothing could argue against how right it felt, but she couldn't. Really.
The older wizard squatted down to his level, taking in the young blonde as he continued to cling to his mother's leg. He watched him with interest, emotion flickering over his face. They looked nothing like each other, the babe's pale skin and grey eyes being the only features that identified him as a Malfoy, but it seemed to be enough. She could see his eyes swelling with pride and love and couldn't help but feel bad for denying them this.
As a smile stretched over his face, Hermione realized that Hugo must have been smirking at him. It wasn't something she was proud of, but he'd somehow managed to master the family smirk. He began babbling, which was another thing that angered the young mother, but the sweet noises brought a childlike grin to his father's face.
"Do you know what he's talking about?"
"No. He and Albus are close in age; Harry and I think that they created their own little language. They only do it when they have a lot to say," she ran a hand through his hair, which distracted him enough for him to turn his eyes on her. "We speak English, love."
He seemed upset, thought for a little while, and finally managed. "Mummy make the best tacos," and then, "I want a hug."
Hesitantly, he repeated her action, brushing a hand through the boy's hair. "I'm sure she does." Lucius reached for him, and Hugo's little arms instantly wrapped around his neck. He was mumbling something, and Lucius was crying. Hermione looked away, her own eyes brimming with tears.
"I won't," he whispered to the boy, and she looked down to find her old lover's eyes on her. "I'm not going anywhere."
She felt every security wall she'd built crumbling, and hated herself for it. But still, she knew better.
The next morning, the Prophet arrived at her flat, a note attached to it in Harry's undignified handwriting: He knows, huh?
She patiently flipped through the paper, slowly reaching to gossip section as she ate pancakes with her son. Elation swelled in her chest as she read the title: Lord Lucius Malfoy and Countess Celeste Borgin call it quits.
Granger Estate, Howth, Ireland; Winter 2008
Lucius stepped out of the Floo and into the mudroom with a slight scowl.
He hadn't intended on returning home so early in the week, it was only the first day of holiday, after all, and there were a number of things to take care of in his office. However, having McGonagall on his ass about failing a second year had driven him to the sanctuary of the Irish country.
Hugo greeted him just outside the room, his eyes bright and face alert as his father offered him a hug. The older wizard could tell that he had a lot to say, and offered a welcoming smile as they walked to the kitchen, following the sweet scent of pastries. Stopping just shy of next room, he turned to his father and took a deep breath.
"I got kicked out of St. Allanon's."
Lucius stared at his son, reminding himself that he was everything he'd ever wanted. It was hardly the sort of news he'd wanted to come home to. "On the basis of what?"
"Misconduct. I fought someone."
"You mean dueled."
"No," Hugo shook his head. His grey eyes bore into his fathers, jaw working with suppressed anger. "I mean that I hit Finnegan. Repeatedly. Until they pulled me off of him."
"Pray tell, why, Hugo? Have you lost your mind?" Lucius wasn't sure if he should shake his son or not. Hermione usually contacted him when something went wrong with their son, and the fact that she was in the kitchen baking with such news floating around was beyond him.
"He called you scum and said that Mum was a-a whore," he spat, pain and rage tingeing his usually soft features. "He said I wasn't worthy of even being alive and that I should take a cue from Draco!"
Lucius blinked, and reached for his son, who seemed as though he'd start crying at any moment. He'd grown so much over the last three years, sprouting up and seeming more like a 9 year old than a 7 year old, that the older wizard had to remind himself that he was still just a boy. It was appalling, really, that someone his age would even know what it meant to be a whore. Surely, they'd heard their parents speaking, but that made it no less inappropriate.
"Do you know what that means, Hugo?"
"I didn't. But Mummy told me after we left," he mumbled into his father's Hogwarts robes.
"He shouldn't have said that to you. Your actions are inexcusable, but I suppose your mother has already told you this."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry that happened to you," he apologized, eyes meeting Hermione's as she leaned against the doorframe.
She gave him a sad smile, and he resisted telling her that this had been one of his fears about starting a relationship with her.
.
.
Later that evening, the pair laid together in bed, Hermione curled into the wizard's side as he rested flat on his back, eyes boring into the ceiling.
"I got him expelled," she admitted.
His fingers stilled where they'd been drawing circles over her shoulder. "What do you mean?"
"Once I learned what happened, I had a few choice words to the Headmaster and Adela Finnegan. Needless to say, they decided it best if we pulled him out of school. Gave us the tuition back as well."
"You've been ruthless lately, wife."
Hermione closed her eyes, smiling at his affirmation of what she was to him. She couldn't help the reaction. "I know," she told him as a whisper. "Can you feel it?" She asked quietly.
"Feel what?"
She remained quiet, willing him to pick on the feeling before she voiced him. Feeling him tense, she looked up at him and smiled. "17 weeks."
"17 weeks," he breathed. Hermione could feel the warmth emotion flowing out of him as he gently pushed her away from him, his head moving to rest on her stomach, taking in the quiet, protective magic that collected there.
They'd been trying for a second child since nearly the day he'd reentered her life. The specialist both began seeing stated that due to the amount of Dark Magic they'd been exposed to, chances of conception would be close to none, and although she'd gotten pregnant a few times, they'd lost the children. Hugo was enough, really, but Lucius still wanted a girl –Hermione was sure that he simply wanted a child with his name, though he would never admit to even wanting another child. She could feel his gratefulness for what they had together, but his disappointment hurt grandly every time things went south. Her friend's had home bustling and alive with children, and their own was quiet…which she knew was why he spent a few nights at Hogwarts a week.
She smiled as he brushed kisses to her skin, murmuring against her.
"Have you seen a Healer?"
"Yesterday."
"And do you know the sex?"
"I'm still the only girl in the house," she told him teasingly, hoping to lighten the blow. He smiled, closed his eyes, and cried over her belly. "You alright, Luca?"
"Narcissa wouldn't let me touch her when she was pregnant. She lived in the guest house," he admitted lowly. "She didn't really want a child, thought she loved Draco more than anything or one." He looked back at her, arms tightening around her waist. "And I did not even know of Hugo until he was damn near four. I've never," he took a deep breath, and Hermione ran her fingers through his hair.
She adored this version of him. Outside of the bedroom, he added a layer, forcing himself to only show his son strength and dignity. He was soft with him, but he was never uncool or without control of his emotions. And outside of their home was a man she barely knew, but loved and admired nonetheless. Despite how well respected and accepted he'd become in the community, there were still many with disdain for the Malfoy name. Which was understandable, but unfair. In all honesty, she was the spitfire Malfoy these days, though not quite as arrogant or rude as she remembered him to be before Voldemort.
Seeing that he was sensitive and capable of a broad range of emotions filled her heart with happiness.
"I've been a father. I've loved and guided and provided, but I've never," he still didn't finish the statement. "Merlin, Hermione. Please don't leave me."
"Why would I?" She questioned curiously.
"You wouldn't have had to say anything to anyone at St. Allanon's if it weren't for me. I know you don't want me to know, but Hugh tells me when you all are denied service or treated poorly because you're Malfoys, and I'm so sorry you're judged for and have to wear this shame."
"Luca," she spoke firmly, "You didn't force me to take your name. I did it because I wanted to, because I'm proud of you are and whom you're striving to be. I am not ashamed of my connection to you, or any part of you, for that matter. Other people's ignorance means nothing to me. We've been leading by example, and there is no part of me that wants to leave you. Ever. You're the only man I know."
He watched her with blank eyes. "You mean it?"
"Yes! I said forever, didn't I?"
A small smile graced his lips. "I love you."
"I know," she grinned. "But show me."
The blonde smiled at his wife, pushing himself up and moving to hover over her. Smile morphing into a hungry smirk, his eyes began to possess the all-consuming look they always glowed with when he came to her. He pressed a sound kiss to her mouth, hair falling around them like a curtain. Her mind travelled back to the first time they were intimate, the raw passion that swallowed them both into its hold. He'd mumbled something vulgar and angry in her ear, already aware of being a Muggleborn and absolutely hating her for it. It hadn't mattered in the end, their hunger and desire for each other keeping their intense affections above any rhyme or reason.
Despite how familiar and comfortable they'd grown with each other then and now, it'd never lessened its grip.
"I'll fucking tear you a part," he murmured. And she felt it tighten even still.
The End
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