Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hermione carefully brushed what dust remained from the brittle surface of the scrolls. She toyed delicately with the edges, tugged at the strings holding them closed, light, experimental.
She sat back, then leaned forward again, peering at the still-furled parchments closely. Reaching out to run her finger along the seam of the closest of the bundle, she made a small, thoughtful sound.
Then she began the process anew.
"Bloody hell, woman!" Lucius' sudden bark from across the kitchen made her jump. "Open a damn scroll, already!"
She turned enormous eyes on the wizard, her palm pressed—melodramatically, in his opinion, as her heart didn't beat—between her breasts. She—again with her melodrama, perhaps it was simply her, or perhaps vampires were prone to it, who knew?—exhaled loudly. "Dear Lord, Mr. Malfoy! You nearly scared the life out of me."
Oh, this was too precious—she seemed wholly unaware of the turn of phrase she'd just used. His brows pinching upward, he merely held her gaze in a calm stare. Having finished his steak in far fewer bites than it normally would've taken him given his dire need of nourishment, he merely sipped his tea as he waited for her to catch up.
After another of his patient sips, she tipped her head to one side. It was nearly comical how fast her eyes went from growing wide enough to seem in danger of falling from her head to narrowed in murderous little slits. Lucius was surprised he managed to keep a chuckle over the spectacle to himself.
"Oh, shut up," she said in a hissing whisper.
He allowed a snicker to escape, then. Taking another sip, he watched her as she returned her attention to the scrolls.
"I just . . . . I don't want to damage them," she reasoned aloud, her voice not nearly as firm as she would've liked. "They are quite old, after all."
He nodded, setting down his cup against its saucer with a soft clink. When she still had yet to touch them, he let out a long, loud sigh. "Do you think there's a chance you're not being honest with yourself, Miss Granger?"
I'm absolutely not being honest with myself, Mr. Malfoy, about a great many things since last night, could you be a tad more specific? The question rattled through her mind and she frowned. Instead, she responded, "How do you mean?"
Lucius shook his head, a mirthless smile curving his lips for a moment as he stood from the table. "Is it, perhaps, possible you don't want to look because you're aware whatever was done to poor souls downstairs might be recorded there and you don't truly want to know?"
Hermione sat back as far as the chair would allow, staring at one of the scrolls as she idly circled the edge of the parchment with the tip of one finger. "Well . . . perhaps that's so. I think being that I'm the same as what they were, I can't help worrying that I'll identify with them too strongly."
"Well, you always were rumored to be too compassionate for your own good," he said as he crossed the kitchen.
"Funny, and here I thought I was rumored to be an insufferable know-it-all."
A chuckle rumbled out of him as he came to a halt just behind her chair, looking over her shoulder at the scrolls. "There is that, but we are, all of us, made up of flaws and merits, are we not?"
She ignored that a smile was playing on her lips at his words. That smile faded just as fast as he thoughtlessly reached past her. His long fingers—curse it all, why was she noticing his hands?—closed around one of the scrolls.
He opened it with delicate movements and unfurled it. When he let out a breath and then inhaled to begin reading the contents aloud, Hermione shivered.
She cursed herself, now, that she'd been unable to ignore the sweep of his exhalation against the side of her throat.
Worse, she was cognizant of how he froze in response.