January 14th

Lucius swallowed hard and took a few steps into the room. Outside, dusk was fast approaching, and the light that came in through the windows was bleak and grey, making the entire room seem painted in monochrome. His eyes immediately sought for her, hungrily drinking her in when they found her. Pale and with tousled curls - dull grey rather than vivid brown - she sat on the bed as if she just woke up from slumber. She was even dressed in grey, looking smaller than she should, more fragile, more ghostlike.

What was he supposed to do now? Throw himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness? Yes! No! No, he had to listen to her this time. He had to learn to listen. But what if she didn't speak?

He was not sure what it was, but something about the way Hermione calmly met his gaze alarmed him. Struggling with his thoughts, Lucius's own face had slipped into a mask. Probably one of cool indifference. It was a reflex he'd acquired over the years, and had since struggled to lay off. Beneath it, he was barely holding himself together, but he was not master enough of himself to take it off.

Just as he debated whether or not to approach her, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention, something large and bulky on the floor beside the bed. Lucius glanced over to see what it was, and froze. No.

Hermione's expression gave nothing away, but he felt his mask slip ever so slightly.

Three bags were sitting the floor next to the bed. Her bags.

Too late. He was too late.

When finally he found his voice, it was hoarse from held back emotion. "You're leaving", he said.

Sadness seeped into her features, but her voice was clear. "I've made my decision, and there's very little you can say that could change my mind." She let her words sink in before she added: "I've learned a lot these past few days. About you and about me, and I think we should talk, to make sure we're on the same page."

She shuffled to the edge of the bed and put her feet down.

"Will you sit?" she murmured, glancing at a chair close to the bed.

He walked over and sat down on it, facing her. The bags were still in his field of vision, oppressing him by their mere presence. She was leaving, his awakening had come too late. She had already made her decision - but he would give her this. He must. Givevra's words echoed in his mind. Your love isn't enough. She had needed him. Unavailable, that's what he had been. Well, here he was now. If all he could do was to give her a proper ending, a proper goodbye, so be it.

He waited for her to start, but she hesitated and fiddled with the hem of her dress. Had she still been his, he would have sat next to her and taken her hands to soothe her. He would have pulled down the dress that hitched up her thighs when she sat on the bed - or perhaps pulled it further up, if she would let him. But he didn't dare move from his assigned chair.

After a few moments of awkward silence, there was a slight waver to her voice when she admitted: "I don't know where to start. The other night..."

She looked even more pale now as the dusk was progressing to darkness.

"What happened?" Lucius asked, his heart beating in his chest.

Hermione sighed, and for the first time since he entered the room, she looked away. "I had a - a dream." Worriedly, Lucius saw her eyes fill with tears. "I should have told you months ago. I would have realized sooner..." she stammered.

Holding onto his chair, Lucius forced himself to listen to what she described. What she had hid from him: nightmares consisting of her darkest memories. She had relived all of the most painful experiences of her life, and each time it would be him that was hurting her. He hadn't had a clue about what she was going through, while she'd dreamed of him doing all kinds of horrible things to her. Insulting her, cheating on her, cursing her, torturing her and -

"Stop", he pleaded. She couldn't bear to hear her say it. Not that. No wonder she panicked at the mere sight of him. No wonder she'd decided to leave. If this was what she truly thought of him, there was no hope.

"I couldn't think straight", she mumbled. "When I woke up, the dream was still so fresh, I was still panicking, I-"

"Of course", Lucius interrupted, perhaps a little harshly. "It is perfectly understandable."

Hermione's gaze flickered in an odd way, and she seemed to shrink into herself a little, pulling her hands into her grey sleeves, crossing her arms over her belly. "Perhaps", she admitted. "I'm still sorry."

"Apology accepted", he answered in a hollow voice. It did hurt, that she hadn't told him. It hurt even more to know the reason she hadn't told him. She hadn't been able to trust him. Whether she had believed the dreams or not, she hadn't trusted him. He felt - betrayed. But he had dug his own grave in that respect, given all the secrets he'd kept from her. She didn't even know the worst of it yet.

Lucius braced himself to stand. He'd been wrong. He wasn't strong enough for this. "I should g-"

"Legilimency!" Hermione blurted out.

Lucius was taken aback at how frightened she looked. Was she really so scared of him that even the tiniest movement on his part would cause her to flinch like that? Slowly, he sank back into his chair. Don't scare her, he told himself sternly.

"Legilimency?" he asked, trying to gather his thoughts while watching her nervously pull back a few locks of hair behind her ear.

"The dreams", she stuttered, looking relieved to see him sit still. "I don't think those dreams came from me."

She proceeded to tell him about all that was suspicious about the dreams: how they started right after the ball, how they were oddly systematic, how they usually came at the same time of night, how the memories were oddly clear and accurate...

"And I'm a real crappy occlumens, so I had no chance to stop it", she concluded. "I didn't even realise it was happening... It makes sense."

"There's only one reason why someone would do that", Lucius said, reluctantly pulling his gaze from the bags by the bed to think her arguments through. He had to acknowledge their probability, even though he couldn't quite make himself care too much of their attacker right now. "They've been aiming to break us apart", he mused. "By forcing me to attack you, and by filling your mind with images of me being a monster."

Well, they'd certainly done a good job, Lucius thought bitterly, glancing once more at the bags. In vain he tried to fight the pain that was growing inside him, like a bubble threatening to break and fill him entirely with excruciating anguish.

"What else did you need to talk about?" he asked brusquely. He was torn between wishing for her to end this torture, this anticipation of the inevitable, and being willing to suffer anything rather than see her go.

Hermione looked uncertain for a moment, but lifted her chin with determination. "I've been to see Narcissa."

Lucius felt as if an iron fist had punched him in the gut. "Why?" he groaned. Whatever they had talked about, nothing good could have come from it. Narcissa had always hated him.

"Because I think you could have had a perfectly happy marriage", Hermione answered, "and I needed to know what went wrong."

Lucius snorted. "Narcissa has treated me with coldness since the day we were engaged."

"Since the day you shut yourself up in that room with Eloise Rosier", Hermione corrected. There was a bitter undertone that she perfectly understood. He'd known she wouldn't forgive him what he'd done. Even she had to have some limit - she was too clever to be that good. She was no fool, after all. His cold unconcern for Eloise's feelings, his taking advantage of her, his cutting insults - and keeping it all secret. He didn't deserve forgiveness.

"I never told Narcissa about that", Lucius stated.

"Perhaps you should have."

Lucius frowned. There was a knowing gleam in Hermione's eyes, as if she knew things he didn't. She flicked her wand, and the lights at their bedside tables lit up. He thought he saw a flicker of gold in her eyes.

"She was on her way to find you", Hermione said. "She was nervous about meeting your parents and thought she'd feel more comfortable if you could go there together. So that you could at least pretend your engagement it was your own choice. And given how she felt about you, I'm sure she also just wanted to see you, and hear you say you didn't resent her for being forced upon you."

Lucius frowned. The circumstances of that day seemed accurate, but he couldn't imagine Narcissa actually feeling anything in particular for him.

"She met Eloise on the fourth floor, and though she hadn't exactly been blind to the way she flirted with you, Narcissa could tell something was wrong so she stopped to ask her what had happened." Hermione's voice tightened. "Eloise had been crying, her clothes were torn, and there were bruises."

Lucius froze. There were what?

"Eloise told her the two of you had been flirting, and snogged and hid yourselves on the sixth floor, but then –"

Lucius stood up abruptly, and turned his back to her, taking a few steps away. Turning towards the window and the lights of the city outside.

Hermione had stopped speaking and Lucius turned around, ready to yell at her for even hinting at what he was sure she would get to, but she looked so much in pain that the words died on the tip of his tongue. Hermione's entire body was hunched in on itself, her knuckles white from her death grip on the bed sheets, her lower lip trembling.

He'd give anything for her to stop, and yet something compelled him to push her to continue. "And then?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "And then you took her by force."

She was lying. She, or Narcissa. Or Eloise. Both, all. Lucius didn't know which, but they were lying! He looked around him, as if somehow the truth could materialise before them and convince her he was not that depraved. Not even then.

He should have shown her his entire memory. He still could, but he knew it was too late. Her trust was already broken. She was close to tears, and he realised that her own experiences probably made her able to picture it perfectly well. Why shouldn't she believe it?

The silence between them stretched until it was nearly unbearable, broken only by the church bells tolling outside. Hermione's voice was strained when she spoke again: "Narcissa said something else. That she had been told to expect only one child, but it seemed you had the privilege of three."

Lucius closed his eyes in defeat. No more, he begged, as he sank down on his chair. It all consipired against him. All his secrets, all his enemies.

"So you think I raped Eloise Rosier and that Daphne is my daughter?" he said in an empty voice, sinking his head into his hands.

"That's what Narcissa thinks, and that's why her crush on you turned to bitterness, aversion and distrust."

"But you think so too", Lucius insisted. He didn't want to hear it, but he needed to. Perhaps it would be easier to accept her leaving him because of a crime he didn't commit, rather than because of his real guilt?

He heard her take a deep breath and steeled himself for the inevitable.

"No, I don't", she said.

Lucius raised his head and stared at her, uncertain if he could have heard her right. No? He waited for her to continue. To explain herself. He couldn't even feel relief.

"My mother told me that it's a man's actions that define his character", Hermione said quietly. "And while I have seen – or can easily imagine – you inflicting pain, killing and humiliating people in the past, you have never shown the slightest disrespect of women in that way. Even when you tried to get me to sleep with you that first night, you waited for me to take your hand. You always waited for my consent. That's what I saw in your memories as well. With Narcissa, and with Eloise. What happened in that room... I trust you. I think you told me the truth, and that it was your words that made Eloise cry, not what you did to her body."

Lucius felt faint, and could only stare at her. She'd done it again. Showing such faith in him he didn't know how to handle it. Wasn't she supposed to hate him? Why did she never judge him the way he expected?

"And yet, you are leaving", he whispered.

She looked him in the eye without answering, and he caught himself in the futile hope of being able to change her mind.

"I'm sorry", he mumbled. "You're right to leave. I know I hurt you."

She stared at him for a few moments, blinking furiously and taking a deep breath before she spoke:

"I've been so alone these last few months, Lucius", she whispered.

He closed his eyes in anguish. He needed to hear it, but couldn't look into her eyes as she articulated just how badly his actions had hurt her.

"You've been around", she said quietly, "but not here. You've offered protection, but not support. You've been concerned, but I haven't felt as if you actually cared." She paused, her voice rough from unshed tears. "I've been wrong too, I know. I should have told you about the dreams, and I understand that you've been afraid. It's just…"

Her words were softly spoken, but cut through him mercilessly.

"I needed you,", she continued in a small voice, "but you just kept pulling further and further away.I was terrified, I was panicking – and you didn't even take the time to comfort me. I could accept being locked up, and controlled, at least for a while, knowing how important it was to you - but you've been pushing me away and that hurts." She put her hand to her chest, her voice quivering. "I've felt so lonely. So lost. So betrayed."

"I'm sorry", Lucius whispered. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"I can't live that way anymore."

"I know", he whispered. "You're right. You can't."

She shook her head to herself.

It was too late - he knew it was too late - but still, the words escaped his lips: "Don't leave."

His voice was so hoarse, he could hardly recognize it. He hardly knew what he was doing, but he stood up and approached her, sinking to his knees as he took her hands. She looked down at him, her eyes still difficult to read. There were too many emotions there, and Lucius couldn't trust himself to separate love from pity, devotion from regret.

"I'm sorry", he said, shaking his head at his own stupidity. Looking into her beautiful golden brown eyes he saw them fill with tears. His chest felt as it was squeezed together by iron bands. "If you truly want to leave, I'll let you."

"I know", she whispered.

Then what was she waiting for? She had better say the words and leave. Let him break.

"You told me to go away", Lucius said.

"I know", she said again.

"Did you mean it?"

"Not when I could think straight."

He looked up. Her bags were packed, her decision was made, and still there were grains of hope yet to be purged from his heart. He swallowed, squeezing her hands.

"If you stay", he said, despising his weakness, "I'll give you anything you want."

Hermione smiled tightly. "And what is it I want, Lucius?" she asked.

They stared into each other's eyes for a long time.

"Me", he answered finally.

The gold in her eyes seemed to glow brighter, but there was still restraint in her voice as she asked: "But what am I supposed to do when I can't have you?"

He closed his eyes against the pain, bowing his head until it rested against her knees. She was warm. He could feel her belly against the top of his head, but the baby was still. Perhaps she sensed that her father's fate was about to be sealed.

"I just wanted to keep you safe", he whispered, grasping her legs. "It's not just the thought of you getting hurt. It's the thought of me hurting you. It breaks me. The thought alone breaks me."

His voice faltered, and he looked up into her eyes.

"You banned me from seeing you", she said hoarsely. "And when you came home, you would scarcely talk to me, wouldn't touch me. You wouldn't even look at me some days."

There was an odd sensation on his cheeks and Lucius realised it was tears. Hot tears spilling from his eyes.

"I did look at you", he said, stroking her legs as if to soothe her - or himself. "I told myself I shouldn't because I might hurt you somehow. But I did. I've watched you for hours in your sleep and when you weren't looking." Lucius closed his eyes, grasping her knees. "I've been denying myself your touch because I was afraid of hurting you. I thought it was best for you."

"Couldn't you let me decide what's best for me?" she questioned.

"Ginevra said you had a right to", Lucius answered quietly, but added: "But I'm not sure I even know what that means."

"It means that I'm my own person", she answered fiercely, "who needs to make my own decisions even if you don't agree with them. It means I'm your partner, not your ward. It means you don't decide for me, but with me."

"Even if it kills you", he murmured in resignation.

"Even if it kills me", she confirmed.

He tightened his hold on her momentarily, and then exhaled, relaxing his grip. "I promise", he whispered. Deciding he had nothing to lose by letting his wretchedness be seen in its entirety, he continued: "I'm afraid, Hermione, so afraid you will die and take our child with you and I will be left alone in unbearable pain...", he took a ragged breath, "and the world will lose all its goodness and grace for good."

A sob erupted from Hermione's throat, and she quickly pulled her hands from his grasp to press them against her eyes. Soon, tears spilled out from under her fingers.

He didn't know where his courage came from, not when all seemed so utterly hopeless, but Lucius gently pulled her down onto the floor, onto his lap and into his arms. She cried, and so did he as he held her, whispering again and again in her ear: "I'm sorry, I didn't understand. I was selfish and frightened, and I didn't understand."

Thus they sat for a long time, until her sobs turned into sniffles, and her strained breaths slowed. She rested her head against his chest as he combed his fingers through her silky locks. This close, he could once again distinguish their rich brown colour. She breathed in deeply through her nose, and he allowed himself to fantasise that it was his scent that she craved. He felt almost intoxicated from being so close to her. How could he deny them both this comfort? How could he survive without her?

Hermione sat up straighter, lit a few more candles with her wand and looked into his eyes. Even though he knew legilimency was not one of her many talents, he felt in that moment as if she was looking straight into his soul - and he let her. He willed her to see his contrition, his love, his devotion, his willingness to do anything, anything -

Finally, she snivelled once more and nodded to herself. Clumsily, they both got to their feet. He felt a little surprise at how big she'd grown. He'd watched her over the past few months, and didn't think anything had escaped his notice, but he had been wrong. It wasn't until now that he could truly appreciate the changes her body had gone through. There was just more of her, somehow. And he wanted it all. He craved her - her golden eyes, her rosy cheeks, her pink lips...

Hermione gestured toward the bags, and Lucius involuntarily tightened his grip on her hand.

"Don't leave!" he whispered, panicked.

Hermione just shook her head.

"Open the bags", she said quietly.

Why? Did she want to unpack? Would she really consider staying? It seemed too much to hope for, but slowly, Lucius walked over to the bags. He worked on the clasps of the largest bag with shaking fingers until he managed to open the lid.

It was empty.

His paused in confusion, before he moved to the next one. His heart beat hard as he mopened the zipper and looked inside. Empty. And so was the third.

He looked up at Hermione. "You - you meant to stay?" he asked hoarsely.

"I told you", she said with a hesitant smile, "I already made my decision."