Glad you're liking this story! Usual disclaimer: JK Rowling owns it all and makes all the moolah. I don't, hence I actually have to work.
Coffee.
Yes, a strong cup of coffee. While fortifying, tea would not cut through the fog surrounding her brain. Maybe even espresso. Yes, that would be better. Hermione needed the caffeine so she could think clearly.
It had been one week since she had awoken in Lucius Malfoy's bed. No, their bed, if she were to believe what Harry had told her. And just because her best friend had stated that it was fact did not make it any easier to swallow. Other people—most notably Lucius—had tried to speak to her, but she had only allowed Harry to come near her. When her friend had looked at her with great pity in his eyes the previous evening, she had no longer been able to take it and left the room she had stayed in the entire time until then.
Now, she wished she hadn't been so rash.
Everything was unfamiliar, as she cautiously traversed the corridor stopping only to regain her balance at the top of the winding staircase before setting foot onto the first step, her hand clutching the banister in a death grip. Her mind was still muzzy and it made her feel dizzy, though she did have sporadic images filter through her consciousness. While they didn't seem particularly threatening, they didn't fill her with optimism either.
She reached the bottom, groaning when she passed a large rectangular mirror on the wall, which reflected proof-positive she should have taken a sleeping potion the night before, as had been suggested by her husband. She had accepted the fact that she was, indeed, six years older than she had originally believed. The evidence was all around her, and, if anything, she was pragmatic about the whole situation. Even Harry looked older. From what brief glimpses of Draco she had seen, he had matured as well. Lucius was still every inch the debonair pure-blood he had always been, and she secretly wondered if he had made some nefarious pact of Dark magic to keep himself ever young looking. She knew of a few Muggle celebrities that never seemed to age, so she deemed it likely that Lucius had access to all sorts of ways to stay forever fresh-looking.
Pausing to study her reflection, she grimaced. The delicate skin around her eyes was tight, the tiniest sign of the beginnings of crow's feet testament to the fact she was older now, and the dark circles framing her bottom lashes indicative of a restless slumber.
Shaking her head, she continued on through the halls, hoping she wouldn't have to resort to asking a house-elf for directions to the kitchen. As luck would have it, she came upon a room that looked like the formal dining area. She checked all the doors leading to it until she opened one to find the comfort of a worn table and chairs, surrounded by cookery. She breathed a sigh of relief and searched for anything that could be used to make coffee.
Preoccupied as she was, she didn't hear the kitchen door open. A flash of blond and a masculine hand clapping down firmly on her left shoulder elicited a surprised yelp out of her.
"Gods, you look awful, Granger," remarked the wizard. Draco graced her with a smirk and a quick squeeze to her shoulder before releasing her to walk forward and seat himself casually at the table.
Covering her mouth to halt her shaking, she watched Malfoy conjure a cup of tea, and start sipping it as he perused the Daily Prophet that had been left on the table.
Draco-bloody-Malfoy.
Though she had seen him several times over the course of the past week, it was still surreal to be standing a few feet away from him, in his kitchen, without him shouting curses at her.
He caught her focused examination of him and grunted. "What's the matter? Did Father keep you up late last night playing 'Master of the Manor' again?"
Yes, very surreal indeed. "Erm..." Get a grip, Granger! You can't show weakness now, especially not in front of the ferret. "I-I... that is to say..."
"Spare me the details." He arched a perfect brow and returned to reading the paper. "I've heard you two enough times before."
It was official. She'd had an accident with a Time Turner. Yes, that was it. At least, it was the only explanation her aching mind could accept at the moment. She had to have been fiddling with the instrument before she had been whirled into some alternate reality where Draco was actually a mate, she was married to a Death Eater, and everyone got on spectacularly.
That, or Voldemort had finally won and, when they had captured her, they had brainwashed her into thinking like them.
Clearing her throat, she straightened her posture in an effort to portray some semblance of normalcy and decorum, rather than the shock she'd received from his commentary, or the sense of familiarity displayed from the Slytherin she only remembered as always having been cruel to her. "I recall nothing of the sort," she replied primly.
Draco turned swiftly and narrowed his eyes at her. "You still don't remember..." He trailed off when she shook her head. "Merlin, I'm sorry!" He stood and moved towards her only to have her back away from him.
"Please don't!" she nearly begged. "Don't touch me."
He slowly nodded and returned to his seat, indicating with his hand that she should take the one at the opposite end. The table was large enough to afford comfort on both their parts. He waved his hand and a steaming cup of tea appeared in front of her.
"Father said you had improved," Draco began softly. "I hadn't realised that you still hadn't regained your memories."
She wrapped her trembling fingers around the warm cup and took a hesitant sip, sighing as the liquid eased the constriction around her throat. "Thank you for the tea," she murmured, avoiding his unasked question.
"What has Potter told you?"
Setting the cup down, she then folded her hands on top of the table. "Not much. I think he's afraid he'll tell me something that will send me over the edge."
Draco thinned his lips in consternation. "Tell me what you know as fact as of right now."
She bristled at his tone. "That it's been five years since the final battle. That I am married to Lucius Malfoy." She audibly gulped after this. "That, from Harry's perspective, Lucius seems to have been pampering me—"
"That's an understatement," Draco muttered.
Glaring at the blond wizard, she continued. "That Dumbledore passed away." She bit her lip at that, willing the tears away.
Frowning heavily, Draco carefully asked, "Did Potter tell you how the Headmaster died?"
"No." Oh God. There had to have been something horrible behind Professor Dumbledore's death, if Harry hadn't told her the circumstances—not that she had been in the right frame of mind to actually comprehend much. Maybe Draco would be forthcoming where Harry had not been. "What happened?"
Draco actually looked nervous and seemed to age right in front of her. "I don't think you're ready to know that just yet."
She might have residual pain in her head, but it hadn't affected her deductive skills. "You had something to do with it, didn't you?" Slowly, she rose to her feet and backed away. A flash of hurt crossed Malfoy's face and she winced.
"I think you need to talk to Potter again," Draco suggested quietly.
"Maybe you should—"
Whatever she was about to say was lost to the sudden and intense images assaulting her brain at an alarming rate.
Dumbledore's funeral. Ron holding her while she cried, as Harry stared stoically at the white marble tomb. Harry's confession that, while Draco had disarmed the Headmaster, it had been Snape who had actually cast the dreaded curse that had sent Dumbledore over the parapet. Spending that entire summer gathering things they would need when they'd set out to search for the Horcruxes. Obliviating her parents...
Her own screams brought her back to herself, and Draco's arms around her held her up from total collapse. "My parents," she croaked. "What have I done?"
"Winky!" Draco called.
A house-elf draped in a tea towel immediately popped into existence on their left side. "Yes, young master?"
"Get Father!"
The creature bowed and disappeared. Hermione said nothing to the fact that there were clothed house-elves about the manor. She was still trying to process what her mind had just revealed.
Soon the imposing figure of Lucius Malfoy stormed through the door, and it didn't take a genius to see he was incensed. "What is the meaning of this?"
Draco slid his hands under Hermione's legs and back, picked up her slight form, and brought her to his father. "I think she remembered something." His tone told Lucius the memory hadn't been pleasant.
Lucius cradled his unresisting wife close and nodded to his son in gratitude. Draco returned the sentiment and Disapparated. Sitting in the closest chair, Lucius tugged Hermione into an upright position and caressed her cheek, clearly worried over the state of her health, both physical and mental.
"Love? Can you hear me?"
There was no response.
He pulled her close and laid his head against hers. "Please, Hermione."
A lovely scent filtered through her muddled senses, causing her to inhale deeply. It also brought pleasurable memories which slid past her mind's eye, soothing her battered soul.
"Do you, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, take Hermione Jean Granger to be your cherished wife?"
"I'd like to see anyone prevent me from doing so." Gales of mirth were heard from the people gathered.
Dancing into the late hours. Congratulations from a multitude of friends and loved ones. An exotic location, filled with spices and warm breezes. A candle-lit bedroom with satin sheets that looked and felt welcoming.
"I knew you were beautiful, wife," Lucius purred, taking her hand and pulling her with him towards the bed. "But you are truly magnificent tonight." That sensual mouth of his found hers, and he spread his fingers into her curls, holding her in place for his devastating kiss.
He parted only to divest himself of his formal attire and do the same for her. He then pulled back the covers and sat on the bed, positioning her between his legs, his hands on her hips. His thumbs made gentle circles on her skin, and he smiled indulgently. Reaching up, he gently brought her down to press his lips against hers once more.
She reciprocated with enthusiasm, and he slowly slid his hand from her tresses, down her spine and over her backside. His other hand deftly grabbed her waist to haul her slight frame up to sit atop his lap, as if she weighed nothing.
Lucius nipped at her bottom lip, groaning into her mouth when she ground her wet core against his hardened shaft. Raw emotion permeated the air, as he lay back, bringing her to lie atop his heated body.
His scent was an intoxicating combination of sandalwood and something elusive, like the rain-laden air just before a storm. It filled her, made her ache with longing for the man under her, whose look was entirely possessive.
"My wife," he breathed.
"My wife," she parroted, her voice unsure.
Lucius stilled beneath her, hardly daring to breathe. "Hermione?"
Slowly, she turned to look at the man that had touched her so intimately in her newly revealed memories. He had dark circles under his eyes, evidence of little to no sleep. His hair, while still long and silky, had a ruffled, unkempt look about it. There was still an air of entitlement about him, which she guessed would never diminish, but it wasn't laced with the arrogance she usually had associated him with. Now, there was only concern and an emotion she chose not to dwell on in that moment.
"What happened?"
It was evident Lucius wanted to touch her, but he refrained, for which she was grateful. "I believe you were speaking with Draco when you had another memory make itself known."
She nodded mutely and extracted herself from his lap, refusing to acknowledge the hushed whimper that came from the Death Eater when she left his grasp. She moved to another chair, sat, and placed her face in her hands, sighing heavily. "I need to know more than what Harry has told me." She raised her head to stare at Lucius. "Will you answer my questions honestly?"
His reticent look was not comforting. "I don't think that's wise, given the circumstances."
"Damn the bloody circumstances, Malfoy!" she ground out. "I just had another memory trigger when I was close to you, and I want to know why!"
"You did?"
"Stop avoiding the issue."
"I'm not. I was just curious as to what brought it on." He looked like he was about to pout.
"I-I think it was the..." She felt exceedingly uncomfortable with the memory, pleasant as it was. "The smell of your hair."
He touched the platinum strands. "You were always fascinated with it."
Oh, yes... yes, she was. But she would never admit it to him. Instead of confirming or denying his statement, she went on to say, "So? Will you answer my questions?"
He tapped his elegant finger on the wooden surface of the table in contemplation. "On one condition."
Hermione groaned mentally. Of course he would put conditions on his compliance. He was a Slytherin, after all. "And that is?"
"I'm tired of not sleeping in my bed. I want to return to my chambers." He gave her a pointed look. "With you in them."
Bile rose at the back of her throat. "It's too soon," she whispered.
"You will never become accustomed to me if you refuse to spend time in my presence," he bit out harshly.
Bastard! How in the world had she ended up marrying the arrogant prick? But that was it, wasn't it? She didn't know. While she loved Harry dearly, he coddled her as if she were a fragile vase that would break at the slightest pressure. That was not what she needed right now, and loath as she was to admit it, Lucius had been correct in his assessment of the situation. For the past week she had refused his company except for the odd greeting or question about her health, which he seemed peculiarly interested in. If she wanted answers, she would have to play his game.
"You promise to tell me the truth?" she huffed, arms crossed in defiance.
He nodded, though a flicker of a smile graced his pert lips. "I will even let you give me Veritaserum beforehand."
That she had not expected. "How very un-Slytherin of you, Malfoy."
"Lucius," he said softly. "Call me Lucius."
She could see that it was important to him, and she didn't even want to know why it mattered so much. "Lucius," she acquiesced.
When he broke out in a truly roguish smile, as if he were inordinately pleased with the sound of his name upon her tongue, she felt shivers spiral up her spine that in no way had anything to do with dislike.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
"Malfoy? Hermione's not..." Harry stopped when he spied his best friend sitting beside Lucius in the study. "...where she's supposed to be."
"On the contrary, Mister Potter," Lucius intoned. "My wife is right where she ought to be."
Harry glanced at Hermione. She gave him a small smile and returned to the book she was reading, so he turned his attention to Lucius. "Care to explain?"
"Would you mind if I spoke with Potter alone?" Lucius asked Hermione as he rose from his seat.
She narrowed her eyes. "Is it something I don't want to know about yet?"
Lucius darted his gaze to Harry and then back to her. "Most definitely."
"You'll tell me eventually?"
"Did I not promise to be completely frank with you?"
"Yes, but based on what I've known of your past behaviour, you could find some way out of it."
Malfoy sniffed. "You wound me, madam."
Returning to her book, she muttered, "Highly unlikely."
She didn't see the hurt that flashed in Lucius' eyes, but Harry did. "I'll be back in a minute, Hermione."
He followed Lucius out into the corridor and down the hall, until they entered the receiving parlour. "What happened?"
Lucius sank into the cushions of the settee. "I was summoned to the kitchen this morning to find Hermione in the midst of a collapse. Apparently, she and Draco had discussed some things. Several memories made themselves known as well."
"Merlin's bollocks." Harry groaned and ran his hands through his perpetually messy hair. "What does she know? Does she know about what happened with Ron? And why was she sitting in the study with you? Does she remember being married to you now?"
The blond wizard frowned in annoyance. "You sound like the Wizengamot cross-examining Severus, with all your questions." When Harry sat on the other side of him and gave him an expectant look, Lucius rolled his eyes. "From what Draco has told me and she has confirmed, Hermione knows about the circumstances surrounding Dumbledore's death."
"Bloody hell!"
"Mmmh, quite. She also recalls Obliviating her parents and parts of our wedding."
Harry arched a brow at that last item. "Do I want to know what triggered that memory?"
"Uncouth prat," Lucius hissed. "She told me it was the scent of my hair."
Snorting, Harry grinned. "She did always have a preoccupation with your hair."
"I have noticed." Lucius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head hanging. "There's another issue at hand, though." He said nothing for a several moments. "What I'm about to tell you, you are to keep in the strictest confidence, Potter." He turned and gave Harry a pointed look. "Is that clear?"
Harry didn't like the feeling that was crawling up his spine, but nodded anyway.
"Madam Pomfrey's examination revealed that Hermione is pregnant."
Damn his intuition, Harry had been right. "Shite." He rubbed his chin. "And she has no idea." Laying his head on the back of the settee, he groaned loudly. "If you don't tell her, she'll never forgive you."
When there was no answer, Harry turned to see Lucius just staring into the distance, his expression inscrutable. He thought to reinforce the idea that Hermione had a right to know, even in her present frame of mind, but studying Lucius' evident worry stopped him from pointing out the obvious. Harry supposed, if it came right down to it, he would tell her himself, though he absolutely hated the idea.
"I require a vial of Veritaserum," Lucius said quietly, his posture never changing.
"What for?"
Lucius turned to give him an exasperated look. "I promised Hermione she could use it on me."
Harry shook his head. "Is this for some game she's realised that she fancies? Never mind, I really don't want to know why. "
"I weep for your generation, Potter," Lucius intoned snidely. He stood and straightened his waistcoat. "It is not for some idle moment of pleasure that I require the potion, you imbecile."
"Not helping your case, Malfoy."
"Fine. I'll ask Severus then."
"You do realise that he and I are bonded and you know he'll ask you the same questions."
Lucius gave him a knowing smirk. "That's where you are wrong, Mister Potter. Severus is a Slytherin, and therefore already knows the whys and wherefores of my need for the potion."
"Damn."
"Exactly." The blond moved to the door and opened it, pausing. "Remember, Potter. She cannot know. Not yet." He left and closed the door quietly.
Harry stared after him. He hoped Malfoy was right, or else he was going to have a very brassed-off witch on his hands... one who didn't remember that she loved him.
"You are tired, love," Lucius murmured to Hermione much later that evening.
She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "I guess the day got away from me." She glanced out the window at the darkness and winced when she touched her temple.
"You've overtaxed yourself." He held out his hand, hoping and praying that she would take it. "Come to bed."
He could tell she was extremely nervous, but like the typical brave Gryffindor she was, she slipped her small hand into his. When she stood, he placed his hands on her hips to steady her as she laid hers on his arms. They were so close. Just a few inches more and she would be completely within his embrace, and oh, how he longed to hold her once more. She had to have felt it too, the way she looked up and peered into his eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Giving her a soft smile, he leaned forward, unable to help himself, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Anything for you."
Hearing her breathy sigh was like a balm to his soul and he wanted more. Slowly, giving her a chance to resist, he pulled her into the circle of his arms, one hand softly stroking the nape of her neck, the other holding her steady at her waist. He had to admit that he was content that she allowed the contact, but his pulse jumped when she finally relaxed and returned the embrace, letting her head fall on his chest.
"I'm not sure why, but I really like doing this with you," she said, her voice drowsy.
He swallowed thickly. "I'm rather fond of it myself." He touched his head against hers gently, mindful of the tenderness around her skull. "We indulged often."
"Did we?" Yes, she definitely sounded as if she were about to fall asleep standing up.
"Extensively." He smiled to himself. "I daresay we incited much gossip before the Marriage Ordinance went into effect." As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt her stiffen and he cursed his wayward tongue to Hades and back.
He wanted to whimper in a most unmanly fashion when she pulled away from him and wrapped her arms around herself in a self-protective gesture. "Marriage Ordinance?"
"Hermione, you must let me explain. After the war—"
"I can't do this right now," she moaned, a sob caught in the throat. "I-I just..." She implored him with those large brown eyes.
Frustrated in more ways than one, he felt his temper flare. "We will have to discuss it at some point."
"I know," she ground out. She covered her mouth, looking very much like she was about to be sick. "I'll see you in the morning." She quickly darted for the door only to pause when he raised his voice.
"You couldn't possibly have forgotten our bargain, Madam wife, can you?" He knew he was being a bastard, but this situation would not resolve itself if he didn't push her from her comfort zone... just like he had in the beginning of their courtship.
He could see that she had not forgotten, and was possibly regretting the hasty agreement from earlier. "Fine, husband," she spat without turning to look at him. "I'll see you shortly." Then she raised her head and glared at him. "But don't expect a warm welcome."
Lucius watched her trounce out of the study, looking forward to the prospect of sleeping with her once again yet hating himself for forcing the issue, considering her condition.
He should've taken Hermione at her word.
The moment he closed the bedroom door, an icy blast assaulted him, making even his balls shrivel. Teeth chattering, he glared in the direction of the massive four-poster bed to find her pretending to sleep. He knew she was pretending, because when she was truly in a deep slumber, she had a tendency to snore a bit—not overly so, just a snort or two. In the beginning, he'd found it exceedingly annoying, but it had become a quirk of hers that he'd learned to appreciate over time.
At the moment, however, he was about to lose what patience he had left before he succumbed to frostbite. "If you think a Cooling Charm will prevent me from joining you in our bed, then you have grossly misjudged your opponent, Madam." He shrugged off his black silk dressing gown and placed it on the back of a chair, tensing against the increased chill. "I will just use your body to warm myself."
Ah, yes... she was awake as he had surmised. One eye was open and glaring at him, the other buried against the pillow. "You'll do no such thing, Malfoy."
"Lucius," he said in a low voice as he approached the bed. He pulled back the covers and slid in beside her. "Are you going to honour your promise, or hide behind your ailment to avoid it?"
She gritted her teeth. "I always honour my promises, unfortunately."
"Remove the spell."
"But I'm too warm," she cooed in an oversweet tone, then fanned herself. "See? I'm all flush."
Oh, he saw, all right. There was, indeed, a rosy tinge that spread across her skin, highlighting her cheeks and the swell of her breasts. He wanted to run his tongue along the edge of the fabric hiding them and partake of her lush offerings. Without thought, he laid his hand on her collarbone, his fingers lightly stroking her flesh.
"Yes, I see very well," he husked. His wandering digits strayed to the cleft between her breasts. "So beautiful... so ripe." His cock filled quickly, already ready for its favourite activity with his favourite person.
His fingers were immediately squeezed within her hands. "I said you could sleep with me, Lucius, not that you could paw me." She flung his hand away.
"Bloody hell, witch!" He shoved the covers aside and stood, his cock aching with unfulfilled lust. "Have mercy, please!"
He had to have looked desperate to her. She frowned hard and eyed him warily. "If you answer some questions tonight, I'll... I will..."
"What do you want to know?" he asked quickly. At this point, if she just touched him, he would explode.
Biting her lip, she sat up further and leaned against the headrest. "I should have asked this in the beginning, but I was trying to focus on getting better, or my head hurt too much." She took a deep breath. "Why have I not seen Ron Weasley?" Her fingers were unable to stay still, and she picked at the duvet. "I mean, I've seen Harry... and Draco, but I thought Ron would at least come to see that I was all right." She held his gaze. "Did we quarrel and he no longer wishes to see me?"
Dear God, she would have to ask about the ginger prat, wouldn't she? Lucius' erection went completely flaccid at the thought of the conversation he was about to have with Hermione. "Are you sure you want to know this particular fact?"
She smiled tremulously. "I know he has a temper, and I'm sure we had more than our fair share of rows, but—"
"He's dead." Merlin, he felt ten kinds of bastard as he looked upon her stunned expression.
"Dead?" she whispered. "H-how?"
Tired all of a sudden, Lucius shifted to the bed and sat on the end, near the foot. "There was a battle towards the end," he murmured. "Mister Weasley and his brother Percy, I believe, were guarding a corridor from invading Death Eaters." Zeus' bollocks! How was he going to tell her this? "They were no match for battle-hardened criminals. Their shield did not hold and... and..." He cleared his throat and raised his eyes to look at her imploringly. "You must understand; there was a lot of confusion and I was desperate to find Draco."
Hermione seemed to curl in on herself. "You killed him, didn't you?" Tears spilled over her lashes.
Lucius had never hated himself more than in that moment. "Yes," he answered quietly, not bothering to deny it.
He watched her wring the duvet in her hands as silent tears coursed down her cheeks, each drop like a knife in his heart. Her shuddering sobs twisted that knife, until he stood and moved away from the bed. "For what it is worth, I regret taking many lives that day. But most of all, I regret that I took him from you."
She sniffed and looked at him, her eyes empty. "Where is your wife?"
"My wife?" He frowned in confusion for a moment before he realised that Hermione still didn't consider herself his spouse. "Narcissa was killed by the Dark Lord."
"What happened?"
Studying her wan appearance, Lucius slowly approached her side of the bed. "We needn't speak of this now, Hermione. You're distraught and it might not be good for the—" He clamped his lips shut so hard he tasted blood from where they were pressed together.
"For the what?"
"For the moment," he improvised.
She gave him a peculiar look but nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss," she managed before a hiccupping sob lodged in her chest.
Taking a chance, he sat very close to her and placed his hand atop her raised knee. He considered it a small victory that she didn't pull away. "Narcissa had lied to the Dark Lord to save your Harry. When her perfidy was revealed, he took..." He paused, struggling. "He took her life in retaliation."
He didn't know what he'd expected from Hermione, but her warm hand over his was surprising. "Then we both lost someone we loved."
Lucius nodded. It was all he could do. If he had opened his mouth, he would have unmanned himself. As it was, he had to bite his tongue to hold back a whimper when she brought the hand on her knee to her mouth and placed a soft kiss to the back.
There were still questions lurking in her eyes; he could see them as if they were a living thing. She yawned wide and long, however, her exhaustion clearly evident. "You should rest, Hermione." He turned his hand over and cupped her cheek. "I will sleep elsewhere."
He released her, rose, and moved toward the door. Her small voice stopped him.
"Would you hold me?"
Turning slowly, he tilted his head and gazed at her. She looked so tiny amidst all the covers, needing consolation but not wanting to ask for it, her eyes large and luminous. He knew she was a compassionate person, but requesting comfort from the one person that had caused a great deal of her misery to begin with, set her far and above any self-proclaimed humanitarian.
Abandoning the door, Lucius strode to the bed. He resumed his earlier position, pulling Hermione tenderly into his arms. "It would be my honour to care for you." He whispered a iNox/i, and the room descended into darkness.
Her head was pillowed on his chest, her left arm wrapped around his waist. "Thank you."
Nothing more was said, before he noticed that her body relaxed infinitesimally and her little snores started. That was when he smiled and knew that all was right with the world.
At least for that night.