Progression
Just A Penniless Writer
Standard Disclaimer Applies
Part 2: Trouble in Paradise
I. Jealousy: A Green Edged Painting
Hermione never asks about Lucius' former wife, and he never mentions her.
However, Narcissa's portrait still graces the parlour, and the spark of life in the eyes, the sneer that becomes more pronounced whenever she enters the room, makes her suspect the former Mrs. Malfoy's demise.
It is unfortunate, she tells herself. It is not her place to ask, she reminds herself.
Except that it is her place, and she can hardly deny the relevance of her interest in the woman she replaced. Especially when the woman she replaced is intent upon acknowledgement.
Every day the sneer tears at her until she avoids the parlour at all costs. It is then she begins to find the woman in other portraits, in other paintings. Neither ever says a word, and they live on in silent mockery.
When Lucius begins to greet his painted first wife, it is all Hermione can do not to scream. Still, she grits her teeth and keeps her lips tightly shut. It is jealousy, she knows, mere green jealousy that this harsh woman knows her husband better than she does.
That the woman is now nothing more than a painting does nothing to diminish her feelings. It did not take her long once she entered the magical realm to realize the importance of paintings, the effects of these dead individuals. Narcissa is dead therefore Narcissa should not interfere. And yet she does.
Hermione wonders how long the dead woman has been whispering in her husband's ear, how long she has been demanding his interest.
Hermione wonders if one can cheat with the dead.
II. First Fight: Attentions Elsewhere
They are speaking lowly as she approaches the parlour, not noticing her quiet steps out in the hall. She cannot hear what they are saying but it is enough that his tone is pleasant, missing that bitter quality that has plagued it since she first became reacquainted with him.
When she enters the room, he is smiling, such a smile that it makes her long for his companionship. She is trapped in this aching frustration until the painted woman sees her standing in the entry, and her painted expression shutters into annoyance and contempt.
Hermione has tolerated much from all her husbands. She has tolerated much from Lucius. But she will not tolerate sharing his attentions.
She leaves without a word, noticing it is only now that Lucius realizes her presence. When she does not respond to his summons, she hears him striding purposely down the hall to catch her. She finds it wonderfully ironic that the very thing that angers her this very instant is exactly what Lucius cannot stand as well. They are people of presence, and they will not be ignored.
"Hermione," he hisses irately.
"By all means, Lucius, go discreetly converse with your dead wife. You'll find my attentions elsewhere."
"She is my wife."
"She was your wife. And it was not a title she chose to keep even before her death."
"You miserable girl, do not insult her."
"Shall I hold back as she insults me then?"
"She does no such thing."
"No, Lucius, she is more suited to displaying visually how little she thinks of me. She is more suited to whispering my inadequacies into your ear."
She meets his eyes fearlessly, reveling in the righteous anger she feels. His responding fury is all the fuel she needs.
"Do not speak of things you know nothing of, Mu –"
He stops, but not soon enough.
"Is that her term of endearment for me then, or are your true sentiments finally coming forth? Hmm? Very well, enjoy your time with your dead wife. You'll find time alone not lacking."
She leaves him in the hallway before he can act. She does not look back as she leaves the manor and does not look back as she Apparates away.
III. Break up: That Breaking Look
When she moves into the flat Harry shares with Neville, it is not Lucius who alerts the Daily Prophet. No, her husband is too clever for that.
It is his son.
With the truth of the separation revealed, savage pitying looks begin to surface on those she once had known. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth after each encounter until she takes to not leaving the safety of her borrowed room except to work. However, when the looks follow her into her office, she finds that even her beloved work is not a sanctuary.
Perhaps worst of all, the absolute worst look of all, is not the 'Time she found her senses' expression that she sees on so many others. It is not even Ron's patronizing coddling.
No, the worst look of all she finds in Harry's eyes. His weary acceptance, his disappointment... while she cannot understand why her leaving her husband elicits such a response from her friend, she knows it is causing guilt to build within her aching heart. She loves Harry, she respects Harry, and she values his friendship even if it isn't as close as it had been as children, and it hurts to see that expression in his eyes. It feels as if those striking green eyes can pick at all the pain caused by her separation and bring it forefront.
It is perhaps a matter of survival, of self preservation that she uses anger to fight against the accusation in her friend's eyes, against her own loss. She does the best she can to morph the guilt and loneliness into fury. After all, it is Lucius' fault for not treating her as equal to his dead wife. It is Lucius' fault for listening to whatever lies the dead woman tells him, and it is certainly Lucius' fault for never noticing the ever growing enmity between his two wives.
It is Lucius' fault she feels so inclined to have divorce papers drawn up.
She signs with a determined flourish, ignoring the disappointment radiating from Harry, ignoring the deluded righteousness of Ron, and sends the papers to the Manor to be signed by her soon-to-be-former husband.
"Hermione," Harry says softly, strongly as she watches the owl fly off with her fate. "It won't work."
"What won't work, Harry?" she asks pointedly while still avoiding his honest gaze.
"You trying to leave him."
She rallies her fury and replies with a stiff chin.
"He will let me go if he knows what's best for him."
"No. He won't."
And without another word, he leaves her alone, taking all her anger with him and leaving her with only misery.
IV. Reconciliation: A Veritable Romantic Gesture
When the divorce papers have not been signed by him after a week, she is patient.
When a month passes, she worries.
After a month and half, she sends him a note into which she incorporates much of her anger and despair. It is returned with one word written in his elegant scrawl: No.
She sends him letter after letter demanding he sign the papers. All are returned promptly with the same two letter reply.
Her frustration makes her snappier at work until, with due grace, her employer imposes a mandatory three week vacation. It is during the second week of enforced solitude that Harry summons her to number twelve Grimmauld Place where he is setting up a memorial to the Order members who lost their lives in the battle against Voldemort.
Even with freshly painted walls, she finds she dislikes the atmosphere that still permeates the old house. She tries to dismiss the fact that she has technically married into the family that has owned the dwelling with little success. No matter the connection, it exists and knowing she is tied to this dreary place in any way is a distinct discomfort.
"What, Harry?" she snaps as she pulls her jumper tighter.
"I found something new. A visiting relative, I suppose. Though she doesn't seem to enjoy visiting so much." The tilt of his lips might be a smirk if he didn't looked so forgiving. Her heart twists violently.
"What are you talking about, Harry?"
"Just look."
With that, he points to a new painting she has failed to notice. The gilded frame is instantly recognized even before she sees the occupant who looks as though her treatment is a great indignity.
"But... the permanent sticking charm... she couldn't be moved!"
"Apparently she could. She certainly wasn't here before, and she doesn't seem to appreciate visiting her aunt."
"I don't understand..."
"What is there to understand, Hermione?"
The truth in his eyes stings, as does the truth she finally accepts about her marriage. Her husband is not a good man, but if he is willing to oust his dead wife on her behalf... well that speaks of levels of commitment she has never expected. From him, it is almost a romantic gesture.
She leaves the house without another word and spends the next day locked in her borrowed room. The next letter she sends to the Manor does not ask for him to sign the papers. It asks for them back.
V. Make up: Such Lovely Phrases
It is the little things that make her stay. Despite the smirk that still graces his features and almost prompts her to forget about her attempted reconciliation, she stays because that smirk is almost forced, because that line on his forehead wasn't there before, because he is listing a bit more on his cane than she remembers.
She stays and gives her demands and listens as he states his.
Trying to think of it as a simple business negotiation does not work. This is too important to be treated so flippantly. Instead she matches his gaze and uses what little Legilimency she knows to find truth in these treacherous phrases he speaks.
"You, my pet, are more trouble than you might be worth. Potter still knows the contents of my manor as well as myself. Furthermore, you take full advantage that I cannot leave the manor without your attendance, and you are jealous of the dead. If these actions were not so similar to my own, I would have let you leave long ago. As it is, you are my keeper and my wife. You were and are the best possible addition to my life, a fact you seemed content enough with to accept my proposal. As you were willing to deal with the repercussions of this very relationship, I had hoped you would see it in yourself to trust that I would do nothing to threaten my position."
Such treacherous, treacherous phrases he speaks in that low tone.
"I do not expect you to trust me inherently. You are quite too bright to be that gullible. However, I do expect that you trust me not to risk you. Merlin, girl, have you not realized your importance?"
Such treacherous, lovely phrases he speaks with a faint plead. Keep looking.
"I will not let you leave."
Such a lovely phrase. And it's true, she sees, absolutely true. All of it. The worry lingering on the corners of his eyes while she decides isn't feigned. Such a discovery delights her.
"And I will not share your attentions, love. Do not tempt me to leave again," she finally replies.
He nods solemnly, victoriously before approaching and tempting her to stay.