A/N – This chapter's a bit longer than usual because it was originally two chapters… but then they would be two short chapters, and who wants that? Exactly. So read, enjoy, and review!
ON TO
Chapter Twelve:
The next day, Hermione set out alone on an exploration of the Lefidèle grounds. She woke up very early after the longest and most restful sleep she had experienced in what felt like years. Sometime during the night she had awakened in her own bed and assumed Lucius had deposited her there when he had tired of cradling her sleeping form.
Before waking up in her room, she could not remember for certain if she had another nightmare, which was something remarkable in itself. She had fallen back asleep soon enough, and then she definitely had endured another one, but upon waking once more, she had not felt the usual terror. It felt somehow more distant, like something she had seen on television – horrific but… external.
And now that she was awake and rested, she could recall at leisure the evening after the Bonder had left, and the recollection left her feeling vaguely uneasy. Uneasy and in no hurry to see her companion anytime soon. That and her natural curiosity were why she was now shooing Nifti out of the cavernous kitchen, so she could assemble sandwiches the way she liked them.
So Nifti would have something to do, Hermione asked her if she could please find a picnic basket she could take with her as she explored. She felt a little guilty for giving into the system of house elf oppression (which she was sure was a part of the larger over-arching patriarchy), but it was the only way she could get a little breathing room. With the help of a few spells, she made an inventory of what Edouard and Marius had to eat and drink and then prepared a lunch for herself.
As she had no idea how much longer Malfoy would sleep, Hermione was in something of a hurry to leave. When Nifti returned with a precious little white wicker basket, Hermione sent the elf on another errand of finding a map or two of the area. She phrased it as a polite question, but there was no denying that was she was exploiting Nifti's position. But much of her guilt was forgotten when she opened the book Nifti had brought, a gorgeously illustrated history of the region along with maps which responded to the reader's queries (as long as they were map-related and posed in French).
It took only a minute or two to discover that she had landed in southernmost France in a department known as hautes pyrenées. The area the windows looked over in the few rooms she had seen so far presented green hills and distant peaks which she now knew were part of the Pyrenees range. Later, she thought as she set off with her basket and book, she would have to find the library for herself and see what other sorts of volumes Edouard and Marius had accumulated.
The map showed a stream trickling down the southern side of the property toward a lake she thought would not be too strenuous to reach. She left the house through the main door which let out to the gazebo, turned a corner to walk along the edge of the house. It looked more like a small château from the outside, all stone and spires but almost small enough to fit into the Great Hall at Hogwarts.
She came to another corner, made another turn, and gasped. How she had not seen this particular vista before she could not imagine; none of the windows she had looked out so far must have faced south. Just behind a line of gentle foothills rose where the house was perched rose granite behemoth. It was massive, much wider than it was tall, and dropped off into a verdant valley. According to the map, the stream would meander into the valley. It seemed like as good a destination as any.
She walked slowly and floated the basket along behind her, taking in the scenery and reflecting on her situation. It felt a little bit criminal to send up smoke into the deep blue sky and the summery air, so she left her cigarettes in the basket. In Paris, she had walked around quite a bit, and while her surroundings were radically different now, she was glad that she did not tire immediately.
The short, tame grass around the house gave way to flowering shrubs and soon to light forest. To her delight, she saw a dirt path parallel to the stream. Just as she gained the path, Nifti nearly gave her a heart attack by appearing with a pop at her side. "Breakfast is ready if Miss cares to return to the house."
Hermione blinked. "Thank you, Nifti, but I have food packed," she said with a nod at the floating basket. "I should be back in time for dinner." She paused. "If… Mr. Malfoy asks about me, please tell him I'm, er, exploring the area. I'll see you later," she finished and started down the path with a quick step. The sooner she left the property, she thought, the sooner she would be out of Nifti's range - and immediately felt guilty for it. Nifti was only doing what she had been taught… no, indoctrinated to do.
The house disappeared behind a foothill much sooner than she would have expected. The mountain rose on one side as she descended into the nearby valley. Her faithful little stream would lead her back to the house, so she was not worried about becoming lost. The day warmed as she walked, after awhile with a staff she magically cut and stripped. She hummed as she walked, until the sun grew so strong that she decided to stop and start eating the food she had packed. There was no good place in the immediate vicinity to do so, so she continued on the path, hoping a convenient spot – a clear patch of grass or a nice flat rock by the stream – would shortly make itself available.
She had begun to grow impatient when a hidden lake appeared around a rocky bend, wide and sparkling under the midday sun. By the time she reached the lake, she was quite tired but very pleased with her accomplishment. It was a breath-taking spot to rest, looking down in a forested valley on one side, up to a stark mountain on the other, and back to the foothill behind her.
She found a rock near the water, shaped a much like a seat, and settled in to eat and peruse her book. The French therein was not standard contemporary, and she lost track of the time as she tried to puzzle out the antique script. When she looked up, startled by a distant noise like a breaking tree branch, she was surprised to see how far the sun had moved. One more page, she thought, or maybe two, and then she would definitely have to…
Her head jerked up again as realisation of what had startled her hit home. Something that sounded like a breaking tree branch but might have been something entirely different. She thought it had emanated from the part of the forest nearest her, so she ducked behind the rock and carefully peered around its edge, near the bottom. There was no further sign of life aside from singing birds for a few minutes, and she began to feel silly for her paranoia. "Constant vigilance indeed," she muttered when another sound reached her.
This sounded like someone rustling through underbrush, someone coming closer and closer to the lake. Just as she had feared, a little while later she could make out a figure walking in the same general direction as the path she had followed. There was no way this could be a coincidence; the map had not shown another human habitation for a very long way in any direction. She slid the wand from her pocket and readied a body bind.
"If you're here, Miss Granger" Malfoy called out, "I would appreciate it if you did not take this opportunity to do away with a longtime foe of your Order."
She rolled her eyes and stood up, brushing dust from her clothes and body. Only then did she notice the basket resting in front of the rock, announcing her presence for anyone looking for her to see. She berated herself for missing that important detail.
"Since you asked so nicely," she replied as she regained her perch on her picnic rock, "I supposed I can wait a little while longer." She waited until he was closer before proceeding to ask how he had known where she was.
"It was quite simple. Nifti told me where she had last seen you, and I've taken that path myself several times, though I most often prefer to Apparate directly to this lake." He eyed her basket. "I would be most grateful if anything cool and liquid remained in there."
She floated the basket up and opened to see what remained of the food she had packed. "Lucky you. There's a flagon of wildflower nectar… it was iced when I set out… and several snow cherries left. Help yourself." After a silent minute or two when he drank some of the nectar and very elegantly ate handful of cherries – how was that humanly possible, she wondered, not for the first time – she asked, a bit nervously, if he would like to sit down. She told herself it was only because she did not like him towering above her like that.
He looked surprised and no little amused when he accepted and lowered himself to the warm surface of the rock, flecked here and there with mica. She tried not to think about the press of his hip against hers as she looked out over the lake.
"I thought I heard someone Apparate here," she said, breaking the silence which had once more descended. Although he retained much of his cool demeanour, this close she could see that his hair was not quite as smooth as usual, his robe a bit dusty from the trail, his hairline shiny with tiny droplets of perspiration. And of course he could not have Apparated without the wand she carried in her pocket.
"I heard it as well, but it was nothing more than a squirrel underestimating his own weight and overestimating the strength of a dead branch. Is that Edouard's beloved histoire régionale?" he asked, leaning in to inspect the book on her lap.
She glanced at him, his body now touching hers from her shoulder to her knee, but he appeared absorbed in the book. "I don't know. It's… Nifti brought it to me when I asked for a map of the area. I've never seen anything like it."
He looked up at her and grinned. This close, his smile was… striking. She had to remember to breathe and to try to look casual. At least she was not sleep-deprived and… delete that thought.
"From what I understand, coming from you that means quite a lot." If he had not been aware of their proximity before, surely he was now. His voice was low and amused. "Perhaps I should not be surprised that you chose the loveliest location here to curl up with this book. After all, you chose the City of Lights for your exile."
She dropped her eyes back to her book. "It wasn't exile. It was… protection. They want to protect me from all the killing." She swallowed, unsure of why she was telling him this. "They say they can't spare me… that I'm too important to risk in the current climate."
"Hermione," he said quietly. The sheer surprise of hearing him pronounce her given name was so great that she raised her eyes to his without thinking. "They're right. Perhaps your mother hens will prove victorious in the end. That is certainly not the way my… former associates would treat you if you worked with them. Even if your professors are not aware of it, it's obvious to me that you are an extremely capable woman in your own right."
She thought she should defend her fellow Order members at this, but her brain did not seem to be functioning quite right. In order to regain some control over her senses, she tore her eyes from his again, and this time, he lifted a hand so that his slender fingers rested lightly on her neck and his palm cupped her jaw.
"Are you so afraid of me that you cannot do me the honour of looking at me?" he whispered.
Her eyes wanted to dart away, to settle on the calming landscape around them, but she would not let him make her out to be a coward. She locked her gaze on his cool grey eyes and took a deep breath.
"Not afraid of you." She laid her own hand atop his. "Afraid of this. What do you want?" she asked in a pleading tone.
He smiled again. "Isn't it obvious?" When she blinked and tilted her head a degree, he chuckled and drew her face near his, and the next thing she knew, his lips were pressing hers. They were soft, cool from the wildflower nectar, and sweet from the snow cherries.
She could have broken away – part of her dearly wanted to, in fact – but that part of her had lost control by now. Hermione leaned into the kiss and parted her lips. Never before had she imagined how full and firm his bottom lip was, just perfect for kissing. Her body was by turns tense and warm and helpless, responsive where he touched her and beyond the mental hold she usually kept on herself.
She made a small noise – of contentment, of desire, even a little of fear – when he deepened the kiss further. Her hand reached up tentatively to touch his face. Her thumb stroked the familiar planes of that haughty mien which had cast superior glanced at her so often. Her fingers glided to his hair, soft as silk to her touch. He had not tied it back today, so it fell in a glorious fair curtain past his shoulders. She brushed some of it behind one ear and traced the shape of his face.
There was no denying, she would later reflect, that Lucius Malfoy was a wonderful kisser. It only made sense; he had accumulated decades more experience than anyone she had ever kissed before. She had kissed boys who were too yielding, like they wanted her to do all the work, and other who were too forceful, shoving their tongues halfway down her throat, but Lucius was another matter altogether.
He kissed and licked and nibbled, calling up a flush from deep inside her. She had not felt this heat in a long time, and it scared her with its intensity. She could not do this with him, not without thinking long and… Delete that thought.
He pulled away from her just enough to change his focus to the soft spot on her neck behind her jaw. A low moan escaped her when he shifted up to her earlobe. His mouth there sent a jolt of heat through her. His hand slipped to her shoulder and slowly began tracing the neckline of her dressing gown from her collarbone, down… down… He grazed a particularly sensitive spot through the light material, and the combined sensations from his sensual assault left her breathless and almost senseless.
"Wait," she whispered. "Stop, please." Almost.
For a moment, Lucius was perfectly still, and then he drew himself up to face her. His hair was still neater than hers would ever be, but she could see he was flushed and his lips swollen. Part of her was pleased to note that he was not breathing regularly either.
"I deeply apologise," he said after regaining some of his composure. "It's been so long, and you look so delicious sitting there, I… forgive me. I never meant… you know I cannot harm you."
She could not tell if he was genuinely contrite; his posture remained as arrogant as ever and his eyes direct, but there did seem to be feeling behind his voice, a suggestion of a tremor.
She captured his hand in both of hers and contemplated it as she spoke. "It's not… you didn't harm me. I just – I don't understand what's happening or why or anything, and…" She forced a short laugh. "And it's been awhile for me too." Oh God, she was not having this conversation, was not talking about sex with Lucius Malfoy.
He turned his hand over and lifted of hers to his lips and settled a soft kiss on it. "If it's any comfort, my dear, I'm quite lost myself."
Edouard's book had so engrossed Hermione that she had not noticed dark clouds overtake the clear blue sky. When they Apparated back to the house, each a little too careful with the other, a cool, humid breeze had sprung up, and the sun had been reduced to a weak, nebulous glow behind the storm clouds. By the time Nifti had dinner hot on the table, the windows looked out to a world dark as night, sown with distant lightning flashes and rumbles of thunder.
To her delight, Hermione had found a recent copy of a French wizarding newspaper, and, after politely asking Lucius if he minded, devoured the news along with her meal. Mostly she really was interested – no, desperate – to hear about current events in the Wizarding World, but it did occur to her to be grateful for this excuse not to talk to him.
When dinner was finished, she returned to the sitting room which, with a roaring fire in the fireplace, provided the best light for reading. One thing she did miss about the Muggle world when she was not in it was electrical lights. She curled up with the newspaper, approaching the final few articles and wondering how best to slip away to look for the library.
The fire crackled as rain splattered the stone and glass of the house, and the rumblings of thunder drew closer and closer. It was almost cosy like this, she thought as she laid down the paper to gaze at the flames.
She did not know how long she had been staring into the fire when he said her name. His voice roused her from her reverie, and she realised how dry her eyes were. She looked up blinking to see him seated on the sofa, holding something like a magazine.
"I have something for you to look at," he explained, "unless you would rather run around in second-hand dressing gowns for the remainder of our stay here."
That sounded reasonable enough. There were a lot of pragmatic details concerning spur-of-the-moment flights like this that rendered them most impractical, she was discovering more and more.
"I suppose not," she replied and unfolded herself from the chair in which she had settled to take a seat next to him. She was too conscious of their proximity and hoped she was not blushing.
He handed her what looked remarkably like a clothes catalogue. The models in these pictures sashayed and winked and grinned in all sorts of robes and more Muggle-style clothing, but besides that, it was almost identical to the catalogues her parents received.
"Tell me which ones you like, and we should receive our order tomorrow." A faint smile crossed his lips. "And before you object as you once did, allow me to point out that I am wholly responsible for bringing you here and thereby depriving you of your usual wardrobe." This time, the grin was more pronounced and reached his eyes. "You may repay me if you wish."
She rolled her eyes but began flipping through the glossy pages. "How do the sizes work?" she asked as she paused to admire a particularly smart robe.
"It's quite simple. I take your measurements with a simple spell, which will be recorded on the message I send. Allow me to demonstrate."
He produced their shared wand from a pocket in his borrowed robe; Hermione did not remember setting it down and raised an eyebrow at seeing him with it. She reminded herself of the Vow he had taken and was a little comforted.
He spoke a few quiet words and pointed the wand at her body. What appeared to be a golden streamer shot out the business end and snaked its way around her figure, from the tip of her toes to the ends of her fingers and the top of her head. A few seconds later, the gold streamer zoomed to a piece of parchment resting on Lucius's other side and settled on it as a stream of tiny golden numbers scrolling across the page.
"Oh." She blinked and returned her attention to the catalogue.
"Please take your time. We are hardly in a rush to do anything else."
A brilliant burst of lightning outside and a crash of thunder which seemed to echo between the rocky peaks in the area underscored his words. They really were stuck for the time being, by nature and by circumstance. She perused the catalogue, marking the items she liked and wondered, not for the first time, how long they would be staying here. And she had sent no word of her whereabouts to anyone; her friends, Muggle and magical alike, must think she had been killed or abducted.
Drowsiness stole over her as the night wore on, comfortable in her seat in front of a dying fire. She excused herself and climbed a flight of stairs to the bedroom loaned to her. Her hike earlier and a delicious meal contributed to her fatigue, so she fell asleep quickly despite the storm raging outside.
Gagging and screaming, she awoke a couple of hours later with the memory of a faint metallic tang in her mouth. The dream… still half-asleep, she wiped her mouth with the back of her, expecting to see dark blood smeared across her pale skin. Her pillows and sheets were damp from mingled humidity, sweat, and tears. There was no question of falling back asleep in that clammy bed amid the stale odour of her night terror.
She remembered how peacefully she had slept in Lucius's arms and slowly rose to her feet. For a long time, she paced along the walls which enclosed her, debating the matter with herself. Not only was she afraid he would get the wrong idea, especially after the events of that afternoon, but she also worried that would he simply refuse. Who would want to share his bed with a girl prone to nightmares that ended when she awoke in hysterics?
Well, she reasoned, if nothing else, she could insist as part of the debt he believed he owed her, though she hated the thought of resorting to such a tactic. Now that she was more fully awake, she was not sure that the humiliation would be worth a few hours of quiet sleep. She found her hand gripping the doorknob and faced herself to relax. After taking a deep breath and letting it go, she turned the knob and entered the hallway. The panelled wood that led to his bedroom, almost a twin to her own door, gleamed faintly. It would take her only a few steps to reach her destination, but it suddenly seemed an impossible distance to cross.
Stop it, she told herself. You've faced much worse without a second thought. The worst he can do is slam the door in your face. Inexplicably warmed by the anger that image summoned, she walked to his door and knocked softly.
"Come in," he called, sounding muzzy, like he had been asleep a moment before. Probably he had been.
She pushed the door open and closed it behind her as silently as she could. When she crossed the room and faced him, he was sitting up, looking at her expectantly, eyebrows raised in a silent question.
"Hello… I'm sorry, I just woke up, and… it was horrible. I couldn't stay in there." She shivered in the light dressing gown she had wrapped around herself upon waking.
"I heard." He yawned behind his hand. "Excuse me. Would you like to spend the rest of the night here?"
She nodded and swallowed. He was shirtless, his fair skin almost aglow in the silver moonlight. It was hard to remember at the moment who this beautiful man inviting her to his bed was.
"Thank you," she whispered as she climbed between the light sheets. It would not be easy to sleep in her dressing gown, but all she wore underneath was her bra and knickers. He would definitely get the wrong idea if she stripped to her underwear (and they did not even match). It occurred to her to wonder what else he was wearing and immediately felt a blush spread over her face. Lucky thing it was too dark for him to notice.
The bed was larger than the one in her Parisian apartment, but it was no so large that either of them would be able to forget that someone else was there. She was prepared to settle herself on the far edge away from him when he surprised her by speaking again, still in the fuzzy, sleepy voice so unlike the sure tones to which she was accustomed.
"Come here," he said quietly, and she turned to see him lying on his back with one arm outstretched. He pulled a pillow over his shoulder. "That should be better."
She scooted across the bed and, after a brief hesitation, laid her head on the proffered pillow and a hand on his chest. Her heart raced as she lay still and sped up a little more when he set a careless arm across her shoulders.
"Comfortable?"
Still unable to believe that she was about to fall asleep in Lucius Malfoy's arms, she whispered that she was.
"Good night and sleep well," he murmured before pressing a soft kiss to her messy hair.
