A/N: While looking up more Breton online, I realized that I probably used the wrong word for 'of' earlier. It's awfully nerdy of me, especially since my quick internet searches won't tell me what the right form of 'of' is for my context and I highly doubt my construction is grammatically correct anyway, but it's driving me nuts.
Also, a thousand apologies for this late update. I take full responsibility… by blaming school and personal stuff. Especially the personal stuff. Thinking in circles about things already done has suffocated my muse.
-sigh- I really did not intend for the ending to this chapter to go the way it did, but those two were just so happy to see each other! Let me just take this moment to point out the M rating again. Gold stars to readers who get the song reference in this chapter title (I'm such a dork).
ON TO
Chapter Twenty-two:
She could not deny that she was tempted by his offer, but neither could she deny that she knew it was a bad idea. Though come to think of it, any interaction between them other than the usual Order/Death Eater enmity was a bad idea. With an ill-concealed sigh, she demurred. She was very tired and could barely think, let alone…
She was certain that she was in shock, anyway; shouldn't she be much more upset or shocked to see him after so long? It was definitely shock, she decided. She fully expected to freak out the next morning. It was a little disappointing that Lucius did not show any visible reaction to her disinclination to take him up on his offer. Instead, he called Tingy to prepare a room whose name she did not catch. It sounded like more Breton.
He led her down labyrinthine corridors, all grand and soon blurred together in her mind. Finally, he stopped and opened a door of bone white wood into a bedroom decorated in ivory and silver. "Melusine called this kambr eus al loar, chamber of the moon," he explained as candelabras burst alight.
"It's beautiful," she breathed as she examined the room. Silken drapes the colour of fresh milk covered pale grey walls, and the carpet at her feet looked lush and inviting for bare feet. Near one wall, a four-poster bed rested like a vision from a fairy-tale book, carved from cream-coloured wood and laid with matching accoutrements striped with glimmering silver. She was surprised that it was so simply decorated until Lucius spoke a quiet word and the walls and ceiling seemed to vanish, replaced by a panoramic vista of the night sky. She gasped. It appeared that they were standing on a cloud in the middle of the heavens.
"This room is little used," he said as she made a slow circuit of the room. "The enchantment makes most people uncomfortable, and it is rather plain otherwise." Here his lips curved in a small smile. "But I thought you might enjoy it."
She turned to him with a radiant expression. "Thank you, I think I will." Her smile faded a little as the silence stretched between them.
"If you're comfortable, I'll say goodnight," Lucius finally said.
She nodded and watched him leave without another word. Very strange. Despite his laconic demeanour, he seemed almost… awkward around her. Well, if he was, it served him right. He had had all the opportunity in the world to keep up with her during the past few years, and not once had he made the slightest effort to contact her. True, he had been serving the Order and likely could not afford to break his cover at any moment, but he was clever. Surely he could have schemed a way to let her know that he still lived, if nothing else.
She stripped to her underwear and climbed into the bed. It felt even better than it looked, and to her surprise, there was none of the mustiness she associated with little-used rooms. The sheets were cool to the touch but soon warmed around her. The stars winked in their familiar constellations, and the moon shone serenely down on her. Exhaustion should have sent her off to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but she discovered that her mind was whirling too quickly to allow her to drift off.
With a sigh, she opened her eyes again and resigned herself to watching the stars sail past in their stately dance around her little cloud island. She thought about the last four years and all she had built up during that time. The reporter had been right about one thing; her career as a Healer really had taken off with her research into the nightmares that had plagued her ever since she held Bellatrix's wand in her hands. She had been convinced that some sort of spell had been responsible, but as search after search came up with no helpful results, she began to investigate the possibility that Lucius had been right, that the effect was psychological, not magical.
It had turned out that both of their theories had touched on the truth. An object that Bellatrix had touched once would not have had that same effect on Hermione, but the Death Eater had carried it for so long that it was somehow endowed with some of her fanatical evil, like a piece of paper might absorb the oils from a person's fingers and become stained. Hermione had never before been sensitive to residues like these, but she had learned that extremely powerful and single-minded witches and wizards could leave a taint like a smudge on objects they used regularly.
But like a smudge or a stain, the touch of evil should not have affected her as it did. It was not contagious; she might have been able to sense it, but it was incapable of actually harming her. After many months, she realised that her subconscious must have picked up on the evil, construed it as a serious threat to her, and created her elaborate nightmares as the perceived threat. That left the question of how realistic her visions were, which, for obvious reasons, she had never been able to answer.
During this time, she had started seeing a Healer recommended to her by one of her wealthy neighbours, something like a Muggle psychiatrist. As they progressed in Hermione's therapy, she also continued her research and realised that she had never been so fascinated by any subject, even in school. The mind was far more complex than Arithmany, Ancient Runes, or even Transformation. Every one was a little different, but they generally functioned in the same way.
So she had entered into one of St. Mungo's training programs, and the rest was history. He work was more theoretical and specialised than the average Healer's; to draw a Muggle comparison, her program resembled a psychology doctorate more than a psychiatric medical degree. She had excelled in her studies, as she always did, and that scandalous union everyone knew about and no one discussed, had helped her much more than it had hurt her.
It had not really even affected her personal life, at least not in the ways she had expected. Somehow, she still found time and opportunity to date, albeit very quietly. None of those relationships had ultimately amounted to anything serious enough for her to take legal measures, but the possibility had always remained in the back of her mind. No, what her wedding had affected the most were her friendships, namely with Ron and Harry and even a little with Ginny.
Lying in that incredible bedroom with the stars floating on orbit around her, she should have fallen immediately into a peaceful slumber. But all she could do now was re-live every argument she'd ever had with one or other of her best friends about Lucius – why she had stayed married to him, how she could carry that legacy, what she would do if he ever returned to public life, what exactly had happened during those weeks in France.
They always made up after these fights, but it soon became clear that it was a subject best left alone. And when something so big loomed between them, they found conversation awkward and stilted, everyone careful not to touch on the forbidden topic. She could not talk about some of the new friends she was making or the guys she dated. It had hurt at first and now, reminiscing in a Malfoy bedroom, she felt almost sick with remembered unhappiness.
There was no way she was getting any sleep tonight. The only thing that could distract her from her painful memories, she decided, was a midnight excursion to that vast library. While she was sure that her status as mistress of the house would not grant her access to every volume therein, she felt certain that she would find a sufficiently wide variety of books to keep her occupied.
She left the luxurious bed, changed back into her wrinkled robes, and called Tingy to show her the way to the library. This time she trained her eyes on her surroundings, hoping she would be able to find her way back to the starlit room on her own. Not that she would be staying here long, she reminded herself. Whatever was going on here, it was clear to her that this… arrangement could not be permanent, despite what he had said about her legal ownership. Lucius had his mysterious work to do, and she had a house of her own.
Soon she found herself back in the library, breathing in those comforting aromas and relaxing a little more. She saw candlelight shining in several small scattered niches, lending the rambling room a shadowy, dreamlike air. When Tingy asked if she wanted anything to eat or drink, Hermione politely refused and set off exploring the stacks. She saw books bound in leather and canvas, scrolls of creamy parchment tied up with gold braid and twine.
She could not have said how much time passed while she browsed the volumes until she settled on a book on vampires, gorgeously illuminated and smelling faintly of garlic. She chuckled as she traced the intricate lettering on the cover. Tiny pictures formed the letters, some of them gruesome and some funny. It reminded her of very old Bibles, the kind produced for kings before the days of the printing press.
One candlelit niche near the stack glowed invitingly, a few candles arranged on a small table near an overstuffed chair big enough to fit two or three people, as long as they were close. She curled up and lost herself in archaic English and magnificent illustrations, pleased and surprised that the information appeared quite accurate, from what little she knew of vampires.
As she struggled through a dense passage about the qualities shared by most vampires around the world, including a seeming lack of weight that rendered their footsteps utterly silent, a hand descended on her shoulder, and she almost screamed. She jumped, and the book fell out of her grasp to the chair.
"It's easy to be silent," Lucius remarked over her shoulder, "when the carpet is thick."
As her heart slowed back to its usual rhythm, she glared and rearranged herself into a more dignified sitting position. "What are you doing here? What time is it?" It did not help any that while she was still wearing a robe from the previous day hastily thrown over her underwear, Lucius was wearing a silken dressing gown, glinting the colour of dark wine in the flickering light. He looked like a duke at home in his palace.
"I should be not be surprised if it has passed two o'clock by now. As for why I'm here, I could not sleep and decided to make good use of the time. I have letters to write, and the library generally has a calming effect on me. Of course, it is not my habit to sit in here and read about vampires in the middle of night."
Hermione picked up the book and closed it before gently laying it on the arm of the chair. "It's a lovely manuscript," she commented, her eyes lingering on the lettering. "I couldn't sleep either. This is all so strange." She lifted her eyes back to him and blushed faintly under his intense scrutiny. She hoped the flush on her cheeks was not visible in the wavering candlelight.
For a few seconds he was silent, looking like he was pondering something, and then he appeared to come to a decision. "May I sit?"
She nodded and moved to one side. Now that he had explained, however briefly, what had occupied him since the last time she saw him, she wondered what he was going to do after they parted ways again. She was sure they would after tonight and considered once more her decision to sleep alone. It would have been nice… very nice to stay with him, but she was sure it would unsettle the stability she had finally started to build up.
"I can imagine how perplexing all this must be for you," he said, "and you're handling it admirably." She gave him a wan smile. "Earlier tonight I was not entirely forthcoming with you."
She wasn't surprised and told him so in her driest tone. He chuckled. "Of course you're not. When I predicted that the final confrontation with the Dark Lord was coming shortly, I did not say how shortly. In fact, I believe that this was… an opening volley, the first salvo in that battle. As Ministry attention is turned toward Germany and Aurors are combing through the castle and its surroundings, Death Eaters from all over the world are entering England, singly and in small groups. I am certain that they will strike within the week while Aurors are chasing false leads all over the continent."
Hermione's heart stopped, and she couldn't breathe. She stared at Lucius, frozen and wordless with shock and horror. "What…" she began and stopped. Her mouth was parched. She licked her lips and tried again. "What can we do?" She shivered. How could he throw his lot in with her now when Voldemort's forces were converging on an unsuspecting population even as they spoke?
Instead of replying, he called Tingy and requested cocoa and biscuits for the mistress and writing materials for himself. He asked if she would like a cigarette, and she refused. She had not smoked in years now and did not plan to start again. "First I am going to write to Minerva McGonagall and reassure her that you are safe."
A little of her paralysing fear fell away into shame as Hermione remembered that her friends must be worried sick about her, unheard from after a Death Eater strike.
"She will consult with the Order as soon as possible, and if necessary, I will make myself known to them. Rest assured, my dear, you and your friends will not be defenceless."
Tingy arrived with another silver tray much like that which had borne the tea service earlier. Now it held a small, steaming black pot banded with silver, a matching cup and plate, a roll of parchment, and an iridescent blue quill. After carefully arranging the candles on the far edge of the little table in front of them, Tingy set down the tray and bowed low. Lucius dismissed her with a wave and instructions to return for the letter when he finished. He handed the mug to Hermione and began to pour cocoa from the pot.
She took a deep breath of the rich aroma, and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She took a sip and discovered it tasted even better than it smelled. The biscuits, she soon discovered, were topped with pear jam and dipped in chocolate. After inquiring after her satisfaction, Lucius began writing. She drank the cocoa and felt her insides slowly warm up back to normal. As he wrote, she picked up the book and, careful not to spill crumbs or drops of cocoa on the ancient pages, and started reading where she had left off. They sat in a companionable silence, broken only by the scritch-scratch of his quill and their quiet breath.
Is how we would have been in that alternate dimension where we lived together as a married couple, Hermione wondered. Although it was two a.m. and Lucius was working against the clock to counter Voldemort's army and Hermione was trying to absorb a colossal change in her comfortable world, sitting here on this chair big enough to be a loveseat with him felt…. right. It felt normal, if that word could ever be applied to the two of them.
Her knees and back grew sore as she sat rigid in a single position, and soon she had to stretch a little and readjust. She turned so she was facing away from Lucius, leaned against the back of the chair, and tucked her legs under her. This close, she could feel the warmth from his body. As she read, she heard parchment tear and rustle as he folded it. He was done with his letter, then.
She swallowed in anticipation, wondering what he would do next and trying to keep her posture casual. From behind her, Lucius shifted, and her heart sped up. She thought she could feel his breath warm on her neck. When his hand touched her shoulder, she was proud of herself for not jumping even a little.
"Tell me what you've learned while we've been sitting here," he said in a quiet, amused tone.
She leaned back a little onto the solidity of his chest and smiled when his arm came to rest in a lazy curve across her waist. Just because spending the night together would be a really bad idea didn't mean she could not enjoy a human touch for a few minutes.
"I'd never thought of it before," she said slowly, "but the physics of vampires… of their existence… is very odd. There shouldn't be anything intrinsically inhuman about them; they were once as human as you or me. But something happens when they're turned… I don't know what it is. Suddenly they have all this strength and speed, and they're practically weightless." She sighed. "I've never understood the physics of magic. It's like they exist… somehow in another dimension, one that intersects with ours."
She laughed at her words and twisted her head around to see the expression on his face. He was not laughing in the slightest but was looking at her with a smile to make her forget to breathe.
"What?"
"Nothing," he replied. "Please, continue."
"That's all I have for now. I've always wondered what it is that causes vampirism, how the bodies don't rot and fall to bits. Is it a spell? Is it something like a potion in the blood of the sire?" She tried to shrug, but it was awkward in her present position. "What do you think?"
His smile widened and became mischievous. In that moment, she thought she could see the adolescent Lucius had once been. "If I admit that vampires are the furthest thing from my mind right now, would you be offended?"
She dropped her eyes and was sure she was blushing again. How he could make her revert to a shy schoolgirl like that, she could not begin to imagine. "It depends."
"On what?"
With no little courage, she straightened and raised her eyes to stare straight into his. "On what you have been thinking about."
"Is that all?" His voice was velvety soft. "I was thinking about the warmth you emanate when you're this close." He raised a hand to trail down the side of her face. Funny, she had been thinking the same thing. "I was thinking that it hardly seemed fair that you should have grown more lovely since we parted ways. I was thinking that I had forgotten how delicious you are." His hand insinuated its way into her hair, curly and tangled and frizzy from her restless night. "I was thinking about how easy it would be to get lost in you."
While he was waxing poetic, she was thinking that she was no longer that shy schoolgirl or the hesitant young woman he had known in Paris. She turned so that she was facing him more directly, but before she could make her move, Tingy appeared in the room with a pop. Hermione chuckled and moved a little ways away. She could see Lucius's jaw tighten as he indicated the letter and ordered the house-elf to send it immediately. Her annoyance at the manner in which he treated the elf was surpassed by her amusement at his irritation. It was so rare to see him show such visible emotion.
She grinned. "Story of us, isn't it?" This time, she was not going to wait for that magical right moment. She moved again, sliding one leg around until she was sitting on his lap. "You once said you'd wait for my permission, so I'll extend you the same courtesy."
He did not say anything but drew her into a deep kiss. This close, she could feel that though he had grown a little leaner during the past few years, he had also grown harder. He felt like iron pressed against her, wrapped in silk. One of his hands rested on her bare thigh, exposed in her present position. She shifted, and he made a low noise in the back of his throat. What was… oh, that. Now she could feel him pressed against her core, separated only by a couple of thin layers of fabric.
Hadn't she come to the sensible conclusion that this was a bad idea? Well, come to think of it, they never had properly consummated their marriage. This was as good a time as any for that, though it would mean that she could not annul it now.
She broke off the kiss for a few seconds to tug his dressing gown down his arms, and he unhooked the clasps that held the front of her robes together. It only took another moment for him to unhook her bra and pull it away from her body. The candlelight was beautiful on his pale skin, sketching warm and mysterious patterns across his chest and arms. He was hot against her bare torso, already touched with a light sheen of sweat. As he quit her lips to kiss her jawline to her neck and collarbone, his hand travelled up her leg to slip under her panties and cup her bottom. Slowly she started to grind against him and was gratified to feel every muscle in his body tense as he drew a sharp breath.
"I hope you're not too attached to these," he whispered as he reached into the pocket of his dressing gown, now laying in a puddle on the chair.
"I have others."
He touched the tip of his wand to the scrap of fabric between her legs. "Are you certain?"
"Certain that if you don't hurry up, I'll kill you here and now."
He chuckled as he touched the tip of his wand to her panties. It was rather less dramatic but more comfortable than simply ripping them. The garment fell apart at the seams, and he cast aside the pieces. She untied the belt that held his dressing gown together at his hips and shivered as the silk brushed the inside of her thighs. The wand tumbled to the floor when he released it to take her bottom in a firm grip. She lifted up on her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck as she began to brush over his erection. She got a certain evil pleasure from teasing him like this, but she could not take it for long, her own arousal throbbing almost painfully between her legs.
She lowered herself slowly onto him, making small helpless noises as he entered her. It had been awhile for her, and at first she was uncomfortably tight. But as they found their rhythm, pleasure blossomed inside her. Their kisses were fervent now, bruising between gasps to catch their breath. Her hair stuck to her face and her neck and occasionally insinuated itself between their lips. Lucius laughed whenever this happened and whispered that he loved it.
Soon her knees started aching from the unusual motion, and she stretched them out to wrap them around his waist.
"Are you uncomfortable?" he asked in a rush of breath.
"A little," she admitted.
"Then shall we adjourn to someplace more appropriate?"
Her head cleared enough for her to wonder who in the world said that kind of thing in the middle of love-making in the twenty-first century. His grey-blue eyes glittered, and his cheeks were flushed. Lucius Malfoy, that was who.
"That sounds lovely."
He groped the chair cushion blindly, searching for the wand which had fallen on the floor earlier. She giggled and slowly unbent one of her legs. She dragged her foot on the floor until she felt the slender length of wood. The carpet was thick enough that she could bury her toes in the lush fibres and grasp the wand. With a flexibility she did not know she possessed, she bent her leg again, this time in the other direction, and retrieved the wand.
A moment later, they Apparated to Hermione's room (apparently it was possible to Apparate between rooms in the house) and in one fast, fluid motion, Lucius laid Hermione on her back. This position was definitely easier on her and more comfortable here atop a feather-light comforter than it would have been on the library chair. She loved the way their bodies were touching down their entire length, hot and damp and tangled together.
All of sudden, the manor shook around them, and they both went still, locked together and hearts palpitating in time. Hermione's wide eyes met Lucius's. "What was that?" For once, he looked genuinely worried and did not reply. She held him tightly and listened to his ragged breath slow with hers. So many emotions were churning inside her at the moment: worry, confusion, extreme irritation, and all of it was fogged by a coital haze.
The house shook again. Before she could gather her wits enough to hold a reasonable conversation on mysterious rumblings of family estates, Tingy burst into the room. None of the candles were lit, and the glow from the stars was muted, but she still wished she had something to throw atop her and Lucius. This was by far the oddest moment of her sex life, interrupted mid-coitus by a house-elf who was saying something about the wards.
Oh God, the wards. It was happening. It was happening in the middle of the best sex she had had in too long. This was yet another reason to despise Voldemort. If he or any other Death Eater had burst into the room right now, she did not think she would have any trouble casting an Unforgiveable.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Lucius whispered as he detangled himself from her. "They must have intercepted the letter I sent. I imagine I'll need your help if you're…"
She attempted a smile. "I'll do my best." She wasn't sure she succeeded.
He pulled her close for one last kiss before standing and pulling on the robes he Summoned. Her own wand lay on the floor beside the bed, and soon she had followed his example. In a remarkably short time, they were dressed, and her heart was almost back to its usual pace. She wanted to scream. Most of the sensation in her body was still concentrated between her thighs, making it impossible to think clearly.
He linked hands with her and gave one last regretful look at the mussed bed. "That is by no means over." Then he hurried from the bedroom, pulling Hermione alongside him to meet the Death Eaters at the gate.
