Sorry for the delay! Classes started back up this week so I was incredibly busy. Thank you all for the kind reviews, I really appreciate the feedback! This chapter is extra long as both an apology and a thank you!
Also, the latter half of the chapter has dialogue and situations taken nearly word-for-word from Nora Ephron's You've Got Mail. Just felt I should give her that credit, I'm a really big fan of the movie. Obviously I don't imagine Tom Hanks as Lucius nor Meg Ryan as Hermione, but I loved the dialogue so much that I had to borrow.
I hope you enjoy!
Friend,
Meet me at Flourish & Blotts in Diagon Alley at half past noon if you are serious about your offer. I look forward to meeting you. I will be the one in Gryffindor colors holding a flower.
Best,
Jane
In a state of anxiety Hermione sent the owl only minutes after reading the kind letter. It was hours before a response arrived and it was with shaking fingers she tore open the envelope and quickly searched the parchment for confirmation or rejection. If it was rejection she wasn't sure what she would do, perhaps she wished he just wouldn't answer at all if it was rejection.
Friend,
Excitement flows through me at your invitiation. It would be my pleasure to take you to lunch as well. Until noon.
Cordially,
Your Friend
Hermione dressed with caution the day after receiving The Fallen One's letter. Mutual excitement and anxiety put her on an edge she could not describe, but she knew she could not be late. With her hair in a messy bun and dressed in warm reds and yellows, she apparated to Diagon Alley desperately clutching a rose. The sight of future Hogwarts students bustling through the streets, hands begrudgingly clutched in their parents' as they were ushered from shop to shop brought her cheer. There was no doubt that she was getting strange looks from passersby, looks that she knew weren't just from her war heroine status, these were new looks. It was really the first outing she had made since her hearing, she'd nearly forgotten that the rest of the world would know all of that personal information. More than once she was called out to, more often in thanks for her positive advice than in disgruntlement about unappreciated advice—though that came, too. It was hard to be bothered by the interruptions in her day as the damp autumn air tickled her lungs and pinched her cheeks to pink. The gentle click clack of her shoes against the cobblestones was comforting as she allowed herself to be slightly jostled by the busy crowds, she hadn't really considered that school would be starting soon. Butterbeer and caramel apple tickled her nose as the scents of fall embraced her as much as the harassed sounds of mothers and fathers calling out to children amused her.
Slightly overwhelmed by the crowds and the bubbling anxiety within her, but enjoying the noise and excitement all the same, Hermione found her way to Flourish & Blotts and ducked into the entryway with a grin. Now this was joy. Allowing herself to be lost in the novels surrounding her, Hermione slowly but surely made her way through the great shelves sporting the books. It was half past noon already, but she reasoned that not every wizard functioned with the strict policy of punctuality that she did. Moving down the aisles with leisure she plucked books from the towering aisles and skimmed through them, perusing in search for something that could transport her to a world quite unlike hers. Fifteen minutes past and soon it turned to a half hour, she pretended not to notice the tardiness buy busying herself with shopping. Perhaps her friend was engrossed in book shopping or stuck in the bustling traffic happening outside, that was not an impossible option.
Often, she searched for books stocked full of factoids and informational histories that could fill her with new knowledge and exciting backgrounds; but then, Hermione just needed an escape. It was with this in mind that she tossed an educational piece back onto a shelf and as she was reaching for a book to exchange it with the wooding shelving unit gave out and books began to topple loudly to the floor. Cracking wood sounded eerily like the cracking of bones. The slamming noises made her jump backwards as books bumped loudly against each other and the snapped wood, to slap onto the dirty floor of the shop. Shocked into a state of immobility Hermione watched as the top shelf snapped in the middle, in what felt like slow motion to the witch, and books poured downward—then suddenly froze in midair.
"Well," A lush voice spoke with amusement from behind her, "it certainly can no longer be contested that you are much stronger than you appear." The speaker had obviously watched her toss the book that had broken the camel's back and caused the wood to collapse. Hermione's mind was drawn to the pictures of the Weasley's in Egypt that were contained in dusty picture frames all over the burrow. Maybe if she refused to turn to look to that horrible man he would disappear and she would never have to face him again.
"I didn't do it on purpose." The need to defend herself was forever present around Lucius Malfoy. With an easy flourish of his wand, the wood repaired itself and the books drifted back onto the shelves—and in order for that matter.
"No, I don't recall claiming that you did." The blonde's voice was filled with much more amusement than her's was, she imagined a smug smile on his thin lips. Then she imagined slapping that smug smile off and finally turned to face him and his haughtily raised eyebrows.
"I just thought I should clarify in case you wished to invent a case that would ban me from reading as well as writing." Hatred seethed in her as she glared up at him, she had realized only when she turned to face him just how close he stood. Too close, her arm wouldn't need to extend fully for her fingers to brush against the velvet of his blacker than black robes. His eyes flashed and a coy smirk pulled pale lips apart to reveal shining teeth as he looked down his nose at her glowering form.
"Ah, Miss Granger let's not be hostile. You should know as well as I do that I had to report you for the safety of my own position."
"Charming, you're just as much as a coward as you are a snitch. Now please leave me alone, Mister Malfoy, I'm waiting for a friend." He glanced around dramatically, swinging his head about like a ridiculous cartoon character from when she was child, though he looked much more adult than any of her cartoon characters ever had.
"I don't recall seeing your little friends here."
"I'm not waiting for Ron or Harry."
"Ah," A knowing smirk spread his lips, "a date. So, where is your fellow? You're quite alone back here. Is he late? Perhaps he's caught in the trouble outside, though he could always floo in." He spoke slowly and challenged her all the while with sarcasm evident in his suggestion. Deciding she would no longer tolerate his cruelty nor being stood up by a stranger she had never met she excused herself,
"Good day, Mister Malfoy." With a none-too-gentle shove of her shoulder against his side, Hermione made to move away from him, but a firm grasp on her wrist tugged her form quite close to his much larger one.
A startled gasp escaped her throat as her eyes delved quickly from the sight of his pale fingers grasped tightly around her small wrist to his blue eyes studying her closely. Hermione was struck incapable of moving more from the jolt of his proximity than from force in touch; he was much gentler than she would have expected him to be and his skin much smoother. Brown eyes locked on the site of his white fingers wrapped around her tanner skin and her stomach flip flopped at the realization that the warmth of his palm was soft and nearly comforting against her arm, which she suddenly faired felt coarse and uncivil to him. Then he bent so that his lips were just brushing her ear as he murmured in the softest tone she had her a Malfoy adopt yet,
"Believe me, Miss Granger, I took no pleasure in your dethroning. I beg your forgiveness but accept your hatred all the same." The low tremble of his voice matched with the softness of lips against her burning ears left her frozen as he pulled away, releasing his grasp on her wrist finger by delicate finger.
The scent of clean, but masculine, cologne invaded her senses and swayed her focus. All the same, his captivating eyes kept her enraptured as they studied her closely. For a moment then she wondered what he was seeing; wondered if he found her as intriguing as she found him then with his silken hair framing his strong features. The softest blush she had ever seen on a living human tainted cheekbones that looked as if they could have been chiseled out of ice; was he as effected by their sudden proximity as much as she had been? When his last finger released her wrist, she was bereaved of his presence and briefly wondered why she had to straighten her posture to keep in balance; if she had been leaning in it was only to hear him better, not to feel the electric warmth that seemed to radiate from his lean figure, at least that's what she told herself.
"I don't need apologies from an insincere cad."
Blue eyes held her gaze in a tight lock, his stare was hard but there was no frown or smile on his face as he spoke again in his gravelly tenor,
"I must meet Draco. Good day, Miss Granger."
"Mister Malfoy." Hermione wasn't sure if her response was heard as he had already disappeared from the aisle, stalking off in that way of his that left shockwaves in his wake. She shopped the rest of the day with a rather absent mind, the strength in his words permeating her thoughts as much as his cologne had flustered her mind.
It was that night that Hermione returned home to her humble apartment and felt as if she was going to have a breakdown soon if something didn't give. Nobody won in war, she wanted to explain to anyone who would listen as she pulled the diamond studs out of her ears, there was only those who survived and managed to carry on afterwards. Good had conquered evil, this mantra rang true in her mind as she tugged her scarf over her head and wrapped it around the hook on the wall. Yes, good had conquered evil. So now the good had to take care of the evil, but who was going to take care of the good?
Staring into the mirror, Hermione attempted to see what others saw. She couldn't remember a time in her life when she felt more hopeless, there had always been a cause for her to fight for: whether it had been for good grades, the greater good or her own life the witch had always been fighting. A soft, long exhale left her body as pale hands clutched the white mouth of her sink and she leaned herself forward. A flash of much paler, stronger, masculine, elegant fingers wrapped around her wrist completely invaded the privacy of her mind. She didn't want to think about her own flustered presence around Malfoy, not now.
Voluminous curls framed soft cheeks, gold-rimmed brown eyes stared back at her from either side of her rather wide nose. A thin top lip rested above a plump lower lip, both the soft pink of a spring rose. Pretty. Hermione Granger was pretty. Smart. Hermione Granger was smart, more than smart, really. Hermione Granger was brilliant. Talented. Hermione Granger was talented. A smile parted her lips and her reflection smiled back at her with bright eyes, Hermione Granger was a capable woman and was going to be completely fine. A relief she didn't understand flooded through her as her smile seemed to be some sort of confirmation. Something clicked then, that to do any justice for all those who had died, she was going to have to keep moving forward. Once she got to the bottom of the injustice of the Ministry, she would be fine. More than fine, Hermione Granger was going to be great, because she was great. The only question was: what did she want to be great at?
After her affirmations had been chanted and hope was rekindled in the pit of her stomach, she pulled the letter from The Fallen One out from the drawer she had stuffed it in. Guilt had seeped into her when he had reminded her that she had posted his second letter without his permission, she'd omitted that fact from the public eye. Having believed in karma for most of her life, she wondered if the Ministry's atrocious behavior toward her was some sort of eye-for-an-eye treatment from the universe but brushed this thought off quickly. There was no conceivable way that publishing that letter had devastated him nearly as much as losing her job had devastated Hermione. Sitting at the neat pine wood desk, dainty fingers pulled a piece of parchment to the center. With the newest plume quill in her collection, Hermione began a response.
Dear Fallen One,
Where were you? It does not seem like you to go back on your word. If you did not want to meet, you simply could have said so. Selfishly, I hope some incredible accident kept you from travelling out or owling in.
Still, I feel obliged to thank you for reaching out to me and thank you, more so, for you offer to assist me in looking for my next career. I have something in mind but it would be tricky and of a dubious nature. Does your offer still stand?
It seems unfair, might I add, that you are in full knowledge of my identity but I don't know yours. This leaves me nervous, how can I know that I can trust you? Especially now with your faltering ability to maintain social plans, I doubt you.
It feels as if I am sending you a list of questions, but with your responses I will know how safe it is for myself to answer. Hopefully, you will sympathize with my wariness in light of recent circumstances.
Furthermore, I wish to beg your forgiveness for publishing your words without your full consent. It was wrong and I have no excuse but my own selfishness. My thoughts are that you have forgiven me but please correct me if I am in the wrong, it feels as if I am wrong.
Best wishes,
Miss Jane
The response came as Hermione sat for breakfast the next morning with her legs curled up under her on the bar chair and an automatically refilling mug of tea sat before her. The Prophet was quickly pushed aside and the familiar envelope with the elegant handwriting was pulled forward, her cereal was forgotten as quickly as the morning newspaper.
Dear Miss Jane,
It would be impossible for me to write enough apologies to truly earn your forgiveness so I shall only write one: I am sorry for not showing up nor for letting you know in advance. I was rendered incapable by a sudden change in family events, there was nothing I could do about the situation. Perhaps one day we can finally meet, when I prove that I can gain and deserve your trust.
If you intend to keep signing with your alias, I feel it is important that I shall keep my identity secret, for now. This rule stands even firmer as I say that the dubious nature of your future plans do not concern me. You do not know my name, but I am in full belief that you have become familiar with my nature. Right and wrong are not concerns in my family, but strengths and weaknesses are taken into consideration. Tell me, Miss Jane, are you targeting the strong that have made you weak or do you have indiscreet plans to help the weak become strong? I trust you of all people hold concern for our well-being in the highest regards.
It is important to me that you are aware that your questions are not bothersome to me. I value your curiosity as much as I value [here the words "our honest" were crossed out with a single line and Hermione smiled at the idea that he wanted her to know he felt their interaction was intimate but was not bold enough to say so outright] interaction. Since the war, I have become a quiet man. It is hard to know who to trust in a time when rehabilitation is being forced upon us all. Not all of my past-alliances welcome the changes I am making in my life and not all of those without a treacherous past forgive my sins as easily as others. The line I walk is a thin one, Miss Jane.
You are forgiven though your mistake has cost me dearly, I've had questionings because of the publishing. I've had to lie to someone I hold dear. I cannot put blame directly on your shoulders for this. The information you published was all truth as it was the story of my life that I am slowly making amends for, but to lie and cause them pain was a task I did not realize would bring such anguish.
As for how you know that you can trust me, I suppose that you cannot know that information with any security. You can only take my word that I mean you no harm, wish no ill intent upon you, and want only to assist you. But what good is the word of a reformed Death Eater, Miss Jane? It is without irony or causticness that I ask you this. What is the value of my word? I say that you can trust me and that I trust you, but how much value does my word hold to you?
Here's hope that you are well,
The Fallen One
The letter had her more excited than she had felt in some time. His apology was simple but she felt herself forgiving. The snub had bruised her ego, but he had already made it clear in past letters that he had a complicated family situation. Hermione forgave him. Change was on the horizon, she could feel it in her bones and the bubbling energy in the pit of her stomach that whatever she had to look forward to was traveling toward her quickly. On a second reading of the letter, she took into account the author's use of the term "we" in context with "the weak." Unsure of whether her heart ached for his broken attitude or reassured of her cause by his obvious seeking for help and attending to, Hermione pulled parchment toward her and penned an owl to Harry to meet her sooner rather than later as they had very much to discuss indeed.
"This is mental, Hermione." The more Harry repeated this (not-argued but true) sentiment the wider the grin spread across his face. It was obvious that trouble had been missing from their lives, there was a thrill to fighting crime but Hermione had a feeling that both Harry and Ron missed the rush that accompanied breaking rules.
"I know, but I think it's important."
"Oh I do, too," Harry nodded aggressively as he spoke, watching her pace across her living room from beside his spot next to Ron on her little loveseat, "I still think it's mental, though."
"That's because its, but he says he can spread the word to everyone who he knows would be interested. Then word of mouth could spread it from there. Anyone who wants to be properly rehabilitated can join. We could use the coins again, Harry, you know this is important." She spoke as if she expected Harry to argue, both knowing it would be Ron who would play Devil's Advocate in the situation. It was Ron who felt as if he had lost the most and neither of his best friends' felt they could argue with him, though Harry had indiscreetly dropped mentions of his entire dead family into multiple conversations to fall on Ron's deaf ears.
"Hermione, you've got to be kidding me. You don't even know this man's name, he could be baiting you to turn you in."
"Don't be ridiculous, why would he be doing that?" The same giddy sensation that had spread through her limbs and made her heart bounce in excitement so many times in her past was tingling through her as she beamed at Harry, ready to work out the details in their project.
"The consequences aren't detention with Umbridge, 'Mione listen to me, this could mean Azkaban. They shut down your article for you stating your own opinions if they hear you're creating your own club of Death Eaters, blimey…" Determination was blinding, she knew that, but she was acting logically not emotionally. She'd stopped pacing to listen to her ex-boyfriend who had shaken his hands at her in frustration, as if her watching that act would shake sense into her. Crookshanks was weaving about her ankles in a figure eight, his old-age clouded eyes glaring at her red-headed friend in concurrence with his owner.
"Don't you think I've considered that, Ronald? I trust him, you can read our correspondence and see for yourself but if you doubt him from here on out you will be doubting me. I give you my assurance that he is reliable."
"I trust you, 'Mione, I do but….you don't even know his name." Silence answered his pleading eyes so he turned then to Harry, "Come on, tell her this bloody mental, Harry. Tell her she's mad."
"Sorry Ron, I'm with Hermione on this. They need better treatment, we need to fix this before they start a mutiny." Harry's green eyes stayed focuses on his crossed legs as he spoke but out of the corner of his eye he could see Ron rising angrily to his feet.
"This is a mutiny! You're getting a bunch of Death Eaters together, how do you think this is gonna go? 'Oh hi I'm Hermione Granger and this is Harry Potter, hello there Death Eaters who tried to kill us for years—are you ready to be turned into a bunch of mudblood lovers?'" Any resemblance of patience from Harry snapped as he stood quickly to shout,
"Ron! How dare you use that term!"
"I was being them, oh Harry come on! I'm trying to show you how ridiculous-" Ron's ears and cheeks were red, the same as they had been in every argument she could ever recall having with him. It was funny to look back and think that she had once loved the sight of his ears turning red with passion, how she would kiss him after arguments and call his flushed demeanor charming.
"No I know exactly what you're doing, Ronald." Hermione's voice was deadly calm, she'd stood quietly and allowed him to berate her for the last time, "You don't have faith in me or this cause. I understand that, you're too prejudiced to see that helping the weaker reform they will join us and help us. We don't know where Shacklebolt's head is, we don't know what the Ministry is doing. We need all of the assurance we can get. You supported Remus when he tried to band werewolves onto the Orders' side, you supported Hagrid when he went to speak to the giants—but why would you support me while I fight for our rights? You're absolutely bloody right, Ronald, that would be ridiculous!" Her voice had risen in volume with each statement and it had taken a great amount of self-control to yell at him rather than hex him. Memories of birds flying after his head all those years ago in the abandoned classroom as she'd watched him with Lavender Brown only boiled her blood even further. Feeling quite satisfied with her speech she cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks burning red with fury,
"Ronald, if you do not want to join us that is your decision but please don't involve yourself only to back out later, again. I don't think I could handle the inconsistency." Looking back on her statement later that night, Hermione knew it had been awfully low of her to resurface his abandonment when they'd been searching for horcruxes but she couldn't help it. Was it so horrible that she was exhausted of his refusal to trust her decisions and judgement?
"I'm just trying to look out for you, 'Mione." Harry was shuffling his face, toeing the top of one sneaker with the other as Ron's voice grew quiet.
"I don't need a babysitter, in case you hadn't noticed I've done quite fine without it. I need you to be a friend and to support me for once."
"Lavender's pregnant. I dunno if I can get involved with this right now." Hermione was over him, she'd made this promise to herself again and again. But if that was the truth why did it feel like her heart had just been ripped out of her chest?
"Wow, congratulations man!" Harry offered him a handshake that turned quickly into a hug as Ron's downtrodden demeanor turned quickly into an excited one and her boys—not, not her's anymore. The boys, men really, were laughing and talking about their relationships excitedly as Ron announced he was planning to propose the following evening.
"Hermione, I'm sorry there's been a lot going on and I worry about-" She didn't think she could stand hearing concern or pity from him, not now.
"No, that's alright. Thank you." A silence fell and it was as if someone had sucked the air right out of her suddenly too-small apartment, "It appears you've rendered me speechless!" She hoped the forced smile didn't look as insincere or horrible as it felt.
"That's a first!" Ron barked with laughter at his own wit before pulling her into a bear hug that felt all too brotherly and all too intimate at the same time.
It was a little as if her brain had frozen in time and been wiped clean. While Hermione numbly moved to the kitchen to make tea Ron and Harry babbled about Lavender's lycanthropy and the risks of it affecting her pregnancy, both seeming to brush that idea to the side when comparing it to Tonks' pregnancy with Teddy. Remus and Teddy Lupin lived together in a small house on the muggle side of town where Remus worked as a pre-school teacher at a small muggle school while Andromeda and Molly took turns babysitting; McGonagall and a few other peers had written outstanding letters of recommendation and the muggles had no reason to fear the kind widower with the shabby cardigans. The war had stolen Tonks but Remus moved on; everyone was moving on, Hermione assured herself that she could too.
"Hermione! I know you're in there, open up!" It was Ginny, there no mistaking that caustic voice, even through her locked bedroom door.
"I really don't feel well, Ginny, I'll owl when I'm better. Don't want you catching this!" Hermione wished she'd remembered to close the floo. She wasn't lying, she really was sick. It was the perfect storm, really. As soon as she had been feeling back on her feet and vigorous about life again her ex-boyfriend had gotten his girlfriend pregnant and announced he was proposing hours before she came down with a terrible head cold. At least, she reasoned with herself bitterly as she'd sat sniffling from both crying and sneezing, she had an excuse for staying in bed.
Either way, depressed or sick, Hermione kept the ruin bright enough that true depression could not really seep into her brain somehow. She didn't like the darkness, hadn't like it since the war, even when she slept she kept her lamp on as if the light would be able to fight out any of her bad dreams. As if the light could keep depression and nightmares from slipping into her ears and addling her brain past the point of recovery. The lights were always on and made her light blue and white sheets and blankets look welcoming and inviting, all for her of course. It was ludicrous, she knew, but at least when she woke up drenched in sweat and gasping for breath she could see her own hands and her apartment know that she was back in the present.
"Lavender said yes, Hermione, whether you want to deal with your feelings now or later doesn't matter. She said yes and this baby is coming so you better get your ass out of bed and owl a congratulations or you'll hate yourself later." Ginny was right, of course, Hermione would later regret it if she didn't send an owl. Even heartbroken and sick she didn't have it in her to be as rude as she wished.
"I will, Ginny, but I'm really very sick you shouldn't come in." An exasperated sigh was followed by,
"Fine!" And the loud pop which signaled her disappearance, for this Hermione was relieved as she allowed her bushy head to fall back onto the crisp pillow and her mind once more drift off into sleep.
Her Head Girl bedroom looked the same as it had when she'd lived there, Hermione thought with satisfaction. It was comforting when certain things failed to change. Consistency was a comfort that she both relied on and had fought against for much of her life, but she had the feeling that fighting consistency came from lack of it in her early life. Images of her busy parents swirled in her mind, of the Burrow, of her first day at Hogwarts, of finding out she was a witch and her entire childhood and being told that she was "normal" and how that was all a lie. Feeling slightly drugged Hermione stepped further into the bedroom and appreciated the burning colors of Gryffindor on every piece of decoration, she'd once tried to charm the curtains purple but they had resisted.
"Ah, Miss Granger." Surprised to hear that voice, Hermione turned to face the doorway where Lucius Malfoy stood looking much the same as he had when she first met him all those years ago. "Yes, Draco's told me all about you…and your parents." With a flick of his strong chin in the direction to her left, Lucius Malfoy directed her gaze to find Lavender and Ron smiling at her.
"We love you, honey." It was her mother's voice that left Lavender's mouth and Hermione grew slightly confused. Why was Lavender speaking like her mom?
"We forgive you, pumpkin." Her father's pet-name for her falling out of Ron's mouth made her feel oddly squeamish. Confused and unsure of who to question about this Hermione turned to ask Malfoy what he was playing at, but halfway through her turn he had caught her wrist. This time he was not gentle and his touch scorched her skin, burning from her wrist up and into her brain. It felt like a fire had started in her blood, had he cast the cruciatus curse? He had to have, that was the only explanation for the searing pain that was causing her veins to tear in half.
"Do not doubt me" Soft lips were on her ear, then a warm mouth was on her neck and her eyes were fluttering shut as the pain drifted away and replaced with a new burning heat. That mesmerizing voice was floating from her ear into her brain and rooting itself there in its seductive hisses, "I am not to be toyed with, Miss Granger. Miss Granger? Miss Granger!"
Clasping a sheet to her scantily clad chest, Hermione bolted upright in bed and glanced around in confusion. All of her lights were on, not only her lamp, and there was a knock echoing about her home from her front door. Scrambling to tie the sash of her silk night robe around herself, Hermione's sock-clad feet slid across her wooden floors as she gauchely stumbled to the front door.
"Ginny, I told you I would owl when I felt…like it." However, when she swung the heavy door open in annoyance her dreams flooded through her mind. All too suddenly she remembered the confusion, the pain, the lust that had burned through her and all because of the man standing quite calmly outside of her flat. In his typical black robes he looked outlandishly out of place holding a bouquet of daisies.
"Good evening, my apologies, did I wake you Miss Granger? It's quite early." Aware that she probably looked quite a wreck with her hair uncombed and her makeup left on from the previous day, Hermione thought it best to ignore his question.
"What're you doing here, Malfoy?" Venom was evident in her tone. Even if she looked ridiculously horrendous, sick, underdressed, and exhausted she would not let herself be bested by this man again. Ignoring her lust filled dream was for the best, they were probably fever dreams, she reassured herself. She glared into the sunlight, more out her inability to see then at the man in front of her. Was it so wrong that she felt exhausted of hatred?
"I heard about your friend's engagement and…I was worried and…now I see I'm interrupting." Worried? His statement didn't fully register with her. The man before her stuck his head into her apartment and she followed his gaze in confusion.
"What?"
"You're in your bedclothes and look…" Again he trailed off, she'd never heard him speak so slow but figured he was gathering his thoughts as he continued to nosily look around her apartment, "Is someone here?" Too sleep-addled to fully comprehend that she was engaging in conversation with this man and that he was inferring she had just been in the middle of sex, she shook her head,
"No. I was sleeping, I have a temperature." Relief seemed to cross over his features as he stepped fully into her apartment, abandoning her near the door to head further into her living room. Aware that he wouldn't physically hurt her and took exhausted and sick to do much arguing, Hermione allowed him to enter without a fight. If he wanted an earful from her, then by all means he was welcome to invite that upon himself.
"Ah." The door swung shut as she turned to face him,
"Hey, you put me out of work."
"Uh, yes I did." The back of his perfectly styled blonde hair faced her as he examined her home.
"Did you come to gloat?"
"No."
"To offer me a job?" Stuffiness took the sharpness out of her usually high pitched voice.
"I would never-" Blue eyes were indulging her by not snapping at her eagerness to interrupt him,
"'Cause I have plans, I have plenty of offers, you know." Suddenly feeling very immature and very tired, she snatched a tissue out of the box upon her coffee table and blew her nose.
"I know."
"How would you know?" There was a moment of silence as Hermione realized how hostile she was being, "I'm sorry, no matter how awful you've been to me you don't deserve to be yelled at. I'm not myself when I'm…sick." The fight to say 'depressed' or 'heartbroken' was obvious in her voice, she knew. He looked uncomfortable with her apology and gave a stiff shrug, Hermione didn't suppose any of the Malfoys, let alone the Master of the Manor, were used to accepting apologies.
"I brought you flowers." If he looked awkward standing in her doorway, he looked other worldly standing in her living room with a bouquet of daisies in brown paper held out in her direction.
"Oh. Thank you." Then, spinning rather suddenly, she moved to open her front door and gestured for him to leave. Politeness was not much of a concern when she had no intention of doing more than heading back to bed and certainly had no intention of friending this man.
Lucius Malfoy was a man well practiced in the art of stare-offs, apparently. Hermione thought back to days of glowering at his son from cross classrooms, she'd never lost before. Draco's gaze was not as unwavering as his father's, she lost this stare-off pathetically but shirked it off as being sick. Abandoning the small war and recognizing defeat, Hermione shut the door and watched as he turned away from her and headed into the kitchen. Tossing the statements,
"Why don't I put these in some water, hm? You're sick, you should sit down." Numbly, and quite out of breath from her cold, she sat upon her loveseat and listened as he magicked a vase and water. In silence his intimidating figure reappeared and he set the vase of daisies down in front of her.
"I love daisies." There was not much else to say to fill the silence that accompanied him nimbly stepping out of his robes and placing them on her rickety looking hook on the wall.
"Lucky guess." Obvious amusement in his voice matched the small smile he sported as he sat across from her in the arm chair she so loved.
"Don't you think daisies are the friendliest flower?" Tired, sick, overwhelmed nonsense fell from her lips, but she was genuine at least.
"I suppose so." He conjured a tea set between them and poured two cups. Wondering what he had come to say Hermione accepted the tea and waited. Hot tea with honey comforted her throat and cleared her sinuses, slightly, she wondered if he knew the drink would have a calming effect on her or if he had simply been trying to fill the awkward void between them. All of the tension seemed to diffuse with the tea and daisies between them, it was rather odd really but she found it to be a bit of a relief.
"Thank you." She tipped her cup toward him and he nodded, mimicking her gesture minutely. "I needed this to clear my head, I was attempting to do the same when I was at Flourish & Blotts, when I saw you while I was waiting for my friend…" Tentatively she chose her words, "And I was…"
"Charming."
"I was not charming!" If she ever ran out of activities arguing with him could certainly be her new hobby, she mused upon how often she seemed to be doing it of late,
"Well you looked charming."
"I was rude and horrible." They had spoken in unison and both looked surprised at what the opposite had said. Blonde eyebrows nearly reached his hairline as he sipped at his steaming drink. "Really," She forced a smile because she would not be bested. If Lucius Malfoy was trying civility then she was adopt the same attitude, "I was upset and horrible."
"No," His refusal was said with full sincerity, "I confronted you. I had hurt you. I was the horrible one." They were both too proud to speak apologies so they admitted faults, but could they speak acceptance of these unvoiced emotions?
"Well, that's true but I have no excuse."
"Oh. Oh I see what you're saying, that's interesting. Whereas I am a horrible person therefore I have no choice but to be horrible. That's what you're saying." Embarrassment flooded through her and wished she could slap herself, even though a smile was threatening at the corners of his mouth,
"Mister Malfoy-"
"No, that's alright. That's alright," The sentiment didn't quite reach his eyes but he nodded in agreement with her none the less; still, she found she was incapable of looking away from his engrossing eyes, "I put you out of work, I harassed your friends, I watched as you were tortured….among all of the other horrible things that I have done, that is one of the worst…" For a moment he looked lost in thought and an inkling of pity slipped into her heart for him as he finished with, "You are entitled to hate me."
"I don't hate you." On impulse the words practically spoke themselves, but after they had left her mouth Hermione realized they were true.
"You should."
"I don't, the war made us all do horrible things….I don't hate you." She set her empty cup down and he refilled it with unsteady hands.
"But you'll never forgive me, just like Jane."
"What?"
"Jane Eyre, from your muggle novel. She was too proud to forgive Rochester for being married, or was she too righteous? Well, I wouldn't know." Briefly she wondered why he would compare their situation to that of Rochester lying about being married, before she agreed with him that the pain and torment he had caused her was much akin to that of her favorite heroine. Whether he was referencing more the crimes of war or her trail, Hermione did not know but the sentiment was there all the same. Still,
"You read Jane Eyre?"
"You highly suggested it, did you not?"
"Yes, but I didn't think you'd read it."
"You're a bright witch, Miss Granger, or so I've been told. However, I doubted your smarts for the first time while reading that romantic…I'm not sure what to call it."
"Idealism."
"Pardon?" It occurred to her then that Lucius Malfoy was sitting in her flat, in her favorite arm chair, having tea and discussing muggle literature with her and she did not hate it. Perhaps this was another fever dream.
"It is romantic idealism, I know, but it does not make me any less bright." Would she always argue with him? Always? Her own voice rang shrill in her head, why had she said that word?
"No," Agreement sounded satisfying from his lips, "no it does not." Again they made eye contact and all that had gone unsaid between them was there, the tea's ability to ward off tension had failed.
"It wasn't personal."
"What? What does that supposed to mean? I'm so sick of that. All that means is that it wasn't personal to you, but it was personal to me." Refusing to placate her pain for his comfort she continued on, "And what is so wrong with being personal, anyway?"
"Nothing." Suddenly aware that he had brought her flowers, served her tea, and read her book to discuss it with her Hermione realized that Lucius Malfoy was not only trying to relieve his guilt. He was trying to be personal and make true amends, these small gestures were large leaps for the Malfoys. Was he not the man he had been a year ago? No, Hermione Granger did not think so.
"Whatever else anything is, it ought to begin by being personal." With an air of finality she spoke, her decision made that he would understand how hurt she had been by the time he left. But then, "My head is starting to get fuzzy…Wrackspurts, probably." It was an aside to herself really as she clutched her heavy head in her hands.
"Wrackspurts?"
"Yes, they…they flutter around and make your head foggy…your thoughts…unclear." A light pounding noise began and she recognized another headache coming on, she stood and moved to her bedroom. Turning to face him when she reached her door,
"Why did you stop by, again? I forget." It was both a peace offering and an opportunity for him to make up official business and pretend this had never happened, the former would surprise her more than the latter.
"I wanted your forgivenss."
"Oh."
"I know it wasn't possible but," He stood then with a look of something in his eyes that she wished she understood, it was clear he was trying to silently pass information to her but all she could gather from staring up at his tall figure was a new bout of dizziness, "what can I say, sometimes a man wants the impossible."
"Oh." Unsure if he was following and unsure if she cared if he wasn't, Hermione made her way into her bedroom and climbed into bed. When she settled in and silence fell, Lucius Malfoy appeared in the doorway.
"I feel as if I should clarify that it truly was not personal to me, it was business that I needed to be done."
"You've said that already," Head too fuzzy to be witty or discreet, Hermione decided to just ask what she wanted to know, "but why? What business needed to be done?"
"I can't say, I'm afraid." She had expected that response, but did not expect him to sit at the foot of her bed. Looking rather like one of the porcelains dolls her grandmother used to collect, he sat on the edge of the bed with limbs too stiff and eyes not cold enough.
"Did you ever meet your friend?"
"What?" Eyes closed and completely relaxed in her bed, Hermione was fighting consciousness as she listened to the soft hum of Lucius Malfoy's soothing voice. The world was a funny place.
"Your friend, in the bookstore you said you were waiting for your friend. Did you ever meet him?"
"Oh. No, not yet. Not in person."
"Not in person, hm. Ah, a pen pal?" Heavy lids cracked open to look at him, with her head tilted to the side she wondered exactly what he was seeing when he stared back at her. Something horribly unattractive, she was sure.
"Yes, a pen pal from my column."
"Dear Miss Jane those are powerful words." Another smile was playing across his lips, she'd never seen him smile so often in her life as he had in the last hour. She quite liked his smile, it was sad that he didn't smile often before, she sleepily decided.
"Yes."
"I will let myself out, thank you for your hospitality. I hope you feel better." As proper as ever, he rose stiffly and she had a feeling that he was well aware of how closely she watched him. It was when he had neared leaving her room that she hoarsely called out,
"Mister Malfoy!" Slowly he turned to face her, a look of genuine surprise and slight concern on his face as he waited in silence. Doubting that he was beckoned very often she had to appreciate his obedience, "I just wanted to say thank you." The olive branch had officially been extended.
"Ah, it was nothing Miss Granger. Thank you. Good day." And the white flag had been waved.
"Good day."
I hope you've enjoyed and that you'll review! I'm attaching a link to a youtube video that is not mine, but has the scene from the movie I mentioned at the top. I don't imagine Hermione nor Lucius' delivery to be the same or even really the atmosphere to be all that similar I just love the scene and figured I might as well attach in case somebody else would like to watch it.
Hope you're all well, can't wait to hear what you're thinking!
watch?v=pmNmFpJM3qQ