As promised the second chapter this evening! Enjoy!
"This is delicious." Hermione snorted when Lucius caught her eye from across her small dining table.
"Please, I doubt spaghetti and meatballs is very impressive to a man raised on coq au vin and Grand Crus Le Chambertin." Pointed eyebrows rose and she was suddenly grateful she'd spoken while his mouth was full for she was able to quickly add, "But thank you." His amused smile was a relief. Dinner had, so far, been a mostly silent affair. Lucius had arrived promptly, just as she was finishing pouring the wine into their glasses. Once they'd covered the bases of how his work was going ("Quite well, thank you for asking" and how successful the meeting had been the previous evening ("Yes, I'm surprised but rather pleased"), they'd fallen short of conversation.
"It's funny Hermione, you do make a lot of assumptions about my life for a girl who knows so little about growing up in the wizarding world." A day ago she would have been annoyed, a week ago she would have been offended, a month (let alone a year) ago it would have been enough for her to pick a fight with him—but now she knew that Lucius was just a very straightforward man with an overly dry sense of humor. It wasn't even a dry sense of humor, Hermione decided as she savored the wine she had spent far too much money on, it was a parched sense of humor. Briefly, she imagined a young Lucius (who, in her mind, looked remarkably like a more attractive version of Draco) sitting with a two thousand dollar bottle of wine in front of him and instead requesting a pumpkin juice—the scenario didn't seem right, no child of his breeding would have enjoyed the same niceties of herself or the Weasleys.
"I spent ages eleven onward in the wizarding world, Lucius, I would like to point that's more than half of my life spent in this world—I have accumulated a fair bit of knowledge." The irony of the sentence was not lost on him.
"That is true, but even your few years in the wizarding world fall short of my decades in the wizarding upper-crust." There was no true malicious intent behind his words, in fact he was quite close to grinning as he rolled his fork around in hopes of capturing more pasta.
"Oh clever, accentuate your age as a way of intimidation—no man has ever tried that with a woman before." Sarcasm was their main shared language, she discovered with glee as not many people appreciated her enjoyment of irony.
"Correction: old man and young woman. Besides, Miss Granger, I was pointing out a truth, not trying to be revolutionary."
"Well, your truth is boring. I would have much preferred you to be revolutionary." Their smiles were infectious. Hermione hadn't expected to have a very enjoyable evening with him. Most of her had truly wanted to even the playing field: he saved her from a panic attack, she returned the favor by feeding him a home cooked meal—she hadn't expected laughter or—dare she even think it?—flirtation.
"I think a member of The Golden Trio sitting civilly with a former Death Eater over a meal, in her home nonetheless, is rather revolutionary enough for us…Quite honestly, I've rather had it with being revolutionary. I'd like to be boring for once, I think, a cliché sounds a bit nice about now." Tipping her stemmed glass to his honesty Hermione sipped the red wine,
"Well then let me point out the cliché for you, Mister Malfoy: you are in the apartment of a much younger woman who attended schooling with your son and you've barely been rude enough to truly insult her. Want to get a quick one in before the rumor mill starts?" A pink blush rose across the edges of his icy cheekbones and he cleared his throat, setting his silverware to the table with flat palms before catching her eyes with a glimmer of something she could not quite read,
"Quickies were never my forte, Miss Granger. When I do something, I put the time in to do it right." Embarrassed horror splashed across her features before she felt laughter spilling from her wine-stained lips,
"I meant a quick insult, Lucius, for fuck's sake!" Shock had him frozen quite still and had he not already revealed himself to be thoroughly embarrassed she might have commented on how lovely his mouth was when it was closed, but Hermione resisted in favor of giggling more over the top of her wine glass. There was no doubt the alcohol was making them both giddy, loosening their tongues more than probably necessary—but her nerves from earlier were finally abiding and the tension in her back was easing away as Lucius wiped his face in an exaggerated expression of shame before setting his elbows on the table and smiling at her,
"So the quickie is out of the question then, Miss Granger?" It was his turn to see her freeze and blush, even though she knew he'd said it in that gravelly tone simply to get a rise out of her—his way of evening the playing field. Yet still the low tremors of his voice mixed with its unique nasal tonnage struck sharp in the pits of her stomach, turning her insides to liquid and forcing heat into her chest that had had struggling for air. Hermione suddenly felt extremely aware of all of the blood in her body and how quickly it seemed to be flowing through her lap, rushing hot and wet.
"Need I remind you again, Mister Malfoy, that I attended school with your son?" Her best version of a teasing purr was lost when his face turned solemn and his back suddenly stiffened. The sharp eyes that had only seconds before been glinting with cheer and wit were suddenly hooded with a grave sadness that Hermione realized was too private for her to witness. It was still a fresh friendship, she was inexperienced in the ways he wanted to handle his emotions—Ron and Harry really just got grumpy and secretive about theirs', she certainly hadn't realized she would even be able to read his eyes when they wilted suddenly towards introversion.
"I'll clear for dessert." Grabbing her plate and reaching for her own Hermione was determined to avoid Lucius' eye contact for the rest of the evening, maybe even for the rest of her life if she could successfully find a creative way to save him chocolate cake while addressing the buttons on his shirt. A warm hand gripped her wrist and a sudden memory of that day in Flourish & Blotts when he'd held her the same way, firm but gentle fingers refused to let her move away from the table. Slowly, her eyes moved their way up from his long fingers wrapped around her pink wrist, to the attractive veins of his forearms, the clean rolled up sleeve of is white button down, his broad right shoulder, all the way up past his thin lips and pointed nose to his cool eyes. If she'd be anxious for the evening to be over before, she was a complete ball of nerves now. Electricity seemed to race from the tips of her fingers all the way up to her arm, burning her with the raw power of his touch.
"I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable, my son is still a sore subject for me when I truly contemplate him." Her curiosity was peaked yet all she managed was a poorly attempted joke with,
"I feel like I've gained a lot of apologies from you lately, Lucius, I'm impressed—making up for the first fifty years of your life?" A long beat of silence encompassed them and she truly wished she could stop putting her foot in her mouth every time she tried to ease the tension with the joke, when would she learn that really wasn't her strong suit?
"Please try to control yourself, Hermione, I'm making an attempt at civil friendship here and your snide remarks are making it rather difficult. And really, fifty?" And then it clicked, all of it suddenly fell into place for Hermione. That was why he had attended the meeting, it was why he had helped with her panic attack, it was why he had accepted her dinner invitation, and it was why the confident man she had grown accustomed to had disintegrated before her eyes when a personal topic was brought up in conversation—Lucius Malfoy did not know how to be a friend, he had probably never had a real friend that he had to make and earn on his own without the help of his heritage or inheritance. Another thought struck her rather suddenly and yet she could not pull her wrist away from his smooth grasp, instead she found her eyes flickering back to where his steady hand engulfed her petite wrist.
"You don't need to pity me, Malfoy. Just because you cost me my job, doesn't mean you have to throw me a pity party and try to be my friend. We're both adults here, you can go if that's what this is about."
"I've told you before I don't pity you," His fingers twitched in their grasp with the slightest tightening that made her gasp, "I would never pity a foolish girl for getting herself fired by blatantly and publically posting anti-ministry propaganda in a ministry-owned paper—that's simply stupid, quite plainly put." The sneer that she remembered so vividly from childhood was back and she felt herself being tugged forward across the corner of the table, the plates of food balancing in her hands stayed there due to sheer luck, "Don't flatter yourself, Granger, it would take a lot more than pity to get me into this apartment."
"Then what're you doing here, Malfoy? Come to spy for your ministry friends? Hoping some well-timed dirt on the government's most hated mudblood will earn you some brownie points with the minister?" Unconsciously moving closer with her attempt to match her sneer, she could feel his warm breath with his next words,
"You're a m-"
"Say it! Say it you bastard, I dare you!" He took a registered pause then, eyes blatantly glancing across her face with something too close to delight for Hermione's comfort and she cursed his collectiveness before he dared himself even closer to mutter,
"You're a madwoman, Hermione." Her breath hitched as his eyes flicked from her eyes down to her lips before slowly making their way upwards again, a smug grin in place as he finished his thought, "You're the only woman I know who could make my apology for the sake of our friendship into a personal attack." Sounding rather amused again, he used his free hand to lift his glass to his lips once more, it was a power move that pushed her eyes back to where he still held her. Not one to take the end of an argument for granted, Hermione smiled as she pulled back a little on her wrist in a faux-attempt to escape,
"You started it." Before the wine even touched his lips he set the glass down with his free hand, giving her wrist a tug closer to him,
"And ended it because I'm apparently the grown up here."
"Are not!" She leaned back with glee that suddenly turned to horror, for as he growled:
"Am too!" Lucius abruptly released her wrist and sent her tumbling forward. The sudden freedom sent her off-balance and the plates of spaghetti went spilling forward onto his white shirt before sliding down into his lap. Shock silenced them both as he comically looked between his lap and her empty hands, before meeting her overblown wide eyes with a quirked eyebrow that sent her spiraling into apologies.
"I am so sorry!" Tripping over her feet in a mad rush for a rag, Hermione was caught off-guard by his boisterous laughter,
"Bloody hell, woman, you'll be the death of me! Are you witch or not?" With a simple wave of his wand the stains were gone, the dishes were cleared, and the chocolate cake found its way onto the table—before two clean slices were delved out onto fresh plates. Hermione stood stiffly at the edge of the table as Lucius' extended hand waved the plate at her with dramatized impatience. His level-headedness was infuriating and she felt the dreaded fuzziness creeping its way back into her head and she sincerely did not want a repeat of the previous evening, she just wanted to be better.
"You know, Hermione, you are quite a character to argue with, I think I shall make a habit of it."
"I feel unstable. I'm sorry, I'm not good at human interaction again, just yet."
"Of course you're not," The chocolate cake was placed on the table as he looked up at her with an entirely too-serious face for a man who had only a minute before been dripping with red sauce. The crispness of his white rolled over his strong arms made her slightly dizzy, her apology felt stale and she was wondering if she needed to make it again for it to feel better, "you've isolated yourself, Hermione, whether purposefully done or not—you are isolated and struggling with a rather nasty case of PTSD. Now, you are not alone in that but I'd say the more interesting cliché here is less your daddy issues and more your attempt to befriend your former enemy as a way of self-healing."
"Are you an authority on daddy issues, then?" Shaking hands brought the bitter drink to her lips and she forced down two big gulps, ignoring the fact that the wine was probably a large factor behind her brazen behavior that evening.
"My son certainly has them, sure, that would explain him chasing after his mother to France…but that is another story for another time." She wasn't biting so he reverted back to the original train of thought. "Perhaps not daddy issues, however I can say I'm quite experienced with PTSD…Have you called any of the doctors I recommended?"
"No."
"How can you expect to do any good in this world if you don't do well for yourself first?" The level-headedness of the question offended her in the fact that she hadn't thought of it first. The pounding her her heart in her ears sent a rush of nausea through her that settled only when she managed to glance up and meet the crystalline eyes boring into her.
"Why are you being so nice to me?"
"I told you before, with the daisies, I want your forgiveness. I want to be your friend. I think you'd be good for me—we'd be good for each other, really, if we would stop mucking it up with our personal attacks."
"I do like fighting with you." Her weak admission tugged the corner of his lips up into a slight smile.
"Hopefully one day you'll enjoy…not fighting with me."
"We'll work our way up to that."
"Yes. First, chocolate."
Next chapter shouldn't be too far off, I know this was another quick one but we're moving in the right direction at least. What do you think of their chemistry? I hope Hermione's confusion of his character and emotions is reading well! Happy weekend everyone!