I still don't own HP. Bloody hell.
AN: The reactions to the Hr/L have been varied, which makes me chortle with authoring delight. How I love toying with your emotions. Heheheh. Oh, I mean, I'm sorry and there will be Dramione eventually. ;)
Also, I have been listening to a lot of Dixie Chicks lately and have to forcefully remind myself they are on an English farm here, as they are British, and not in Oklahoma. XD
It felt like her first kiss. His lips were warm, and damp with his tears; but they were so gentle and searching; as if he was asking her, with his mouth, what she wanted from him…from life.
It felt like the first kiss she'd never had, but always wanted; when she'd dreamed of such things as a girl. When she'd imagined what her hero would look like, and how they would meet, and what he would be like. And right now, Lucius was meeting her mouth in a tender, chaste dance that lit up her whole body as he'd been in danger of doing earlier.
His hand across her back, pressing her to him. The smell of him filling her nose, racing into her lungs. It was as good as her morning ride, as good as flying across the ground on the back of a horse. As good as casting her first spell.
It was that thought made her pull away, stumble back from him and hit the opposite wall of the stall. The filly next to her wandered over and nudged her in the side. She reflexively put a hand on the horse's head and stared across the way at Lucius.
"Oh, god," she whispered.
Lucius was pale, his face still damp with the tears he'd cried for her, but he held his head up. He wouldn't apologize for it. Such things happened, in moments of extreme emotion. They were natural, even if they weren't always right.
Then again, she didn't care if he apologized or not. "I…do you…" She closed her eyes, ran her hand along the filly's neck. Bit her lips. No, that was a bad idea.
Lucius watched the emotions play across her face while he gathered himself. While his breathing returned to normal and he cautiously straightened himself, leaning on his cane once more. Hermione took a deep breath and opened her eyes again and this time, when they met Lucius', she didn't falter.
"Do you need help getting out of here?"
He shook his head. "I find I am quite recovered," he replied softly.
"Good," she said, taking more deep breaths. "Good."
"I thought I might sit in the barn a bit longer before heading back to the house," he added, watching her closely for her reaction.
Her eyes brightened. "That's a good idea. Do you need me to stay?"
"I am merely sitting, Hermione," he said. "Not planning a second wave."
She flushed and started to say something, then seemed to think better of it. She glanced away.
"I'll come check on you if we don't see you in another half hour," she finally offered.
Lucius gave her a small, condescending smile. "Perhaps you'd better send Draco, instead."
"Don't be rude," she retorted. "I think I can trust myself to fight you off next time."
"Does that mean you are hoping there's a next time?" Lucius said, his voice low.
She glanced at him sharply. "Of course not." She looked away again. "It's just…living the way we are at the moment, unwanted feelings are understandable."
"I'm glad you can take that attitude," he replied. "It's the only healthy one available."
"And what do you know about healthy choices, Lucius?" she asked, finally exploding from the silent tension of it all. The filly stamped her feet, letting them know she was displeased and Hermione sighed with exasperation before walking to the door, grabbing Lucius' arm and propelling them both from the stall. She turned to pull the door closed.
"You, who hid inside a shell for eight bloody years, forcing your son to make poor choices and keep on the run, when you could have just as easily told the truth about what happened that night and saved us all loads of trouble!" She turned on him and he did his best not to glare at her in return, but damn, it was difficult. Especially when, to his shame, he still wanted to do something about the permanent heartache he could see in her eyes.
"Nothing about that situation was easy," he ground out in return and she only squeezed his arm tighter and then forced him onto the nearby bench.
"Don't you dare tell me what was and was not easy about that situation," she hissed at him. "It was hell and now I find out there were people who knew? Who bloody knew, and didn't do anything?"
"I didn't know!" he roared back up at her with a controlled anger. "Not until that night! And my wife died to save your life. While I was crawling in horrific pain on the floor from some damned curse, she lost her own life! That night drove me out of my mind, you damned witch- don't tell me that I knew and did nothing- I knew and I gave everything to save you."
Hermione gasped and let go of him, as he stared up at her defiantly from the bench. She covered her mouth, tried to speak, and gave a violent heaving motion instead. So, the emotion had caught up with her. She gave him one more anguished look and then turned and ran. He started to get up, to call after her…but what was the use?
He had no chance with her. He didn't want a chance with her. He'd loved his wife and he would until the day he died.
Which he hoped was sooner, rather than later. Even now, remembering the kiss, he knew he'd lowered his mouth those last centimeters because she'd reminded him so of Narcissa. That expression of sorrow, supported by bitter determination in the face of unspeakable horrors; that will to outlast everything. The desire for better, for change. He'd seen all those things cross his beloved's face, time and again. And so was it any wonder, when faced with them again, he'd tried to gather the ghost of Narcissa to him once more? Especially considering her legacy lived on in this witch, that she'd given everything to set Hermione and her friends free from complete and abject misery?
No, he told himself, resting his head against the wall again. It was no wonder at all. But he'd be lying if he said it hadn't set his pulse racing, just the same.
He felt very, very old.
Ginny pounded on the front door , calling for Hermione. Draco raced through the house and let her in hastily, closing the door behind her gently as she swept past him.
"Where's Hermione?" she demanded, turning on him.
"She took a ride," he replied, backing away some. Ginny advanced on him.
"Are you sure that's it? You haven't done away with her, or got her locked up somewhere, have you?"
"No!" he replied, frowning. "Look, go out to the barn if you don't believe me. My father is out there, too-"
"Oh, Merlin, they're alone together?"
A series of less than pleasant thoughts flashed through Draco's mind at the same time as they did with Ginny, though his were of quite a different sort than hers. She didn't have years of images of Lucius torturing muggles to draw from, after all. His face paled.
"Look, he's not like that anymore," he said, swallowing hard. Ginny poked him in the chest.
"No? Then where is she?"
"I already said!" he exclaimed, holding his hands up. Suddenly they both heard the back door slam shut and a pair of footsteps pounded through the hall. They saw a flash of light brown hair as Hermione dashed into her room and seconds later the familiar sound of her heaving her guts into the toilet followed. Ginny unceremoniously pushed Draco out of the way and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door shut in his face.
He glared at the door as the sounds traveled back to him; Ginny pestering Hermione, holding her hair for her; Hermione coughing and protesting Ginny's help. More vomiting.
Damn it! Draco slammed his hand against the doorframe in his anger. She'd been getting better! Since she'd talked to him, since his father's recovery, she'd been getting better. They'd fallen into a routine, maybe even a pleasant one, if not entirely happy…so what had happened to set her off? And suddenly, resting his forehead against the closed door, he knew.
"Dad," he murmured. He straightened and stepped away from the door. Then he walked down the hall and left the house. He broke into a run seconds later.
He couldn't be certain he was right, but he figured it would only take one look at his father's face to know what had happened. He expected to find him sitting in the barn, or standing, a smug look on his face, chin tilted aristocratically, hands gripping the cane with pleasure. His eyes would be bright from the verbal sparring he'd have just engaged in…
No, he told himself. It was wrong to automatically suspect his father. His footsteps slowed as he approached the barn. Hadn't Hermione herself said that she didn't believe Lucius was the same man, that he'd changed? That the war and all its horrors had undeniably changed them all. She'd explained so calmly that she was no longer afraid of his father, that she knew together, they could help him regain his strength of body and mind. That she wanted, more than anything, to see them both get well and leave her the hell alone. He gave a sad laugh and bent over his knees, catching his sides from the effort of jogging out to the barn. He'd run the whole way, after all, he'd been so eager to rip into his father for hurting Hermione, for making her suffer more-
The realization of what he'd been about to do hit him solidly in the gut and he stopped altogether. What was he thinking? Not only had he assumed his father was guilty, he'd been prepared to turn on him with no thought at all, and all because of a woman he'd barely gotten to know again after two weeks.
And yet…it didn't feel wrong, did it, to care about her well being. It didn't feel wrong to be concerned for her, not when she'd been so concerned for them time and again. He sighed and straightened up again, raking a hand through his hair. The barn door stood open, inviting him into its cool depths and he glanced back at the house before turning forward again. Well, he was here now.
He might as well go check on his father, anyway.
Up at the house, Ginny wiped Hermione's face tenderly after her friend had spewed the last of her bile.
"Nothing else is coming up, Hermione," Ginny murmured, petting her hair and rubbing her back. "Come on, sit up for me- now put your head down- good, that's right. Just calm down. Take deep breaths. Slowly, slowly. There…"
Hermione rested her head against her knees and let Ginny talk her back from the edge. Her vision blurred from tears and the strain of vomiting and she let out a slow, ragged sigh.
"Ginny," she breathed. "I've been an idiot."
"I doubt that," Ginny replied, her voice practical, but gentle.
"No, I have," Hermione insisted, rolling her forehead across her knees and then banging it against them lightly.
"Hermione, stop that," Ginny said, holding her head, bringing it up and forcing her friend to look at her. "Whatever happened, a trail accident, or a fight with Lucius, or a fucking embrace- it doesn't matter. No, look at me. Look at me, Hermione."
Hermione focused on her friend's brown eyes with some difficulty, felt her face trying to collapse again and bring more tears.
Ginny's face fell and she scooted forward on the tile, put her arms about her friend. Hermione rested her head on her shoulder and Ginny stoked a hand down her back with a long, steady rhythm.
"You're fine," Ginny murmured as she rocked the other woman. "You're fine. What was it? A hug? A kiss? Whatever it was, it's ok, Hermione. Sometimes these things happen. You're taking care of two grown men without any help- two men you knew before everything else. It's bound to rake up unpleasant memories. It's bound to make you do crazy things." She scoffed lightly. "And you're trying to relate to them, through it all. Trying to connect with them, to make yourself feel more human despite the past. These things will happen. You can't let it worry you this way."
"It wasn't just that," Hermione whispered as more tears escaped. "I told him. About everything."
Ginny froze, then went on with the gentle rocking motion. She knew what that word meant. Everything was their code word for Ron. And he had meant everything, for Hermione.
"I see." It was no wonder her friend was lying on the bathroom floor, crying and being sick. "You haven't talked about that in a long time," she said quietly.
"I know. And I told him, this stranger in my home, and he kissed me, Ginny." She sniffed and Ginny waited for the other shoe to drop. "And I liked it," she ended, voice lower than a whisper. Then she buried her face against Ginny's neck again. "I'm a terrible person."
"You're not," Ginny said fiercely. "You aren't. Stop that. You're a wonderful witch and woman, Hermione Granger. I'm surprised they both haven't been throwing themselves at you. Besides, you're mental, not dead. You'd probably like it just as much if the Ferret locked lips with you."
Hermione snorted and began laughing even as she was crying and Ginny held her up by the shoulders, searching her face.
"Feeling better?"
"A little," Hermione admitted. "Oh, Ginny, what am I supposed to do now? I've compromised the whole program, the whole point of their recovery."
"You have not," Ginny retorted stubbornly. "Stop thinking that way. You have several options at this point. One, I could kick his bloody, pureblood arse all the way back to the Department of Mysteries."
Hermione shook her head and swallowed more laughter.
"No? Well, two, three and four depend on what you want, because I may have to kick his arse anyway."
"Ginny!" But she was smiling again, even if it was a weary expression. Hermione sighed. "And what are two, three and four?"
"Two," Ginny began, ticking them off on her fingers, "is you run back to him right now and continue to snog him senseless before taking up with him and making him your love slave."
Hermione looked torn between more laughter and vomiting again. Ginny gave her a small grin and continued.
"Three is you pretend nothing happened and anytime he or anyone else tries to bring it up you kick their arse, leave the room, and proceed to get completely knackered."
"Go on," Hermione said, waving a hand. "And four?"
"Four is you talk to him about it and then decide what you'd rather do. It can sometimes be helpful when choosing between one through three."
Hermione's laughter subsided and she looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment. "So, that's what having all those boyfriends at Hogwarts did for you," she said after a minute and Ginny gave her look, but smiled a second later.
"What can I say? Having all those older brothers didn't hurt, either."
Hermione hung her head and rocked back and forth for a minute. "So…why are you here?" she asked suddenly, looking up again.
Ginny raised her brows and stood up, helping Hermione up as well. She flushed the toilet and turned on the tap for Hermione, who rinsed her face.
"I came," she began, "because Zabini pissed me off. And I knew if I called here you'd just hang up on me or not pick up at all, since you've been upset with me, too. So I just came, instead. And aren't you glad I'm here?"
"I am, actually," Hermione replied, smiling sadly. "Thanks, Gin."
"Not a problem. Now, what do you want to do first? Try and eat something? Listen to me blather on? See about talking to Malfoy?"
"I-" Hermione stopped short. She frowned. "Where is Draco?"
Ginny walked out of the bathroom and opened the door of the bedroom, peered out. "I don't see him," she replied, then turned back and called for him. "Oy, Malfoy!"
"Ginny, he has a name," Hermione said with an exasperated look at her friend, who merely shrugged and gestured out the door as Hermione approached her.
"Be my guest," she said.
"Draco?" Hermione called as she stepped into the hall. The house was quiet.
"He was just here a few minutes ago," Ginny said. "He let me in."
"I wonder where he could have-" Hermione stopped again, one hand over her mouth. The image from a week ago, of him standing there outside her door, listening for sounds of life. The sight of him on the stairs, asking if she was alright, begging for tea. She turned to Ginny.
"The barn," she said. "He heard me being sick and he's gone to the barn to check on his father. Oh, lord, he must have been so worried-"
"Or insane with jealousy," Ginny responded, which only made glare at her.
"Ginny, don't joke like that-"
"Why not? You just admitted that his dad kissed you! How much would you like to bet that he fancies he's half in love with you, too?"
"Oh, fuck…" Hermione groaned.
"Come on," Ginny said, propelling Hermione towards the kitchen. "I say we let them fight it out amongst themselves. What's the worst that can happen? One of them offs the other, making your choice of love slave easier."
"Ginny, you're not helping," Hermione protested as her friend navigated them through the door and up to the kitchen table. She was fairly sure she'd never seen Ginny act so Molly-like. She rather liked it, not that she'd ever tell Ginny that. It would probably make her insufferable.
"Maybe not," Ginny responded sharply, "but walking out there into God knows what sort of mess won't help, either. They're men, Hermione. Father and son. It's a bloody tale as old as time and they have to work it out on their own. Now sit down. I'm making you tea. And tea, as we all know perfectly well, helps everything."
Hermione sat.
AN: I've decided to be mean and withhold Draco's and Lucius' conversation for another day. *looks smug* Just because I can.