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CHAPTER 8

A series of heavy thumps woke me. I yawned and smiled groggily to myself before reaching back and thumping the wall with my fist. My initial reaction to her suggestion of a good morning thump against the wall being less than romantic had been proven incorrect. She had ignored my derisive comment and I had laughed when she'd pounded her fist against the wall and yelled good morning the morning after our first date. I'd assumed it was her way of telling me to shove my comment up my arse, and that would be the end of it. But she had done the same every morning since. And it had become another part of our routine that I loved.

It had been less than two weeks since our first date, and I still found myself wondering what it was that she saw in me. I was double her age, held less than progressive ideas, and was — by my own admission — quite selfish when it came to what I wanted. As much as I loved her madness, I did enjoy the solitude of my own company. It was a habit of being a writer; distractions didn't bode well for productivity.

And she was a major distraction.

I had become accustomed to her presence, and despite the distraction, it had been the kickstart I'd needed to begin writing again. But I was glad of her busy schedule as I would have been quite content to sit and talk for hours about every thought that took up space in her head. She fascinated me like no other woman ever had. Her mind was like a sponge, soaking up the world around her, and holding every new piece of information inside. And that information ranged from the quirky, random, and often irrelevant, to the very deep and serious. She was mad and silly and serious and thoughtful, a heady combination that brought me more happiness and confusion than I'd experienced in some time.

But with her performance date edging ever closer, rehearsals and classes were taking up more of her time, and thus, allowing me more time to concentrate on writing.

The first six chapters I sent to my editor were met with glee. Her voice became quite high-pitched when she called me, surprised at the email that had landed in her inbox. I'd promised the next six within the following few weeks, so distraction was the last thing I needed.

However, my plans for the day didn't include much writing time. Draco had asked to meet me for lunch to discuss an important issue. I thought I knew what it was, but I had agreed to meet him in London.

Afterwards, I had a surprise for my mad muse.

I rose from my bed and showered, then headed for the kitchen. However, a knock on my door stopped me before I'd managed to start making breakfast.

"You should just give me a key," Hermione said by way of greeting. "It's easier for me to sneak in here."

"That doesn't sound terrifying at all," I answered and she grinned at me.

"Your virtue is perfectly safe," she kissed my cheek. "I'd just watch you sleep."

"I'm not sure if you're serious right now."

She shrugged and wrapped her arms around me. "Sometimes I don't even know myself."

I laughed and kissed her. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this early visit?"

She scrunched her face. "Pansy called and asked if I would meet her for dinner. She sounded weird, and Pansy's never weird. Well, not in the obvious sense."

"Is she alright?"

"Not sure. She just asked me to meet her and said she'd tell me when she saw me." She tugged at a button on my shirt. "So, I'm not sure how late we'll be, and I just wanted to let you know I might not be able to see you tonight. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologise for meeting your friend. And I'm sure we can go one whole night without each other for company."

"You won't miss me then?"

I cupped her face. "Of course I will, but Pansy clearly needs to talk to you, and that's far more important."

"You're a little too sweet, you know that?"

"Not really. I was just thinking how much more writing I'll get done without my crazy neighbour dropping in."

"Funny," she deadpanned.

"Hermione, I don't expect you to give up your friends for me. And nor do I expect you to spend every waking moment with me. I enjoy being with you, but you had a life before I came along. And while I am grateful for you letting me know, I am not hurt or upset that your friend needs you. You never have to apologise for that."

Her brow furrowed slightly, then she gave me an odd look. "Are you sure?"

"Of course." I kissed her, lingering lightly against her mouth. "I was serious about it allowing me time to write. I'm meeting Draco for lunch, so my writing time today will be reduced."

She looked relieved. "Oh, good. I was a bit worried since I'd said I would be over."

"Plans change all the time and we have tomorrow night to discuss whatever crazy thoughts you have."

"You love my crazy thoughts?"

"I do," I agreed with a smile. "I have no idea what's going to come out of this mouth of yours and it keeps me on my toes."

She relaxed and smiled at me. "Thank you."

"Of course."

"And as much as I'd love to stay here right now and kiss you until you melted, I do have to go."

The thought of melting kisses stirred my insides and almost made me regret her not visiting me that night.

"I've done it again, haven't I?" she asked.

"Done what?"

"Got you all riled up."

"No more riled up than you were the last time I did this." Kicking the door closed, I backed her against it, kissing her, sliding my mouth along her jaw, then whispering into her ear. "Just so you're aware, I'm always riled up around you. You are the most beautiful, talented, craziest woman I have ever met."

Her breath caught and her head tilted as I sucked a kiss to the soft juncture of her neck and shoulder.

"But you're going to be late."

I kissed her softly once more then stepped back, taking in the sight of her flushed face.

"You don't play fair," she said, slightly breathless.

"No, I don't," I agreed and gripped her hip. "But if I'm all riled up, I think it's only fair you should be too."

"Yeah. Great," she muttered and I laughed.

"At least you can dance off all that extra energy."

She glanced down between us, her hand rising and touching the buckle of my belt.

"And how will you rid yourself of your excess energy?"

"Hmm, I definitely have a few ideas."

"I hate you," she whispered with narrowed eyes and I laughed again.

"I'm sure you do. But I don't want you to be distracted while you're rehearsing. So, think about me shivering while I take a cold shower."

"Oh, I will be. I hope you get all shrivelled and freeze your balls off."

I let out a very undignified snort and began to laugh.

"You won't be laughing under that cold water," she said, stifling a giggle.

"No, I probably won't be." I moved us both away from the door and opened it. "And if you don't leave now, you'll lose your spot as principal."

"Fuck!" she exclaimed, kissing me quickly before darting down the hallway. "See you later!"

I shook my head and chuckled. My ballerina wasn't the prim and proper image I had when it came to the gracefulness I associated with the profession.

I blinked into the empty hallway, startled at my thought.

My ballerina.

When did I begin to think of her as mine?

My plans to write all morning before I met with Draco were quashed by my thoughts of her being mine. I'd never been a possessive person. Loyal to a fault, but not possessive.

I'd always been happy for Narcissa to travel without me — had I known the truth of it, I might not have been — and I had even enjoyed the time I'd spent alone with my son while she was gone. She was my wife. The mother of our son. The woman I had loved with all my heart. But she never belonged to me.

This feeling was foreign; both uncomfortable and unfamiliar. I might have had archaic views on some things, but owning a woman certainly wasn't one of them.

"Father?" Draco spoke and jerked me out of my thoughts. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm sorry," I apologised. "What were you saying?"

"It can wait. What's on your mind?"

I shook my head. "It's nothing."

"Father, if something has happened between you and Hermione, you can tell me."

"No, it's…" I sighed. Draco knew Hermione and I had begun seeing each other as more than just friends. And I also knew he was fine with it. I wasn't sure what he'd think about my sudden possessiveness. "Hermione stopped in this morning to let me know she was meeting Pansy for dinner tonight. And when she left, I had the ridiculous notion that she is mine."

Draco didn't respond. He just looked at me as if waiting for me to say more.

"It's a bit possessive, don't you think?"

His expression shifted to something that told me he thought me a fool.

"What's possessive about thinking she's yours? She is, isn't she? You're still seeing each other?"

"Yes, we're still seeing each other, but I don't wish to think I own her."

"Thinking she's yours doesn't mean you own her," Draco said patiently. "Thinking she's yours just means you feel something for her. In this case, anyway."

"In this case?"

"You're not a creepy stalker, Father. And you've never been possessive, or abusive, or vengeful. You've only ever had the highest respect for women, including those you shouldn't have." He shot me a pointed glare. "You like this woman, and it's okay to think things like she's yours. I always tell Katie she's mine. But that doesn't mean I own her, or that she has to obey me. I'd be wearing my balls as a hat if I expected that from her. I doubt Hermione is any different, and I'm sure she's probably thinking the same thing about you."

"So my thoughts aren't ridiculous?"

"No, they're definitely not. You, however, are."

"What were you saying?" I asked, ignoring his comment.

"You'll not be surprised that Mother has been sending me messages."

I rolled my eyes. "No, I'm not surprised at all."

"She has been rather curious about your life all of a sudden. I'm guessing she's seen you with Hermione?"

"Unfortunately your Mother was at the same restaurant as we were on our first date together. She tried to speak to me, but Hermione shut her down. It was quite enjoyable."

"She has no shame," Draco muttered in disgust. "And I've not told her anything, other than it's none of her business. She's not going to be an issue for you both, is she?"

"I doubt it. Hermione wasn't polite in the least. She asked your Mother if she was — and I quote — 'the cheating whore ex-wife'."

Draco almost choked. "And how did the cheating whore ex-wife take that?"

"As well as you'd imagine."

"It's what she deserves." His words were spoken with a look of distaste. "She should be hanging her head in shame, not parading herself around in public, looking for the next loaded wallet."

"I'm sure you won't hate her forever."

"I'm sure you don't know what you're talking about."

"Draco—"

"Father, no. I will be civil because she is my mother, but I've no desire to have her in my life. And if she misses out on seeing Scorp, that's her fault. She's the one to blame in all of this, not you."

"Your loyalty is admirable, Draco."

I beamed at my son. I didn't want to be accused of being the catalyst for his refusal to associate with his mother, but I was secretly glad he wanted nothing to do with her.

"I just don't want her to ruin this for you. I've only met Hermione once, but I know what I saw in her. She'll be good for you, Father."

"Your mother won't ruin anything. I've already spoken to my solicitor regarding her breach of our divorce contract, and he's handling it. I knew our paths would cross eventually, but Nacissa is aware of the clause and chose to ignore it, so she will face the consequences of that."

"Maybe I'll remove 'not vengeful' from that list of attributes," Draco said with a sly grin.

"It's not vengeance," I replied. "It's me wanting to protect Hermione. She doesn't need to be concerned with Narcissa's shallowness, although after witnessing Hermione's reaction to her, your mother would know well enough to keep away."

"I'm sure Mother thought she'd be safe, considering Hermione's size."

"You know the saying, 'and though she be but little she is fierce'?" I said, causing Draco to laugh. "Your mother was taught a valuable lesson."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"I seriously doubt there will be any issues arising from this, other than Narcissa being reminded of the clause in the contract and the consequences of breaking that. But I appreciate the concern."

"And I'll ask her to keep her enquiries limited to her grandson, or she'll hear from me less."

"Is that possible?" I asked, knowing Draco rarely spoke to her anyway.

"Like I said, I'm civil and return her messages… in my own time. But I don't see her at all. And if she thinks she can use me to get information about you, she'll be sorely mistaken."

"Do I need to tell you I'm proud I raised a son who has morals?"

"It'd be the millionth time if you did."

"Things could have been very different, Draco, had I not stood up for myself when I was young. I'm glad you're doing the same."

"I know, Father. And believe me, I will forever be grateful I was raised by you and not her. Otherwise I would have been unbearable."

I had an hour to kill before I needed to arrive to fulfill my other plans for the day, so I decided to look at the antique shop at the end of the street and was delighted to find a 1896 Granville Automatic Typewriter. I didn't even haggle the price — I'd been searching for this model for an age — and purchased it right away. The shop owner was more than happy to hold it for me until the next day, when it would be more convenient to take with me.

On the way out the door, a small brass key ring caught my eye. It was shaped like a stack of books and the titles etched along the spines were almost rubbed away, but the tiny object gave me an idea. I purchased it as well, then headed for the Tube station. After a short trip, I exited at Covent Garden and it was a short stroll to my destination — The Royal Opera House.

I'd arranged to watch a rehearsal without Hermione's knowledge, wanting to see her dance without her feeling my presence. I didn't want to make her feel pressured that I was there. Our relationship was still in the early stages, and nothing between us had really been defined, so I especially didn't want her to feel she had to explain who I was, or to even introduce me.

So, I would sit out of sight and watch. I'd been informed it would be easier to remain in the shadows at the back of the theatre at the stage rehearsal than in a classroom rehearsal.

"Mr Malfoy?" a female voice asked and I turned to see a smiling woman walking towards me.

"Lucius," I said, shaking her offered hand.

"It's lovely to meet you, Lucius. I'm Daphne, I'll take you through."

"Thank you," I said and followed her through the foyer.

"You don't have to stay for the entire rehearsal; they can sometimes last longer than the actual performances," she explained. "But if you do leave, we ask that you do so quietly. We have set times for the public to watch regular rehearsals, but it's rare that we allow anyone in for stage rehearsals. Ms Granger asked that an exception be made for you if you asked."

"I appreciate it," I replied. "Have they begun already?"

"No, they're just finishing up their classes." She shook her head and laughed. "Some of them are already inside, keeping warm, but you probably won't be surprised to know that Ms Granger likes to start rehearsals a little differently."

"No, I'm not surprised at all."

She opened the large door slowly and showed me inside to the theatre. The seats were completely empty, giving the theatre an eerie feeling — like a phantom would appear and chase me out. There were dancers already on the stage, moving about. Free standing barres stood on both sides of the stage and one across the rear. The stage was vast, larger than I would have imagined, but that could have just been because of the empty theatre.

"Ms Granger shouldn't be too long. You can sit in the back row if you want to remain relatively unnoticed."

The back row that she indicated wasn't as dark as I had hoped. Hermione would probably see me, but at least I had snuck in without her knowledge.

"Thank you, Daphne."

"You're welcome, Lucius." She gave me a bright smile, one that said she knew that Hermione and I were more than just friends.

I removed my overcoat and sat in the rear row of seats, realising Daphnehad been correct; I would remain unnoticed sitting there. At least for the time being. The overhead spotlights were aimed forward, but I was sure the dancers could see more of the audience than I thought.

It was also all significantly more casual than I assumed it would be. Everyone on stage was relaxed and chatting. Some were stretching, others were already at the barres, others were doing small leaps and turns and discussing said movements with their fellow dancers.

Then she appeared, as relaxed and casual as the others, but her presence pulled an unmistakable air into the room. She was speaking with a man I assumed was the rehearsal director or choreographer — his Royal Ballet t-shirt and sweatpants were vastly different than the spandex the dancers wore — then she smiled and nodded, gesturing to another person standing on the far side of the room before walking to the opposite side and taking her place at the front of the barre.

The other performers assembled themselves around the barres, still smiling and chatting quietly. The choreographer moved to the centre of the room and demonstrated a combination of movements, speaking a series of ballet terms as he did. I was quite surprised by the casualness of it all. And when the music began, my surprise doubled.

The piano notes that began playing were instantly recognisable; Draco had played this band's albums almost on repeat in his teenage years and I had begun a love/hate relationship with the band. Evanescence's My Immortal filled the room, the haunting vocals the last thing I expected to hear. But I was also mesmerised at how those haunting vocals perfectly suited the graceful movements of the dancers as they followed her lead.

Moving in perfect sync, each dancer flowed easily from one position to the next, bending, twisting, and stretching in slow, graceful precision. If I was being honest, I'd never been interested in ballet. I'd appreciated the art form and the skill, but as entertainment, I'd never considered it. Watching them move, however, entranced me. Each movement flawless, each combination seamless, as they followed what appeared to be a well-learned routine.

Hermione's face was a picture of concentration, but her contentment was obvious. She moved with a natural ability and within just a few minutes of watching, her talent was obvious — even to someone as ignorant to ballet as I was.

The way she moved, her quiet grace, the pure joy that was evident on her face. My mad neighbour had vanished, replaced by this woman whose focus was the furthest thing from the rambling, crazy woman I had come to know.

And it was a side of her that both startled and settled me and gave me yet another insight into this amazing woman.

"Line up, please!" the choreographer called when the music ended, and the dancers arranged themselves into four rows across the floorboards, with Hermione positioning herself in the front.

"Fifth position," the choreographer called. "Simple port de bras, please."

The music rose again, a much heavier beat thumped into the room. It wasn't anything close to the haunting, classical sounds of the previous song. This was rough and harsh, and the vocals matched. But once more, I was mesmerised by how well the slow, sweeping movements paired with the harsh music.

The company danced easily through the sequences and steps the choreographer called out; arabesque… pas de bourrée… pirouette… The words made no sense to me, but each one seemed to lead into the next.

I watched Hermione with something akin to awe. My ballerina had turned the heavy beats and harsh vocals of the music into an almost ethereal sound. I hardly noticed the lyrics, just a few lines making their way through the storm of emotions that watching her had kicked up.

I would put myself right beside you…

Try to find out… What makes you tick…

There's a fine line… Between love and hate…

Every step, every pirouette, every flick and swish of her arm tightened something in my chest. A nervous flutter in my stomach accompanied the tightness. The rollercoaster I seemed to be riding when it came to this woman was a complete contradiction. I wanted her with a fierceness I could barely contain, but I was too nervous I would disappoint her. She was beautiful and lithe, and she seemed to be channelling a greater entity than herself with each movement. I wasn't sure what it was — the joy of dancing, the freedom it allowed her, the effortless control she had as she held each position — and I doubted I would be able to match that.

The dancers moved through a quick series of leaps as the song met its climax and I had to hold off my natural instinct to applaud. I was supposed to be unnoticed, and a lone audience member clapping from the back row would give me away.

But, she saw me anyway.

Her eyes widened then she smiled brightly, giving me a small wave. I lifted my hand in acknowledgment, keeping my gaze on her and ignoring the glances I was receiving from her associates.

Then the seriousness I had expected began. The choreographer produced a notebook, calling out names and explaining techniques that needed to be improved here or there. He directed them across the floor, and each one did as they were asked. And while his instructions were direct, his praise was high. The respect for their leader that was evident in the dancers was returned to them.

I watched for another hour, feeling exhausted despite sitting on my arse the whole time. The energy expended was enormous, and I understood my error in assuming ballet dancers didn't eat. The choreographer called out for a short break, and the dancers dispersed to the edges of the stage to retrieve water bottles. Hermione grabbed hers, then made her way to the front of the stage. I shook my head as she skirted the orchestra pit and bounced down the steps into the side aisle.

I stood, sidestepping along the row, and meeting her halfway down the aisle, smiling at her slightly confused expression.

"What are you doing here?"

"Trying not to distract you," I answered. "But it would appear I've failed."

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I would have met you and introduced you around."

"I wasn't sure if we were at that stage yet," I answered honestly. "So, I thought I would just sit in the back and watch."

"You don't have to. You're welcome here anytime."

"This is your work, Hermione, and you don't need me to bother you here."

"I bother you at your work all the time."

"Yes, you do. But this is different." I nodded towards her fellow dancers who were not even trying to hide the fact they were watching us. "I've already distracted you too much."

"A little," she admitted. "But thank you for coming since I won't see you tonight."

"I'll look forward to your morning wall thump."

She laughed and squeezed my arm, giving me a lingering look before returning to the company. I returned to my seat and smiled at the questioning looks she received from her fellow dancers. I was certain she would face an interrogation when rehearsal was over.

I watched her as she took her place on the stage once more, and another twinge of anxiety twisted my insides.

Would I ever be enough for her?

After watching her dance for the last hour, I wasn't sure.

I reached into my pocket, feeling the small key ring; I had one last thing to do before heading home. One thing I hoped would be enough.

Much thanks to GracefulLioness for all her assistance with the ballet components of this chapter. Her thoughts, suggestions, and corrections were so very much appreciated xx

Works Cited:

"And though she be but little she is Fierce," Shakespeare, William. A Midsummer Night's Dream, 1595/1596.

Songs/lyrics:

My Immortal, Evanescence, Fallen, 2003. Songwriters: Moody, Ben /Hodges, David / Lee, Amy

The Diary of Jane, Breaking Benjamin, Phobia, 2006. Lyrics by: Burnley, Benjamin / Klepaski, Mark James / Fincke, Aaron C