.

CHAPTER 17

TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR:

DISCUSSIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE,

EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION,

EMOTIONAL ABUSE,

VERBAL ABUSE.

A sobbing woman in my arms, clutching me tightly, hadn't been the reaction I'd expected to an apology. I'd expected her to be smug, to tease, to tell me I was an idiot for not believing her. But such a visceral response threw me. I wasn't sure exactly what to say. These sobs were not happiness at my apology, but the heavy, heaving sobs of grief.

I slipped one arm around her shoulders then hooked my chin over the top of her head, gently stroking her hair and waiting for her to calm.

The minutes ticked by and her sobs slowly became hiccuped breaths, her body shuddering with each sharp gasp. My heart squeezed, hurting on her behalf. My frustration hadn't caused this — this was a deep pain that went past hurt and anger at a petty disagreement. This was raw emotion, deep and unfettered, and my protective instincts told me there was a cause that I would be none too pleased about.

"Sorry," she whispered, her body still jerking with her heavy breaths.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I'm turning your life into a disaster."

"Of course you're not." I hugged her tighter. "Did you need to talk about what's got you so upset?"

"It's not you," she quickly assured me.

"If I upset you, you can tell me." I kissed the top of her head. "It's perfectly fine to be angry at me if I did."

"You startled me, but that's not what this is about." Her breath shuddered once more and I heard the click in her throat as she swallowed.

"You already know you can tell me anything."

She nodded against my chest and we stood silently for several more minutes.

"My parents were killed when I was nineteen," she began quietly. "And I guess I wasn't in a great place and was vulnerable. And I met a guy who seemed too good to be true."

I winced, knowing this was going where I dreaded.

"He was sweet and thoughtful, and was so incredibly kind when it came to me grieving for my parents. He was even sympathetic when I told him about my POI.

He was always there whenever I needed him and was more supportive than I thought possible with someone new." She circled her fingers absently on my back. "He was… um… older than me… not as—"

She tensed in my arms and I soothed my hand down her back.

"Not as old as me?"

She nodded and let out a single laugh. "Yeah. About seven years older than me, and I guess I thought he was worldly and wise."

"When you're nineteen, everyone in their twenties appears old and wise." I continued to slide my hand up and down her back. "And I'm guessing he wasn't quite as sweet and kind as you thought?"

"No, he wasn't." Her breath stuttered and she moved her hands from my back and gripped the front of my shirt. "It started out slowly, which I now know is a common occurrence in these situations. And it was just small things at first. A few months after I met him, he began asking me what I would be doing each day. If he was staying with me, it would be a casual question over breakfast, and if he wasn't, he'd ring me and make it sound like he was interested. And stupidly I fell for it."

I tucked my chin back over the top of her head and closed my eyes, not sure I wanted to hear this. But I knew I had to listen to her story.

"My friends stopped coming over and would only see me if he wasn't around. They warned me to be careful, that he wasn't who I thought he was, but I refused to listen." She shook her head. "I just couldn't see it. He'd already blinded me to everything he was doing, and I always managed to justify his actions. He always made me feel loved and wanted, but he was really just manipulating me. He would meet me after all my classes, telling me he loved to walk me out to make sure I was safe. He would ring while I was at lunch with Ginny and Pansy, telling me he'd meet me after and walk me home. And then he started making plans for us on the days I usually met with my friends. He began to schedule every minute of my life when I wasn't dancing at the company."

I held back my angry response; I instantly hated this man with every fibre of my being, but she didn't need me to make her feel worse than she already did.

"Sometimes I only saw my friends once a month, sometimes even less, and it got to the point where he would never let me see them alone. But, I never saw what he was doing. I only thought he was being attentive and taking care of me. I was so blind. I was an idiot."

Her self-loathing made me cringe. And all my observations — her reluctance to take praise, her need to explain her every move, her want to change her life to suit mine — now made sense. He'd made her feel worthless and incompetent, and I assumed he thought her choice of career was a waste of time.

"For almost two years I believed him. And over time he made me feel useless and that I was incapable of taking care of myself. And he was completely uninterested in ballet. I think the only reason he didn't push me to quit was that the company — and my friends — would know it was his doing and would have gone after him." A small sob escaped her, but she continued, "He made me think my friends had abandoned me, when it was really the other way around. I'm just fortunate they didn't end up hating me."

"I doubt that could ever happen. They all adore you."

"I know, I just couldn't see it at the time. I didn't want to hear the bad things about him because honestly, I couldn't see any of it." She huffed a derogatory sound that I didn't care for. "I thought they were all just jealous that I'd found someone… that's what he constantly told me."

"You were vulnerable and he took advantage. He's the bad guy. Not you."

"Yeah, but I still feel stupid. Every time I think about it… I can't believe I fell for his charms — as fake as they were."

I clenched my jaw, not wanting to ask, but needing to know.

"Did he get physical with you?"

She inhaled deeply and I knew the answer without her having to verbally respond. My anger grew to something I had never felt before. White hot fury enveloped me, and I wanted to know every detail of this pathetic excuse of a man so I could bury him.

"Once," she whispered and I held her tighter still. "I refused to give him access to my bank accounts. He'd been subtly asking for a while, but I ignored him. He knew about my inheritance and told me I was incapable of managing it properly. And the last time he asked was when I finally snapped and realised my friends were right about him. I rang Harry, Charlie, and Ron, and they arrived with three of their brothers just after he hit me. Needless to say, they found him and taught him a lesson he is probably still recovering from."

"And you took out a restraining order on him?"

"I did. He threatened to sue the boys for abuse, but Harry reminded him he had many friends in the police force and in the courts who wouldn't care a lick for his sob story. It's the only time Harry has ever stepped outside his position as a cop. He walks the line to the letter of the law. But I think he was the angriest of all of them."

"I saw how protective he is of you. He immediately went into police mode when I snapped at you earlier."

"He is very protective. They all are."

"And this… man… has not been near you since?"

"I saw him once from a distance, about a year after. But Charlie was with me and he pretty much ran off in the other direction."

"So… that's when you and Charlie started…?"

"No, I swore off men for a while. I became kind of a hermit when I wasn't dancing, and I didn't trust anyone but my friends. My arrangement with Charlie only started about eight months before I met you."

She looked up at me and her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks broke my heart.

"You've been through so much in your short life, and I am so sorry this happened to you." I slowly lifted my hands to hold her face, swiping my thumbs across her puffy cheeks, wiping away her tears. "You are not stupid or incompetent or an idiot. You are an incredible woman, and I am in awe of you every day."

She managed a smile.

"And I promise you I will never expect you to be anything more than the mad ballerina I have come to love. And even if we disagree on things, that won't change the way I feel. I will never make demands of you and will always be in awe of you."

Her tears welled again, but her smile remained. "You've already shown me how different men can be. But, now do you understand why I check in with you with everything I do?"

"It makes perfect sense. However, I do hope you know I'm not going to be upset if your plans change, or if you're late home, or—" I paused and smiled at her "—even if you want to visit with Charlie."

"I know, but it's a hard habit to break," she admitted. "Charlie tried to make me see it was fine, that I could make my own decisions without having to seek permission. And for the most part I do, but I find set routines to be a comfort."

I kissed her gently. "I thought you were a bit barmy with your set routines, but now I understand why. And here's the thing: I want to fit into your routine. I want to be the one who makes life easy for you."

Her arms went back around me, and she finally gave me a genuine smile, one that made it to her eyes and pushed the fury inside me down to a slow burn.

"You already have."

We'd stood cuddled together in the kitchen for a long time after she'd shared her story. I just wanted to hold her and ensure she knew I would never hurt her like that piece of shit had. I wanted to find him and beat the snot out of him. The pleasure it would give me would be worth time in a prison cell.

I'd lived such a privileged life. I had everything: money, boarding school, good friends, and never wanted for anything — anything materialistic in any case. My ex-wife's cheating had hurt me to the core, but it hadn't caused physical damage or the deep, lasting emotional damage that Hermione had experienced. My father had been manipulative, had put his own expectations on me, but I'd never once allowed him to decide anything for me. I couldn't even fathom the mindset it took to turn the forceful, confident woman I had come to know and love into a beaten down shell.

Hermione told me to ask any questions I might have, and while I did have so many things I wanted to ask, she was drained and didn't need me to exacerbate her trauma. I had suggested we talk after she'd slept, and she agreed easily enough. It was already late — Pansy and Harry had stayed and chatted until close to midnight — and we were both exhausted.

But sleep eluded me once again.

So, I lay watching her. Her hand was beneath her cheek, her face squished against it, and a tiny squeak sounded with each exhale. She was adorable and I was glad she was able to sleep peacefully. What she'd already been through in her life was unfathomable. I couldn't even begin to know how she felt, or how she had pulled herself through the traumatic events she'd endured. And she'd endured the worst of it for almost two years.

I was glad that her friends hadn't abandoned her. I doubted I'd be lying beside her if they had. The manipulative cunt would have gotten his way and ruined her, and that thought alone was enough to stir my fury again.

I shifted closer to her, moving carefully so as not to wake her. I understood Harry's instinct to protect her; I wanted to wrap myself around her and never let her out of my sight. But I knew that was exactly what she'd already been through.

It didn't stop me, however, from leaning in and holding my lips against her forehead.

I tried to imagine the crazy, intelligent, strong woman I knew being pushed to think she was stupid and incompetent. I couldn't wrap my brain around how she could believe anything but praise and admiration. But I also knew she'd been in such a vulnerable place it would have been easy to manipulate her. The loss of her parents had been traumatic. And while I knew her friends had been supportive, it obviously hadn't been the human contact she needed. And that piece of trash had latched onto that need and used it to his full advantage.

All the typical questions ran through my mind: why didn't you see him for what he was? Why did you let him treat you that way? Why didn't you just leave? But I stopped myself. She wasn't to blame. I had no idea how difficult it had been for her, or how she finally found the strength to stand up to him. It would have been an impossible situation, one where I was certain she was terrified of the consequences if she walked away.

I wrapped my arm around her, suddenly not caring about the possessiveness. I needed to hold her, needed her to know that even at only twenty-five I saw her as my equal.

She murmured something and her eyes flicked open sleepily. She smiled and flung her arm over me, and I got the distinct feeling she understood I needed the comfort of her closeness more than she needed me.

"Sleep," she mumbled. "M'okay."

"I love you," I whispered and she smiled.

"I know." She snuggled closer then fell back into sleep.

I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly. She was filled with deep-seated grief and trauma that would always hold a dark place inside her. But I also knew that dark place was surrounded by her light. She was joy and laughter personified. And I made a vow to myself that I would do everything I could to keep that light burning brightly.

We'd barely moved an inch when I woke. Hermione's face was pressed into my chest, her arm still flung over me. Our legs had become entangled as we slept, with one of hers having worked its way between mine, which was causing a reaction I hadn't intended. Morning wood was standard, but this was close to full arousal. And I didn't want her to think I expected her to simply bend to my will and soothe my urges — unconscious or otherwise.

I shifted back, but her hand was on my hip in an instant, holding me in place.

"Don't you dare move."

I smiled. I should have known she'd be awake.

"Good morning," I croaked, then cleared my throat and tried again. "Good morning."

"Good morning." She tilted her head back and grinned. "You're finally awake."

"And surprised to find you still in bed."

Her set routines had become my routines. She was an early riser, and I usually woke up to the low beat of music as she stretched in the living room on her day off. I would lay in bed and listen to the steady beat, knowing what I would see if I walked out there. And knowing it would be very disruptive to her work-out if I did.

"I was so comfy and warm," she said. "I didn't want to move. Plus—" she moved her thigh against my alert cock "—I like knowing you want me, even when you're asleep."

"This wasn't intentional."

"Oh, so you don't want me?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I want you every second of every day. But…" I lifted my hand to stroke her cheek. "I don't want you to think I only want you for one thing."

She traced the scar on my ribs and sighed. "Wherever did you come from, Lucius Malfoy?"

"Wiltshire," I answered and she dissolved into giggles.

"That's not what I meant."

I laughed and kissed her forehead. "I know."

"I'm sure you have questions."

"Some," I said. "But only if you're feeling up to answering them."

"I'm a total mess and I've turned your life into a circus. I think I owe you some answers."

"Please don't think that. You don't owe me anything."

"But I do," she argued gently. "Lucius, the one thing that's steady and calm in my life is ballet. Well, the two things that are calm and steady are ballet and you. Everything else is a mess. And I'm sure none of this was what you were expecting to have to deal with."

"You're right, it wasn't. But that doesn't mean I want to run for the hills. Hermione, all of this happened to you. It wasn't your fault and you weren't to blame. Also, it's your story to tell, so you don't owe me anything."

She wriggled up the bed so our faces were level, and in the process, her leg slid along my cock, causing me to exhale a groan.

"Should we do something about that before we talk?" Her hand moved down my stomach, but I grabbed her wrist.

"No. I'll be fine. This is much more important."

"It is my story, you're right about that. However, you're wrong that I don't need to tell you." She kissed me and smiled. "So, let me make it easier for you. How did I just let him take over my life? I didn't. It happened over months and months, he — for want of a better term — brainwashed me. He would undermine everything I said, would make me believe I got things wrong, and even with the strict routines I had in place, I still didn't doubt him. It was as if he was inside my brain, telling me all the bad things that were easy to believe."

Her fingers found the scar on my ribs again, idly running along the length of it. She'd obviously heard all the same questions before, but these weren't the ones I wanted to ask.

"Why didn't I just leave? I couldn't. When I was finally aware of what was happening, I was terrified. He was in my house, the one I inherited from my parents. The home I grew up in. And I didn't want him to have it. The memories of my parents were more important than anything. And I know that probably seems insane, but to me it wasn't."

"The memory of your parents is precious and wanting to hold onto that is not insane. Not in the slightest." I stroked her hair, twirling one crazy curl around my finger. "How did you feel when you were finally free?"

"Like my brain had cleared. Like I could think straight. Like a complete idiot. It was weird, though, and I hate to admit it, but when he hit me, it was like something dislodged in my brain. And I was suddenly so angry, and he knew it. It was why he fled. He knew exactly who I would ring and that they would be after him."

"I'm glad your friends are as mad as you are."

She laughed. "Yeah, me too."

"And you were safe at home? After he left?"

"I stayed with Molly and Arthur — Ginny and Ron and Charlie's parents — for a while. It was like having my own parents back. Molly doted on me and Arthur would commute with me to London. Ginny was still living at home at the time, and Harry and Pansy were always checking in. As were Ron and Charlie. And I know it sounds suffocating, especially after everything, but it was nice to have someone with me all the time."

"Did you ever go back home?"

"Eventually, but I couldn't live there anymore. It was okay though. I came to realise the memories of my parents are here—" she tapped her temple then her heart "—and here, not in the house. So I moved into a small flat, but only after Harry and Ron turned the place into the Tower of London. No one was getting inside without photo ID and fingerprint proof. There were cameras everywhere, and they insisted on changing the alarm code every other week. It was madness, but I loved them for it."

"So, you lived there for—" I did the mental maths, knowing she'd only been in her flat for a year "—three years."

"Two," she corrected. "I lived with Molly and Arthur for almost a year until I got my head right."

"And how did you and Charlie begin?"

"I don't know, really. It wasn't intentional. I think I began to realise I was still allowing all the bad stuff to direct my life, and Charlie had probably been my loudest voice of reason. He would take me to dinner just to make me choose something to eat. Or he'd ask me if I wanted to go to the football or to a movie. He would take me places or do things that would always make me decide. He gave me back all that was taken away. And I guess it came down to the fact I trusted him. I didn't love him — not in the romantic sense — and didn't want anything more with him. I made that clear from the start. All my friends helped me get through it, but Charlie was the one who pushed me to be myself again."

"When I meet him, I'll definitely shake his hand."

"When you meet him?" Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "You actually want to meet him?"

"Honestly, two days ago I would have said no. But this man took care of you, I can't hate him for that. Does he know about me?"

"He does," she said, wincing guiltily. "I talked to him after you first kissed me."

"And that's perfectly fine," I assured her. "He was okay with us?"

"He said he was."

I wasn't so sure. I'd only been with her for a few months and I knew I didn't want to be with anyone else. Our relationship was different than her arrangement with Charlie, but I doubted he hadn't felt anything more than friendship for her.

"I definitely want to meet him. He's your friend and he brought back your madness. I'd like to thank him for that."

"I'll find out when he's free."

"Probably Tuesday nights," I said, and she slapped my chest.

"Rude," she said with a laugh. "He might have already filled the spot."

"I hope he has."

"Are you feeling a bit insecure?" she teased.

"About the man who helped you find your life again?" She nodded and I kissed her. "Very insecure."

Her hand dropped down between us and this time I didn't stop her. She shoved at my boxers, freeing my now flaccid cock, and wrapped her warm hand around me.

"You have nothing to be insecure about, Lucius. I love you, and right now, I'm certain I always will love you."

I slipped my hand beneath her singlet and palmed her breast. The shit this sweet woman had been through was enough to destroy anyone. But she had fought back and seemingly won.

"You are the most amazing person I have ever met," I whispered reverently. "You are strong, and resilient, and talented, and so incredibly brave. And I am so humbled that you have even considered me worthy enough to be in your life."

"I want to be with you, Lucius. Don't ever doubt that."

She shoved at my chest and I rolled to my back. She crawled over me, straddling my hips and leaned her chest against mine. My hands went to her hips as she began to rock slowly against my re-energised cock

"And right now, I'm going to show you just how much I want you."