Summary: Hermione is struggling with the memory of being tortured all those years ago and believes visiting the drawing room at Malfoy Manor will help her put it to rest, but she might just find something else instead.

It's just a room

Hermione turned on the spot in the centre of the empty drawing room. Her footsteps echoed against the naked walls as she looked at every inch of it. The late spring sun shone glaringly through the three large, rectangular windows, almost in an accusing manner at her lack of attempt she'd put into brightening up the place to make it more welcoming; maybe less grey on the walls and change the black mantelpiece over the fireplace…

But it wasn't her that had made this decision…

Last Summer

The black iron gates loomed over Hermione. She stared at the handle briefly before turning her gaze to the house in the distance, the door was the only visible part between the large hedges that lined the direct path. Not really a house; a manor. The Malfoys', to be precise. Would they know she was there? Had a ward been set up like the last time she'd been there?

She twisted her wand in her hands before sending an alert down the path in the form of her Patronus with a brief message. A few minutes later, the gate opened for her. Hermione took a deep, calming breath and stepped over the threshold. She needed to do this. She needed to put the memory to rest.

The gate clanged closed behind her, the gravel crunched under her boots and the peacocks could be heard in the distance, but other than that, Hermione's heartbeat was loud in her ears. It almost covered the background noise it was that loud to her.

Lucius Malfoy was already stood on the top step of the few stairs leading to the front door, an amused smile on his features, when she reached the end of the path. He stood upright, still proud as ever. His hair hung neatly around his shoulders, but his dark clothes hung loosely; he'd lost weight. Hermione spotted he held his arms straight down with tight fists; not quite as relaxed as he was trying to portray.

"Miss Granger?" The high inflection at the end of his voice couldn't hide the surprise in his questioning tone at her appearance.

"I'm sorry to come here without asking, but I thought if I did, you'd ignore me," she said quickly, struggling to keep her breath even for the nerves jangling in her chest.

"You're not here on behalf of the Ministry?" Again, another hint of surprise laced in his voice.

Hermione peered down at her jeans, dark purple blouse and the scruffy black boots. She held her arms out slightly. "It's hardly work attire, if I was," she said, trying to keep things light.

Lucius' fists relaxed, he flexed his fingers as if they'd been hurting, and his shoulders dropped a little. "What might I do for you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione took a moment to let her thoughts organise themselves as his piercing stare was unnerving her now that it had lost the bemused smile. "I know it's not of your concern, but there are some things I need to move on from and… I was wondering… The thing is…"

Oh no, she was losing her thread of thought. He was starting to look annoyed. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lip had started to curl.

"Are you here to see how far I have truly fallen, Miss Granger? Because I thought someone like you might have been above all of that?" he asked sharply, his hands swinging around so that he now held them behind his back.

"No!" She shook her head violently. "I wanted to visit your drawing room," she said quickly, tripping over the words a little as a memory of pain pulsed through her. It made her flinch.

Lucius had his mouth open, sounds of words dying in his throat. He frowned. "The drawing room? What on earth for?"

Hermione took her turn to open her mouth and pause on her initial words before she said, "May I please visit your drawing room, Mr Malfoy?"

It felt like an eternity of her stood there, watching him watch her. It didn't help that he was still at the top of the stairs, feeling like he was towering over her, no emotions on his face or in his eyes. Then his shoe scraped along the concrete of the step as he shifted to lead the way back into his home.

Hermione hesitated. She remained where she stood until he'd disappeared through the front door. "Miss Granger?" his echoey voice floated back to her.

He didn't need to call twice.

The entrance hall was lighter than she remembered. It wasn't hard with all the doors leading off to various rooms flung open and the front door still wide open. Lucius stood by a door directly to Hermione's left, he lifted his right hand slightly to encourage her to enter the room.

In that one gesture, Hermione felt like her world had tilted dangerously. The blood pounded in her ears, her pulse throbbed in her neck and nausea rose up quickly. She swallowed hard against the saliva that arrived with the nausea, putting a hand to her mouth. Her vision narrowed on the doorway, everything else started to blur.

She tried to take a step, to move any part of her body, but she was stuck. Stuck in that moment in time. She thought she'd be ready, strong enough. It was the last thing she needed to do to put the past behind her.

Lucius moved and it brought her back to the present. He'd looked into the room, then back to her, confusion written on his features before there was a small raise of his eyebrows. He silently walked back to her, without asking, he turned her around, his hands firmly on her shoulders, and walked her to a room opposite from the drawing room.

"Not today," he stated simply.

"I should probably go," she said quietly, not making any attempt to stop him from leading her towards one of two armchairs by an open set of patio doors.

It was a small square room, with not a lot of furnishings in it and a large fireplace on the wall opposite the entrance they'd come through. The two armchairs faced the patio doors with a small table between them, which already held a half-empty cup of tea. Lucius firmly pushed Hermione into the nearest chair. She looked up at him in a daze as he picked up his teacup and went towards another door facing the patio doors.

A breeze came through, rustling the heavy green curtains a little. The feeling and the sound seemed to bring Hermione back to herself with each passing moment. A couple of moments later, Lucius returned with a tray following him. It placed itself on the table. A fresh pot of tea and two teacups on it as well as a jug of milk and sugar bowl were on it.

"I don't mean to impose like this," she said earnestly.

He waved a hand dismissively while the teapot poured the tea. She watched him take a seat, cross his legs at the knee and lay his forearms on the arms of the chair, his gaze firmly on the countryside view. "Beware of the past, Miss Granger. It will only continue to damage you if you allow it," he said suddenly when she continued to stare at him.

"Why else would I be here?" she asked sharply.

Lucius looked at her through the corners of his eyes, an odd laugh escaped his throat. "Because you are allowing it."

"It's not like I had a say in the matter while you stood idly by, Mr Malfoy," she spat, her breath ragged. Pain

radiated through her hands where she gripped the edges of the arms of the chair.

The silence that followed weighed down on them both. Hermione sank back into the armchair feeling like she'd just run a marathon. Lucius lifted the hand closest to the table between them, a teacup rising to it. When Hermione didn't say another word or made no moves to leave, Lucius sent the other teacup to her. She gently pulled it out of midair and sipped the warm liquid.

"I have no option but to live with my past. I made the decisions that brought me to this moment, so I must live with the consequences… and the pain it brings. You have options, Miss Granger," he explained quietly after nearly ten minutes of quietly drinking their tea.

Hermione sat up to put the cup down on its saucer. When she looked at Lucius, she saw the dark circles under his eyes, the deep lines in his features that weren't from ageing, but something else, and the permanent tic in his jaw muscle, just below his ear.

She felt like she should apologise for speaking out of turn in his home, but why should she? It wasn't her who had done anything wrong. She could see now that the man before her had regrets. Would he ever be sorry?

"Thank you for the tea," she said instead as she stood.

She didn't wait for him to respond. She'd reached the door to the entrance hall when he called out to her.

"If you wish to try again, the late mornings are best." She turned back to looked him, he hadn't moved or was looking at her. "The sunlight shines through the most from around ten at this time of the year. No dark corners or hidden figures… just an empty room."

Hermione thought she wouldn't return. She thought she would have to live with the memory for the rest of her life and hope that visiting that room wasn't the key to letting go of it.

But she did return.

That evening Hermione went home, took the time to think about what it was she was trying to get out of visiting the drawing room. It wasn't as if she had to see it every day, or see the person who had done the damage, but the memory haunted her every day and invaded her dreams with a vice-like grip. Even after an entire decade had passed.

All she had left was to face the room it had had happened in. Nothing else was working. If she knew she'd truly exhausted everything, then maybe even that could be a form of accepting her past, a way of moving on from it. If she was going to do this, she was going to put her all into it.

Kingsley gave her the requested summer off, after she explained to him what it was she was trying to do. With sympathy and understanding, he wished her luck and asked that she remain in touch during the time. Harry and Ron tried to offer their help on this mission, but there was nothing they could do, it was something she had to do alone.

"Just at least let us know when you're going and when you leave… so we know you're safe, okay?" Ron begged, giving her a tight hug.

She nodded into his chest. "Thanks, Ron."

Their relationship might not have worked out but their friendship had never died.

The first week went the same. Hermione would look at the open doorway and freeze. She didn't relive the memory, it was more like her body remembered for her and was trying to prevent her from going into the room in case it happened again. Lucius would swiftly remove her back into the other room to have tea in silence. He was always present.

Some point during the second week, Lucius directed Hermione straight to the armchairs rather than wait by the door of the drawing room. "Let's try a different way," he suggested.

"You don't have to help me," she told him gently, hoping she wasn't being ungrateful. It wasn't every day that Lucius Malfoy extended a helping hand out. Even if this might potentially lead to something for him in return.

"I'd like my solitude back, Miss Granger," he said coolly.

Hermione paused as they reached the armchairs at the opposite end of the room, which had been moved to face the door they'd come through. She looked around the room, staring up at the high ceiling. "You don't have to be in the vicinity. I could come through the front door, attempt to enter the drawing room, and leave… once I've recovered myself, that is. You could be anywhere else in this vast house while I do that and not even know I was here," she pointed out.

"And risk the wrath of the Ministry, as well as Potter, should anything happen to you while on my grounds with no supervision? I think not, Miss Granger. Now sit down."

She sat down to immediately realise she had direct view of the door to the drawing room. The reaction from her body wasn't as visceral as it had been in the past few days. Nevertheless, it still made her pause for a moment, her heart rate stuttered and her throat dried.

"I think you should take some time merely… looking at the door."

"Then what?" she asked in a whisper, her eyes locked firmly on the object in question.

"After a few days we move the chairs closer… you see where I'm going with this?"

Hermione nodded. "Okay… I can do that."

Thus began the Journey of the Armchairs. A little closer every day. It got easier to look at the door while they drank tea. Sometimes they would have lemonade as the heat of summer started to set in. Always in silence while Hermione stared at the door, willing her memory of pain to not come to the surface, and Lucius read a book or a newspaper.

By the end of the third week of doing this, Hermione arrived to find the armchairs now in the entrance hall, placed directly in front of the door of the room they lived in. This was the biggest jump of space the chairs had made between days.

"You're merely looking at the door," Lucius reminded her when she stalled.

Once more, Hermione nodded and repeated her personal mantra at that moment, "I can do that."

Being this close to the door for a long period of time was having a different effect. Hermione couldn't keep still; she fidgeted in her seat, picked her cup up, put it down without taking a sip, jiggled her leg, then the other one, tapped the heel of her hand on the arm of the chair… until Lucius could take no more.

He reached over to place a hand her forearm. She immediately stopped all movements as the warmth of his hand settled on her bare skin. She looked to his face, expecting disgust at the contact, a small sneer at the very least, but his features were void of all emotions and thoughts.

Lucius didn't remove his hand, he didn't grip at her arm, he left it there; resting. It was oddly comforting to have the contact, Hermione realised.

"Tell me about your work," he suggested. "What is it you do the Ministry?"

She sighed. "You really want to know?" she asked, her question loaded in trying to understand if he was trying to hurry the process along or he was truly interested.

"It's been a long time since I've been aware of the inner workings of the Ministry… I…" He trailed off, his eyes flitted away briefly to his lap and then back to her. "What department are you in?"

Hermione realised then that Lucius missed being needed, missed being important to someone. Draco was off living his life in Europe and Narcissa had left to go be with Andromeda, filing for a divorce within months of the war being over. All information Lucius had given her when she enquired about their whereabouts after she'd let it be known she didn't follow the gossip columns.

"I'm still trying to get equal rights for magical creatures, Mr Malfoy," Hermione said dryly.

He nodded. "Do you enjoy it?"

"Mostly."

"But…" Lucius said at her tone.

"We've ingrained it into them to either despise Wizard-kind because of our behaviour towards them or creatures like the house-elves don't believe they should have the rights," Hermione explained, choosing each word carefully as she thought about her predicament.

As the silence descended on them, Hermione immediately found herself staring at the door and fidgeting.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

There was a squeeze on her arm and she'd realised he'd never let her go. "I'm a little lonely in my life," she found herself admitting, "I wish I had someone to share it with, but I'm happy… are you?"

"No."

"Have you ever been?"

There was a ghost of a smile, a memory in his eyes, and for a brief second, she saw the person Lucius could be when his prejudice wasn't taking over his features. "Once. When Draco was born. I thought I had everything."

Then the memory, smile, and his hand from her arm were gone. "I think that's enough staring at a closed door for today."

She agreed, leaving with a quiet goodbye and wondering if she had crossed into a different kind of relationship with Lucius Malfoy in those few sentences.

They didn't talk much the following week as the chairs edged closer to the door, but Hermione would fidget and Lucius would immediately place a hand on her arm. It was always calming, the weight of it there. At first she thought he did it because her movements were irritating him, but on a day she desperately tried not to fidget, her hands gripping the arms of the chair, he still placed his hand there. A small gesture as he sipped his tea with the other hand and continued to read a page of the newspaper on his lap.

When the chairs were right outside the drawing room door, and they'd been sat there for an hour with Hermione toeing the bottom of the door with her boot, they stood as Lucius said, "I'm fairly certain we cannot get the chairs any closer now."

Hermione nodded, her eyes firmly on the dark knot in the grain of the wood at the centre of the door. She looked up to find mild amusement in his eyes at his comment. "We could sit on the door," she said, reaching for anything to lighten what she was trying to do.

The corner of Lucius' mouth twitched. "One does not sit on a door."

"Thought as much," she said with a sigh. "So tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Lucius confirmed.

She didn't move. What if she did it now? She was this close anyway.

"I think I've wasted enough of your time," she said softly, a hand already reaching out to the handle.

Lucius moved to grab her wrist, a gentle hold with enough pressure to stop her turning the handle. "If you're not ready, you do not have to do this now."

Hermione stared at their hands. "The sooner I do this, the sooner I can be out of your hair."

But did she want to be? In the last few weeks he'd been an odd calmness in trying to face this fear. It made no sense, but he was. She would miss it. She was also very aware of how long this had taken and the patience he'd shown her, someone he'd spent his entire life detesting.

Neither one of them had moved for a few moments. "I have an idea," he said. His grip loosened, the hand slid up her arm as he moved to stand behind her, never losing contact with her. It sent a shiver down her spine. "Will you trust me?"

She tried to turn, to look him in the eye, but his hands held her shoulders, the fingertips dug in a little, and he forced her to remain facing the door. "What am I trusting you with?"

Lucius let go of her and she fought the urge to turn as she was aware of him moving, material was rustling. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw his arms come forward then material was being placed over her eyes. She immediately placed her hands on it, not sure if she should pull it away or find out what he was up to.

The smell of Lucius – his aftershave, his shower gel, his shampoo – seemed to encompass Hermione as he fastened the material behind her head, careful to not tie her hair into it. "What is this?"

"My tie."

"You weren't wearing a tie," she said, her hands still holding onto the material.

"I keep it in my pocket should I need to make myself presentable at a moment's notice," he answered. He'd moved to her side.

She tilted her head towards his voice. "What's wrong with how you're dressed now?"

"One is not fully dressed unless they have a tie on," he said, his voice barely hiding the click of the door opening.

That one little sound had filled every fibre of her being and the silly response she'd had about him being undressed faded away. She was vaguely aware of Lucius standing by her side yet still jolted when his hand took hers and guided it to the crook of his arm. She gripped the material tightly as he pulled her hand in close to his body with his arm. He started to move forward and even though she couldn't see, the memory was clear in her mind of what the room looked like; it forced her to pause.

Lucius stopped moving forward for a moment. She could hear his even breathing over the thudding of her heartbeat in her ears. She felt him move again and this time she moved with him, trusting him to guide her. Their footsteps echoed, like the room was empty of furnishings and life. She tilted her head towards him as if that one movement would make Lucius answer an unasked question.

"It's just a room. Nothing more, nothing less," he said softly. His voice sounded loud as it travelled around her. "It's a room I grew up in, watched Draco take his first steps in, said goodbye to my mother for the last time without realising in… a room in which I lost everything too."

He released her hand and moved away quickly causing her to stumble forward. "Take the tie off, Miss Granger," he instructed firmly.

Hermione lifted her hands to the tie, hooking her thumbs under the material. She didn't lift it. "I can't do it."

"Yes, you can." His voice echoed around her, it disorientated her. "It's a room."

He was right. It was just a room. It didn't matter that she couldn't see it when the memory was already at the forefront of her mind – a memory she could conjure at her most happiest moments in life without even thinking about this room. Always ready to appear, to remind her of her weakest moment.

She lifted the material, blinking rapidly at the onslaught of bright light. It's just a room, she kept reminding herself while her vision focused once more.

A room that was empty.

She turned slowly, finding herself in the centre of it and Lucius perched on the centre one of the three windowsills, his hands clasped in front of him as he watched her with no emotion. It was bigger than she remembered. She also couldn't place this room with the one firmly etched in her brain. That room was small, filled with dark furniture, no light and claustrophobic.

"Why is it empty?" she asked, her echoey voice wobbled. She kept searching the floor, the walls, the ceiling – something that would marry this room to the one she knew.

"You're not the only one to have a difficult relationship with this place," he admitted. "I was trying to… cleanse it for lack of a better word before I came to the same conclusion I see in your eyes."

"It's just a room," she said aloud. "Is that why the other room is sparse?"

He nodded. "This is not where you will find your healing."

"Then if you've already tried, why let me come back every day? Why not say as much?" she asked, clenching her fists tightly around the tie still in her hands. She turned again to check the room for anything she might have missed to help her forget that awful time.

"Would you have taken my word?"

She opened her mouth but the argument died on her lips when she looked at him. "I suppose not," she finally said.

"Will you still need to return tomorrow now that you have stood here and survived to tell the tale?" he asked after a few moments of heavy silence, a hint of humour in his voice.

With an unexpected reluctance, Hermione said, "No."

Lucius nodded. She watched him as he slowly stood and walked to the door, his footsteps loud and confident in the way he firmly planted his heel before the step was taken. He paused to look back at her. "I am sorry to hear that… I will admit that a part of me selfishly didn't tell you so that you would keep returning."

Then he was gone.

Hermione's heart was in her throat and in one of those rare occasions where she acted before thinking, she ran to the door as he'd reached the staircase. "Are you really? Sorry?"

A foot on the bottom step, Lucius half-turned back. He looked like he wanted to say many things, even with the distance between them, she could actually see his thoughts clouding his eyes. He took a breath before saying, "If you were ever inclined to visit for afternoon tea, I wouldn't turn you away."

Hermione nearly laughed at the situation. Lucius Malfoy formally inviting her to afternoon tea, in a manner. She never thought she'd live to see that day. Yet here she was.

"I have the rest of the summer before I return to work."

The foot came back off the stair as he turned fully. "Do you really?"

"I could come to afternoon tea every day," she said with a small smile.

There was a flicker of a smile on his own features. "Let's not push it," he said, the teasing clear in his voice.

Present Day

"Darling," Lucius called from the door, "are you ready to go?"

Hermione remained facing the centre window. Was it really only last summer that he'd sat on that windowsill and helped her come to the conclusion of the room not being the answer to her moving on? She felt like she'd already lived a lifetime with the company of Lucius, getting to know him… falling in love with him. And yet, a lifetime still wouldn't have been enough.

"It's your family home," she repeated her statement for the umpteenth time since he'd decided to let it go a month earlier.

"Not anymore. It's just a building," he said, his footsteps telling her he was coming to her. "Like this is just a room."

She leant back into him as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I should've done this years ago," he said softly while they stood there, flashes of different memories of the room going through their minds.

"I don't think you had the clarity of mind back then," she told him honestly, stepping out of his arms to look at him. "Do you?"

He smiled warmly at her, a smile that still took her breath away after months of being on the receiving end of it, and said, "I suppose your right, but I do now."

They took one last look at the room together before leaving and closing that chapter on their lives. They knew it would happen one day, but no one could have prepared them for the fact they would do it together.

Word Count: 4,655

Written for:

Yearly

- 365 - 328. (word) Patience

- Musical - 70's - Psycho Killer/Talking Heads - I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax (used as inspiration)

- Insane House Challenge - 203. (drink) Tea

Seasonal

- Days of the Year - May 22nd - (colour) Black

- National Women's History Month - 3. (emotion) Determined

- Pride Month - Gilbert Flag - Orange - Healing

- Fishing Week - 5. Leaders - (emotion) Lonely

- Candy Month - 5. (emotion) Surprise

- Crystals - 10. (action) Drinking

Writing Club

- Book Club - 1. (word) Trust

- Character Appreciation - 14. (character) Hermione Granger

- Film Fest - 12. (colour) Black

- Showtime - 2. (emotion) Regret

- Bex's Bits - 12. L - (character) Lucius Malfoy

- Ari's Armory - 2. (genre) Hurt/Comfort

- Raven Roost - Cinderella - 2. (setting) Malfoy Manor

Monthlies

- Home Sweet Home - Wall Colour - 1. Feather wallpaper - (emotion) Surprise

- Wizard Chess - Misc. Board - E5 (white) - (theme) Healing

Quarterly

- Structured Garden (Hermione) - Ornaments - 25. Bell Topiary - Dark/Light Relationship