51.
Thanks to the children, and their enjoyment of the day out – stretching out their time, and visiting half the shops in Hogsmeade, they didn't get a chance to talk about it. By the time they got the children back to the outskirts of Hogwarts' grounds, Draco had to rush off to a party at the Manor. He winced as he said the name, and they both thought of what had happened earlier, unhappily and reluctantly. Hermione forced a smile. "I'll walk Scorpius up to Hogwarts," she offered, and he shot her a grateful look.
"Thank you. I'm sorry, but this networking is important, and my parents –" He grimaced, lost for words, but Hermione could imagine. Narcissa and Lucius would surely not appreciate Malfoy being tardy.
"It's fine. Honestly. It's my fault for taking the children into Dervish and Banges." Said children were all staring at them, and they were an unwanted audience as Malfoy settled his hand on Hermione's elbow and drew her in briefly – panic fluttering in her chest before he dropped a formal, barely-there kiss on her cheek. He lingered a split-second too long, lips only just grazing her skin, and it was somehow so erotic she could've melted.
"Thank you, Granger. It was a lovely day." His eyes were warm as he smiled faintly, and then said his goodbyes to the children. He drew Scorpius into a one-armed hug, brief but tender, kissing the boy on the forehead. "Love you," he said quietly to his son, and Scorpius made a face as he detached himself from his father, embarrassed and pleased at once.
"Ugh, yes." He yanked his knitted hat down more snugly, looking down at his booted feet, scuffing his toes on the ground, cheeks pink. "You too, dad." They shared a grin over Scorpius's bowed head, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. Typical teenager. And then Malfoy raised a hand in farewell, and disapparated with a crack. The walk back to Hogwarts was uneventful. Hermione was in no rush to get back to her empty house, so they meandered along slowly, dropping in to visit Hagrid on the way. He nearly crushed Hermione with the strength of his hug, rapt to see her as always. Hermione, Rose, and Scorpius suffered through rock cakes and hot, strong tea while Hugo rough and tumbled with the still hearty Fang before they took their leave, Fang bouncing along part of the way beside Hugo before turning back to his master.
"Be good, Hugo," Hermione told her youngest, as she gave him a tight hug, before trying to neaten his hair and failing, licking her thumb and rubbing a smudge off his cheek, and then giving him a bright smile that he returned. "No eating gobstones, you idiot," she told him affectionately. "And write back when I write to you!"
"Yes, mum," he said obediently, and Hermione sensed he had no intention of listening to her. "Oh! There's Lily! I promised her I'd bring her a cake. Can I've the bag?" he appealed to Rose, who was currently holding it.
"No way! You'll eat them all," Rose said, frowning. "You can take one for Lily. One!" she yelled in frustration as Hugo dug out two and took off, cackling wildly. "Oh my god, he's impossible."
"Now you know how I feel," Hermione said with a chuckle, as Rose glared after her brother.
"He's such a d–"
"Rose," Hermione said warningly.
"Little monster," Rose said after a second's pause, smiling sweetly at her mother, like butter wouldn't melt.
"Hm." She frowned at Rose, and then opened her arms for a hug. "You be good too. It's only a month until the end of term. Try not to get into trouble before then, and I'll see about taking you and Scorpius to Disneyland Paris these holidays. Yes?"
"We're not the ones behaving badly, mum!" Rose protested, and Hermione winced.
"I know, darling. Regardless. Don't rise to any teasing. Tell the teachers. Or me. Just...no hexing other students unless it's in self-defence."
"But –" Rose began, scowling.
"Proportional self-defence," Hermione amended.
"Okay. Fine. I wasn't exactly planning on running around hexing people anyway."
"I know. I know." She soothed her bristling daughter and gave her a hug and kiss goodbye, giving Scorpius a cheerful smile.
"Take care, Scorpius. Hopefully we might be able to do this again next weekend."
"That'd be nice, Ms Granger-Weasley." His smile was genuine, and much like a smile did for Malfoy, it transformed Scorpius's face, making his fine, angular features warmer and softer. She watched the two of them trot off into school together, Scorpius carrying the bag of treats for Rose. Hermione hoped Rose might let him hand out the pastries and cakes, and let him endear himself a little to the Weasley cousins. She had a feeling the girl would – Rose was thoughtful like that.
The sun was beginning to lower in the sky as Hermione set off toward the bounds of the anti-apparation wards. The air was crisp, and the sun warm, and Hermione breathed deeply, enjoying the feeling of total safety that came with being in Hogwarts' grounds. No one would snatch her from here. Hagrid was in his vegetable patch, and she waved and called out as she passed, feeling cheerful. It had been a lovely day, despite the piece of unpleasant history that Hugo had dragged into the light. Hermione was almost glad that Malfoy hadn't been able to stick around after they'd dropped off the children; she didn't really want to talk about what had happened. It had been so long ago, it hardly seemed worth exhuming, just to talk about it and agree that yes, he was sorry, and no, she didn't hold a grudge.
Perhaps Malfoy still felt he needed to shrive himself, Hermione thought, but she didn't know whether she wanted to be the one he went to for absolution. She would rather forget about it all. She grimaced as she dwelled on it as she neared the bounds of Hogwarts, remembering more than she wanted to, and there we go , she thought bitterly; like it or not the past was now vivid and bloody in her mind. She thought hard of home, and disapparated, stumbling slightly nauseated on the spot in her garage.
"Hominum revelio," she murmured, tension running through her like a live wire, and relaxed slightly as it showed her the house was empty. She muttered a slew of other spells as she prowled through the house, feeling slightly stupid, like a child checking under the bed for monsters. Everything was in order; the wards were intact, the house was empty, and Hermione could relax. But she didn't, really. She kept her wand in her arm holster as she cooked an early dinner – steak and salad, with some frozen chips she bunged in the oven – and sipped at a glass of rosé, hoping the alcohol would relax her, if nothing else did.
She ate dinner on the couch, watching telly, with another glass of wine and her phone on the coffee table, and her wand still in her arm holster. She needed to have another look on Rightmove, and talk to Ron – Hermione didn't know if she'd ever feel safe in this house again. It made her miserable to think that, but it had to be acknowledged. Her dad texted, at 6 pm, asking if she was alright, which was nice. And then Ginny called at 7.30 pm while Hermione was watching the last episode of the Kardashians, and they chatted away for half an hour or so, Ginny inviting Hermione over for lunch on Saturday the 30th – "Not next Saturday, but the one after. I'll be home for a few days in a row for a change, instead of a flying visit, and I want to catch up. I'm inviting Hannah and Neville too. Bring a bottle of wine?"
And then Hermione's evening passed quietly and alone; she did the dinner dishes, and made sure the house was locked up and warded, before showering and crawling into bed with a book at the shameful time of 9 pm.
I hope your parents' afternoon soiree wasn't too awful, she sent Malfoy, having half wondered why he hadn't texted her.
[I'm still there] she got back ten minutes later, having all but given up on getting a response. [It is indeed completely awful. I hate it. And I miss you, desperately.]
You're still there? It's been hours! I'm already in bed. And I miss you too. I hate being alone in this house now. It's shit.
[ Hah, I don't know how long it's been in terms of time. I measure by drinks. This horrendous, never-ending event has been six glasses of wine long] Malfoy sent, and Hermione raised an eyebrow. [I'm sorry. I wish I could do something about you feeling terrible.]
It's fine. I figure an early night will help. I can't be paranoid if I'm asleep.
[Go to sleep then. I love you.]
The words made Hermione's heart do wonderful things. Happiness flooded her, and she found herself smiling as she typed back. Love you too.
Despite falling asleep happy, Hermione woke up having thrashed out of a nightmare that had left her panting, sweating, and actually crying in her sleep.
She'd woken to her own sobbing, tears hot on her cheeks, bewilderment and misery clawing through her as she tried to sort reality from her dream, her heart racing. It had been some strange amalgamation of her abduction, and years ago at the Manor, seasoned by the Rita Skeeter lies that had been fresh in Hermione's head. Ciaran and Len had kidnapped her, but they'd taken her to the Malfoy Manor instead of Paviland Cave. And Malfoy had been watching, unmoved and unbothered as they'd used the Cruciatus on her. She'd woken just as Len had been stripping her clothes off, his filthy hands touching her, while Malfoy had just sat in a chair in one of his elegant suits and made inaudible conversation with Ciaran, his eyes cool on hers.
Hermione breathed deeply, trying to calm her heart and herself, as she struggled upright and grabbed her wand from under her pillow, flicking her bedside lamp on, and casting another set of revealing charms. Everything was fine. The alarm clock said it was only twelve minutes past ten. Jesus wept – she'd only been asleep an hour, if that. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, still breathing in unsteady hitches, and texted Malfoy. Just in case he was awake. She was still a little groggy and panicky, and her text perhaps reflected that.
I had a nightmare. About the cave, and Len, except it was at the Manor, and you were just watching while they hurt me, and – no. Hermione decided against mentioning, 'and Len was going to rape me'. She deleted the 'and', and put a full stop after 'hurt me', sending just that, and then immediately regretting how abrupt it was. Thirty seconds later, her phone buzzed.
[Do you want me to come over? Or would seeing me just make it worse?]
She stared at her phone, not understanding. Why would you make anything worse?
[Because I was in the nightmare.] The misplaced guilt was practically tangible.
Don't be so stupid. Floo over?
[Give me five minutes.]
Hermione padded downstairs – wand clutched tightly in her hand – and put the kettle on, keeping an eye on the fireplace from the sitting room doorway, still feeling nervy and unsettled thanks to her stupid nightmare. It had left a greasy, uneasy feeling in her stomach, like the world had tilted ever-so-slightly askew, a sense of doom percolating away in the back of her head. It felt as though the other shoe was about to drop – as though everything was about to go sideways in the worst way. She told herself firmly not to be so stupid as she let two cups of chamomile brew while she hovered in the sitting room doorway, watching the time on the wall clock, and clutching her wand but refusing to cast hominum revelio again.
Four minutes passed before Malfoy appeared in her sitting room in a flash of green fire, giving her a fright despite her expecting him. She squeaked.
"Granger?" He emerged from the dissipating smoke nearly unruffled in a dashing Victorian influenced charcoal and black suit with a silver ascot, just one little smear of soot on his cheek, and his hair slightly displaced. His eyes were soft and worried, and there was colour in his cheeks. He was tipsy, Hermione recognised immediately – usually he was so controlled, even when he was being sweet, but as soon as he had one too many glasses of alcohol that control slipped from his fingers, and he became someone much more expressive, his feelings written all over his face.
"Have you come straight from the party?" She supposed it had only been an hour. "I'm sorry, I didn't think. I didn't mean to drag you away."
"Saved me, more like," he said as he crossed the short distance between them, and she sank into his arms with a sigh. He stank of cigar smoke for some reason, with faint overtones of sweet, fruity wine, and he folded her up tightly. "I was glad of a reason to leave." He kissed the top of her head. "Do you want me to stay all night? Or just until you feel better?"
"All night. Please. But I still have my period, so –"
"I remember," he said dryly, as he let her go and untied his ascot, undoing the top two buttons on his shirt. "Although we've already covered the fact that it doesn't bother me." He eyed her with a playful speculation. "But don't worry – I've had too much wine, and I'm tired. Your virtue is safe with me."
"That's a lie," she said, smiling to herself as she led the way into the kitchen, already feeling better, his mere presence stabilising her. "A complete and utter lie."
Malfoy grinned wickedly as he leaned on the breakfast bar and watched her sort out the chamomile tea, yanking off his ascot altogether and winding and unwinding the silvery silk around his hands. "Yes. Yes, it is."
The playful mood faded as she slid the tea across to him. She was thinking of why he was here – the nightmare – and she suspected he was doing the same. "Chamomile," she said in explanation as they both leaned across the breakfast bar opposite each other, Hermione cupping her hands around her steaming mug. She didn't want to go upstairs just yet. She didn't want to go back to sleep.
"Thank you." He shoved his ascot in his suit pocket and stared down at his tea. "So you dreamed about the Manor?"
"Sort of. I mean, partly. I guess with today..." She flapped her hand aimlessly. "It brought things back. Including Rita Skeeter's awful lies."
"Which were?"
"Have you not read the book?"
"No. If I tried to shut down every vicious lie written about me I'd never rest. So I just don't look." He shrugged, and sipped his tea very carefully. "Besides, the truths are usually just as bad as the lies, in my case. So," he eyed her. "What did Rita Skeeter say? I'm fairly sure I heard your son ask about a baby? With Potter?" He sounded half horrified, half amused.
"Hah!" Hermione covered her face with a hand. "Merlin, yes. The more amusing one of Rita's lies about me was that I slept with Harry in the Forest of Dean, while we were searching for horcruxes. I fell pregnant, carried the baby in secret, and put it up for adoption in Italy." She frowned. "It would be hilarious, if my son hadn't just spent his time worrying about the truth of it. Shit."
"I'm sorry."
"Yes, well. These things happen when Rita Skeeter hates you." Hermione sighed. "I should've been more proactive in making sure the kids knew her books were complete rubbish, but she hasn't published anything about me since they were too little to read. I just...forgot."
He made a sympathetic face over his mug of tea. "Even you can't be expected to keep track of everything forever, Granger."
"I know, but god..." She buried her face in her hands for a moment, elbows propped on the breakfast bar, groaning as a weird mortification and worry seized her. "I can't believe Hugo read that shit. I don't remember it word for word, but the section about the Manor said in gratuitous, salacious detail that you gleefully threatened to – well..." Hermione trailed off as she looked up at Malfoy, at his suddenly bleak expression, and found herself unable to say the words. She looked back down at her tea, her fingers tightening on the mug. He understood perfectly.
"Right," he said shortly. Stiffly. "I see. Fuck. That bitch." It took Hermione a second to realise he was talking about Rita Skeeter. "It seems she and Weasley think alike," he said bitterly, and Hermione looked up to see his jaw clench, his mouth flattening, and his eyes like stones. She remembered Ron's texts with a wince, and regretted showing them to Malfoy. He shoved his right hand through his hair roughly. "Why does everyone think I'm some failed rapist?" he asked, a note of wretched saracasm in his voice.
"Failed?" Hermione can't help a laugh. "Would you rather be a successful one?" That startled a choked laugh out of him too, as he shook his head.
"Fuck, no. That's not what I –"
"Meant. I know," Hermione said, grinning weakly. "I think you being a Death Eater might've had something to do with it," she said, her tone light as she put her hand over his left one, where it lay on the breakfast bar, squeezing gently. "They're not known for being, well, nice. And you were a teenage boy, and we all know what their libidos are like." She grimaced. "Evil and horny. I suppose it's the natural, if disgusting, assumption to make."
"Fuck," he repeated quietly. "I hate that."
"I know. I'm sorry." Hermione rubbed her thumb over his knuckles soothingly.
"Don't you be sorry." His eyes were filled with ghosts. "You're the only one who shouldn't be sorry, in this whole damned situation. Me, your bloody husband, Rita Skeeter – we're the ones who should be sorry."
"I felt like you've spent more than enough time being sorry, Malfoy. Regretting all of that," she said, and he shrugged, sadness hanging heavy about him. Behind the charm, and the banter – behind the sweetness, and the careful control, was a very real regret for the past that clung to him still. Even after all these years. She supposed he was reminded of his crimes often enough; Scorpius being bullied for who Malfoy was, and incidents like the one in The Three Broomsticks, would be a fairly frequent reminder. The consequences of his actions had clung to him, and – so unfairly – been passed down to his son.
"You're still having nightmares," Malfoy countered. Hermione narrowed her eyes on him, yanking her hand back as she straightened, hands braced on the breakfast bar.
"Because I was abducted and nearly killed, you utter git. Not because of what happened over twenty bloody years ago!" She made a frustrated sound. "I dreamed about Len and Ciaran, like I have multiple times since it happened."
"And me. 'Just watching'," he quoted, and she sighed. He was like a dog with a bone; not bloody letting it go.
"Because Hugo brought it up! Merlin, I wish I hadn't said anything, now. Do I have to start censoring myself around you, in case you go off on some self-pitying tangent?" Hermione was angry, genuinely regretting saying he'd been there in the dream, and she hated that she felt this way. "Because you can go straight home, if that's how it's going to be."
But he already looked guilty. " No. No, Granger. I'll shut up, I swear," he said swiftly. "I don't want you to feel like you can't be honest with me. I apologise."
"Good." She smiled faintly, suddenly very tired of talking, and a little rueful herself. "Because honestly, I want to go up to bed now. With you."
"Oh." The answer surprised Malfoy – she thought perhaps he'd been expecting her to keep berating him, and wasn't sure if that was because of her own behaviour, or something from his marriage to Astoria – but he nodded. "That sounds good."
Upstairs, Hermione snuggled down into bed in her t-shirt and knickers, sipping her tea and watching with great interest as Malfoy undressed. Frock-coat, waistcoat, shirt – so many damned buttons! – shoes, socks, trousers, and then he was just in his boxer shorts. Oh, he looked so good. Hermione ogled him blatantly as he crossed the dimly lit room and slid into bed, and he smirked at her as he settled back on the pillows, opening his arm to her in invitation. She set her cup of tea down, flicked off the lamp, and on impulse pulled her t-shirt off over her head – he watching her in the half-dark – before she wriggled over to him.
Malfoy's skin was hot against hers, and he sighed, the sound filled with contentment as she pilowed her head on the crux of his shoulder, her hand splayed over his abdomen. His arms both wrapped around her; one hand draped over her hip, and the other trailing over her body before gently cupping one breast, thumb teasing her nipple. Hermione tilted her head up, looking at him all askew, his grey eyes catching the streetlights outside and shining as he looked down at her.
"This is breaking all kinds of rules," he said, smiling as he idly caged her breast in his long fingers.
"I've given up on rules," Hermione said with a wry grin. "So long as we keep it behind closed doors." Her smile faded. "I could've died. And then what purpose would being noble and denying myself what I want, have served?"
"You didn't die," Malfoy said grimly, and then shifted them both so that suddenly his soft mouth was catching hers, his hands at her ribs as he slanted their mouths together. It was startling and so good, and Hermione moaned as his lips closed over her lower one and he sucked it into his mouth, teasing over it with his tongue. A bolt of arousal shot down into her core, lighting a hot, licking flame there as she pushed into the kiss, her tongue sliding against his and sending delicious shivers rippling through her. God, he was intoxicating, even with the faint stench of cigar smoke still hanging around him. He didn't taste of it at least; he couldn't have been the one smoking.
"Mmph," she said insistently, arousal pulsing hard between her legs as he suckled delicately on the tip of her tongue and rolled her right nipple between finger and thumb, and tugged. It created a sharp pleasure that edged toward pain, and made her clitoris suddenly need rather urgently to be rubbed. She moaned and slid her arms around his neck, kissing him slowly, with a lazy, sloppy thoroughness that prompted a groan from him. It was decadent, and unhurried, and left Hermione buzzing with hot, electric pleasure.
When she finally pulled away for a moment, she saw a tent had been erected beneath the blankets. She snickered and snuck her hand down under them, skimming over Malfoy's abdomen and under the waistband of his boxer shorts, curling around his cock, which stuck up insistently. It was hot, and very hard, the skin silky soft and moving easily in her grip as she slid her hand lazily up and down. He shut his eyes. "Oh." It was a small, soft sound, nearly an exhalation, and he pushed his hips up a little. But his shorts were in the way, and Hermione drew her hand away, flipping the blankets down and moving to free his cock, but he stopped her.
He shook his head, taking her wrist gently and removing her hand. "Not if I can't return the favour."
"I don't mind –" Hermione began.
"Mm, any sentence regarding sex that starts with 'I don't mind' is a 'no' to me, Granger," Malfoy said regretfully, releasing her wrist and pulling the blanket back up. "Especially considering I'm here because you had a nightmare, not on a date. Besides, I really am tired, and slightly pissed." He sighed. "I shouldn't have kissed you. But, well, pissed, as I said." Hermione smiled at his rueful tone, nestling down against him. "I'm just as happy to go to sleep," he finished. "Honestly." And he did fall asleep, only shortly after that. Sprawled peacefully on the pillows next to her, snoring faintly, and Hermione watched him for a while, basking in the sense of safety his presence brought her until finally sleep dragged her down too.