A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows after last chapter! Huge thank you to lanamarymack for alpha/beta reading this chapter and giving me so much encouragement :) You can find me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) for updates and sneak peeks!
Please let me know what you thought of chapter thirty-six and be on the lookout for chapter thirty-seven soon!
Looking over her appearance in the mirror in her bedroom at Grimmauld Place, Hermione found it hard to believe that she was spending a second Yule away from her friends and family. Well, maybe just with different friends and family. She wondered what her real parents were doing — did they think that she was dead and gone? She wondered what Harry and the Weasleys were doing — were they all tucked away safely at the Burrow or maybe even Grimmauld Place as they'd done the last Yule she'd been with them? Or had she managed to change things so dramatically that Grimmauld Place wasn't even needed as a safe house?
Above anything else she hoped that it was the latter.
Shaking herself from pondering, Hermione decided not to dwell on those sorts of questions. If she was lucky, she would learn their fates... in less than twenty years. She'd have her own family by then and things would be different, but things would be better.
Walburga had given her a little more latitude to dress herself that evening and she hoped that she was making the right choice. When she'd seen the new green velvet dress robes hanging in her wardrobe, she hadn't been able to resist the soft fabric. Then, slipping into them and realizing just how daring they seemed, she almost decided to change. Mother wouldn't have included this as an option if it wasn't suitable to wear, right?
Downstairs, people were already at the Black family's Yule celebration, drinking some of that damned punch again, which Hermione would avoid at all costs. A part of her wished that she could hide up in her room all evening to avoid the possibility of embarrassing herself as she'd done the year before, but Mother promised that no one knew what happened and Rosier would never even hint at what his son had done, so she shouldn't worry.
But, she knew that she couldn't, especially not when she heard Regulus's voice shouting at her up the stairway. "Help me outside, would you, Hermione?" he asked. "Kreacher is driving himself crazy and he hasn't been able to exchant the lights in the back garden yet."
Sighing, Hermione slipped into sophisticated heels and carefully walked down the stairs before slipping outside into the cold air of the night. Of course, she did not see any sight of her brother. "Regulus?" she asked, rubbing her hands up her arms to stave off the chill. Rolling her eyes, she wondered if he'd asked her to do this cold work just because he didn't want to do it himself.
Suddenly, Hermione felt the silky caress of a warming charm sliding down her body, wrapping her in its warm embrace and she quickly whirled around to see who cast it. She did nothing to hide her smile when she saw Rabastan joining her out in the garden.
"Rabastan!" she called, walking over to him to pull him into a tight hug — the first time she'd initiated such contact, but she was too excited to see him to care. "I didn't think that you'd be able to come."
Unfortunately for her betrothed, his case of dragon pox ended up being more complicated than Madame Pomfrey had expected. She stopped by every day to bring him his notes, until she showed up one afternoon and he wasn't there. It appeared that his father had grown frustrated with his lack of improvement and brought him home to be seen by their private healer.
Rabastan didn't hesitate to return the embrace, pressing his nose to the top of her head, relaxing as he breathed in. "My mother didn't think it was a good idea for me to attend, but I convinced her that it was fine," he explained.
"How are you doing? Maybe you should sit, if you aren't well," she suggested, pulling back so that she could look him over.
"I've been given a clean bill of health, though I have a new scar on my side where I scratched a bit too much," he said with a mischievous look. "Though, if you are going to fawn over me, maybe I should sit down."
Hermione flushed. "Oh, I'm sure that you've had entirely enough fawning, if you can joke about it," she said, lightly tapping him against the chest. Though, she did guide him over to the little bench so they could sit and talk together.
"Madame Pomfrey said that you visited a lot," he said, his own cheeks going a bit pink. "I am sorry, I don't remember much — I hope that I didn't say anything too embarrassing."
She was glad that he didn't remember the conversation that they had and shook her head. "No, nothing at all," she reassured him. "You were very exhausted and feverish mostly. You had me quite worried about you, to be honest."
A half-smile appeared on his face and his chest puffed up a bit. "Oh, worried about me, were you?" he teased.
"Yes! It was horrible to see you like that," she whispered, grabbing his hand in her own — needing to know that he was really there. "I am glad that you are better now."
"Same, if I never have to see oatmeal again, I'll be a happy wizard," he said, his gaze captured by the sight of her smaller hand tucked away in his. "Thank you for your notes. They were very helpful."
"I'd hate for you to fall behind too much. Especially during a NEWT year. What will you do for the mid-year exams?" she asked, seeing as he'd left the castle before then and hadn't returned.
"Most of the professors were pretty understanding and I was able to get away with long essays for each of them. Slughorn is still making me come in early next term to make a potion for him, but I've passed everything else so far," he explained.
"We made polyjuice potion during our practical," Hermione said, hoping to give him a bit of heads up, even though she knew it was a bit unethical to give him advance warning. But, if anyone deserved to have the rules bent a smidge, it was Rabastan. It was almost comical how easy it was for her to brew that potion at this point.
"I'm sure he will have something else for me to make," he said, dolefully. "Veritaserum, perhaps."
Hermione hummed in agreement, thinking that it would be wise for their professor to do something like that, but before she could think on it much more, she became aware of a new bloom of mistletoe appearing over their heads. She dipped her head, feeling her cheeks get hot at the implication.
"What—oh," Rabastan said, noticing it as well. He gave her a soft smile and pressed his hand to her cheek. "Should we?"
She cleared her throat, feeling her heart hammering away against her rib cage and stood up abruptly. "We don't have to, just because of a plant," she stammered out, wanting to put some distance between the two of them.
Rabstan stood up and reached for her hand, pulling her back around to face him. He looked concerned, his eyes roved back and forth across her face, hoping to find — what exactly, she wasn't sure. But after half a beat of silence, he let out a sigh. "This isn't right," he said with a shake of his head. "I won't... I'll tell my father that maybe Rodolphus is better suited—"
"No, don't!" she cut him off excitedly. "I don't want Rodolphus."
"Then why do you keep pulling away from me?" he asked, sounding hurt and confused. "Is the... the idea of being with me really so horrible that you pull away every time?"
Hermione took a deep breath. "No, I'm just worried because... because I can see myself enjoying being with you too much," she blurted out, knowing that she needed to be honest with him finally.
Rabastan chuckled, his breath visible in the night air. "That doesn't sound like some horrid fate, Hermione," he chided her. "We are supposed to enjoy being with one another."
"Yes, but... I just don't want to be disappointed or to ruin anything," she whispered.
"You think that I will disappoint you?" he asked, a pensive look on his face.
A memory flashed through her mind of the Rabastan Lestrange she'd once seen in the Department of Mysteries, ragged and thin and freshly escaped from Azkaban. That worry that he would still become that wizard festered. That he would still become a Death Eater for some unforeseen reason and grow to resent the witch that he'd been forced to marry — muggle raised and born of squibs. That he would no longer want her. She didn't think that she could live like that.
"I don't want to get hurt," she said, looking him square in the eyes.
"I can't promise that I won't disappoint you, Hermione," he admitted. "I'm not a perfect wizard and I am sure that I will make mistakes along the way, but I will do everything I can to make it right. If there is one person in this world that I seek to keep happy, it's you."
"It is?" she squeaked, unable to believe that he was really saying this to her now, out loud.
"Of course. I've been falling over myself for over a year now, trying to keep your attention, trying to get you to see me," he admitted. "Then, this summer, I thought that you would marry my brother and, even though I hated it, I would have stood by and watched if it was what you wanted. But, I couldn't believe my luck to hear that you would rather marry me. What luck to have you fall right into my lap."
He tugged on her hand, pulling her towards him. Hermione stumbled a bit, unused to the high heels and braced her hands in Rabastan's robes. She looked up at him, his gaze heavy on her. Salazar, had Rabastan always been so tall, she wondered? "Luck?" she repeated, feeling rather simple.
"Yes, because I've been utterly entranced by you, Hermione Black, since before the betrothal," he said, a lopsided grin on his face when he saw how stunned she looked. "And, if you do not mind, I would like to kiss you now, if only to show you that your worries and fears are for nothing."
She didn't say anything or push him away. Instead, she let her eyelids flutter closed, lips parting in anticipation of the connection. It felt as though a thousand butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach and she realized that she really wanted him to kiss her. To finally give in to the feelings that had been simmering inside her for so many weeks now.
It took only a moment before she felt Rabastan's lips on hers, tentative and soft and chaste. He pulled back for a moment, perhaps giving her the opportunity to bolt if she wanted to. But, she didn't want to. She wanted to be right here, with him. The second time he pressed his lips to her mouth, he was more certain of himself, more possessive. It felt as though they fit each other perfectly and Hermione moaned unexpectedly at the feeling. That seemed to be the only incentive that Rabastan needed to deepen the kiss, his tongue finding the seam of her lips before teasing inside.
Wanting to be closer to him, Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up on her tiptoes so that she could press fully against him. She could feel the warmth of his hand seeping into the skin of her lower back through the softness of her dress, while his other tangled in her hair, holding her just how he wanted her.
Rabastan felt assured, like he was more certain of this kiss than anything else in his life. Hermione felt herself melting, lust pinging through her veins until every part of her felt molten and soft. She found herself never wanting the moment to end, as his tongue slipped against hers in a lazy pirouette. But, he pulled back eventually, the hand on her back slipping up to the curve of his waist.
"Fuck, you look so beautiful, Hermione," he told her, staring down at her like she looked good enough to eat. "I can't believe that you are mine."
Her heart stuttered and skipped at the pronouncement and this time it was her who pressed her lips to his. Rabastan groaned, the sound vibrating in his chest and into her own body. Salazar, why had she waited so long to do this in the first place?
Before she could get too carried away, though, she heard a throat clearing and pulled away, feeling like a live wire, feeling uneasy at being caught. She whirled around and saw that Regulus was standing at the back door, with a hand pressed over his eyes.
"Um, Hermione, father is wondering where you are," he said, sounding halfway regretful and halfway repulsed. "You might want to wrap things up before he decides to come looking for you."
"O-okay," she said, biting her lower lip. "I'll just be a minute."
Desperately, her fingers combed through her hair, hoping that she looked halfway presentable. Rabastan kept his hand, heavy on her hip, unwilling to give up touching her after what they had done. She cleared her throat.
"We should probably go back inside," she said, wistfully.
Rabastan was not on the same page. He cupped her face gently in his hands, his thumb tracing her kiss-bruised lower lip. "Just one more before we go?" he asked, looking at her with hopeful eyes.
Hermione whined, already putty in his hands, and submitted to one more kiss — one more lingering kiss that could have easily devolved into twenty more if she would have let him. But, she couldn't think of anything more mortifying than her father catching her snogging Rabastan in their back garden, and she eventually broke away, looking penitent.
With a sigh, he finally gave in and guided her out of the seclusion of the garden and back into the bustle of the townhouse, where all the revelers were none the wiser at the shift that had just taken place.