Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Kill Shot	By : Lizski Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 12741 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don’t own the world of Harry Potter, or the characters – I just borrow them on occasion. I’m most definitely not making any money off this.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
Chapter Thirteen
The London Wizarding Opera House was located in an abandoned warehouse just off the Thames. An extremely dilapidated outward appearance and a sturdy chain-link fence kept curious Muggles from entering the building, while the wizarding world accessed the building through any of several large Apparition Points.
Hermione and Severus arrived together, and before she could completely adjust to the brightly-lit baroque entrance hall crowded with wizards and witches, she heard her name in the deep baritone of the Minister. “Hermione!” The wizard clasped her hand while she was still looking around for the source of the cry. He flashed her a brilliant smile. “It’s so good to see you out and about. You’ll be joining us in the Ministry box, of course,” he said enthusiastically.
“Yes, Minister,” came the reply from a glowering Severus.
“Oh! Of course! Severus, ah,” the usually unflappable Minister of Magic was suddenly discomposed. “Uh, very good. We’ll see you there,” the wizard recovered and smiled at them both before disappearing into the crowd, leaving Hermione wondering if sitting in the Ministry’s box had been part of Severus’ plans.
“Hermione!” She heard her name again before either of them had been able to take a step. This time she saw the tall red-headed figure of Arthur Weasley striding toward them, an excited Molly Weasley at his side. “Oh Hermione, dear!” The young witch didn’t notice Severus’ deepening scowl as matriarch of the Weasley clan enveloped her in a deep hug. “It’s so lovely to see you! I was so worried when I read—“ a loud cough from her husband stopped her from revealing what it was that had the older witch so worried. Buying the Manor? Having Lucius released, or ‘cavorting’ with him at St. Mungo’s? “Dear, you must come to the Burrow for dinner. We’ve got so much catching up to do!” Molly continued, unfazed by the interruption. Then, stepping quickly backward while holding Hermione’s arm, she gushed, “That dress is perfect for you my dear! You look absolutely perfect!” The younger witch smiled her thanks, wondering briefly how much Molly would like the dress if she knew Lucius had purchased it for her.
After successfully extricating Hermione from the Weasleys’ grasp, Severus gripped Hermione’s elbow, trying to steer her through the crowds of people who waved and called out greetings as soon as they recognized the young witch.   They hadn’t made it more than a half-dozen steps before they were again accosted. “Hermione! It’s so good to see you!” A dark-haired wizard embraced Hermione, and then stepped back, obviously worried he had acted inappropriately.
“Neville! It is so good to see you!” Her face was suffused with joy, while Severus tried to stifle a groan.
“I, uh, I meant to come see you, I, uh,” he stammered, still visibly uncomfortable around Severus Snape. “I’ve been busy,” he finally stated, his arm reaching behind him to bring a noticeably pregnant Luna Lovegood to his side.
Hermione smiled broadly at the pair. “Congratulations!” She gave Luna a quick hug, ignoring Severus’ more obvious groan. “I would say you two have been busy,” she grinned, nodding at Luna’s belly.
“Neville’s got the perfect herbs for keeping the wrackspurts away—“ Luna beamed at her husband while Snape gave an undisguised snort of disgust.
Hermione shot Severus a withering glare, and he shifted his glance off into the crowd, hoping to spot someone he had to see. Failing to see anyone he could possibly want to greet, he simply said, “Hermione, I’d like to go see…” and let his voice trail off into the din of crowd so he didn’t have to give a name as he guided her away from the Longbottoms.
“We’ll owl you,” Neville shouted in farewell, as Hermione found herself propelled toward the stairs leading to the box seats.
Severus removed Hermione’s cloak from her shoulders and hung it on a hook in the back of the box before guiding her into her seat, and then sitting down next to her. He studied his program determinedly, trying to think of something to say.   Hermione shifted slightly, and his eyes were caught be the shimmer of light off her dress. Mentally he kicked himself; being debonair was much more difficult than concocting potions. “You look very nice, tonight,” he said. ‘Nice’? ‘Tonight’? Good job, Severus. You might as well have just told her that she looks just a tad less like a hag than she usually does. “Beautiful, in fact. And your dress is very striking.”
Hermione gave him a slightly enigmatic smile. “Thank you. You look quite dapper, yourself,” she smiled again.
“Erm, thank you. I don’t usually wear formal wear. Other than dinner at Lucius’, that is. Your home, of course.” Damn it, Severus. Just stop talking. You sound like a first-year.
“I wasn’t used to the tradition of dressing for dinner, but I’m finding that I rather like it. It’s fun to get out of daily clothes and dress in something more elegant. I think I would feel out of place if I were to eat dinner in the dining room at the Manor in jeans.”
Severus was still trying to come up with a response that would only subtly insult Lucius when Kingsley Shacklebolt entered the box, followed by several employees from the Ministry. Damn it. If anyone starts talking about cauldron weights, I will hex the perpetrator into next week.
Hermione stood up, followed quickly by a still-resentful Severus who seethed silently as the young witch shook hands as Kingsley introduced her to the other wizards. “Miss Granger, this is Mobius Diffle, undersecretary to the magistrate for the Importation of Magical Creatures,” she shook hands with the short stout man, who looked as though he would be nothing more than an appetizer for an angry Peruvian Vipertooth. “Horatio Pitt, Chief Navigator for inter-departmental memos,” Hermione greeted a tall, reedy man with darting eyes. Thinking back on the quantity of paper-airplanes flying through the Ministry on any given day, his twitchiness was understandable. “And Ameet Patel, manager of the live creatures section of the Apothecary Administration Organization.” She shook hands with the genial middle-aged Indian wizard, who bowed to her and gave a curt nod to Severus.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said to each in turn, and then took her seat again, noticing Severus’ scowl from the corner of her eye. The ministry employees began talking among themselves, and Hermione settled back into her seat, generally unaware of Severus’ growing frustration.
I look like a fool. I’ve brought Hermione to the Ministry Night at the Opera, not on a date. Listening to these numbskulls talking about fire slugs doesn’t make for a romantic setting. I’ve got to figure out a way to get her out of her. He thumbed through the program again, trying to come up with an excuse for leaving the opera early.
Severus hadn’t come upon a brilliant idea when the lights when down and the curtain rose. At least the dolts from the Ministry have shut up about flobberworms. He glanced over at Hermione who was watching the stage raptly. As the storm raged on stage, he went back to contemplating how he could arrange an artful and early exit from the opera. He’d figure out where they’d go once he could figure out how to extricate her from the Ministry’s box.
Hermione sat stiffly in her chair, Severus’ tension radiating off him in waves. Really? Why did he bring me to the opera if it is something he obviously detests? To impress me? She paused for a moment, thinking. Or to impress Lucius? And if so, am I just a pawn in Severus’ game, whatever that maybe, with Lucius? Holding back a sigh she tried to focus on the drama unfolding on the stage.   Maybe Wagner is appropriate after all. She shifted in her seat; the special effects on stage were spectacular -- especially for someone who had seen a Muggle production of the show – and yet the performance was only mediocre. Is it wrong of me to want to be home right now, lounging on the couch and listening to the continuation of ‘The Silk Vendetta’ with Lucius? She suddenly remembered Severus’ was a skilled legilimens, and pushed any thoughts of the library at the Manor out of her head.
Severus observed Hermione out the of the corner of his eye – a technique he had first used when he was with the Death Eaters, and which later came in very handy when teaching unruly students.   Hermione’s body was almost rigid. Was she focused on the opera, or was it something else?   The opera really wasn’t conducive to friendly banter. And yet Lucius would have found a way to murmur a few words that would have made her smile in appreciation. Damn it. What would Lucius have said? Maybe a potions conference would have been more appropriate. Thinking quickly back to The Wizard’s Notes for Wagner, which he had studied only this morning, he finally whispered, “Hunding is portrayed as a bit arrogant for my taste.”
Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. Hunding was supposed to be arrogant and unlikeable.   “I can’t help but feel sorry for both Hunding and Siegmund,” she whispered back. “They’re both ultimately pawns of Wotan, after all.”
Severus grunted, and then was silent. Hermione considered her former Potions teacher while Siegmund and Sieglinde professed their undying – and incestuous – love for each other.   As much it was not a little uncomfortable and definitely strange for her to be on a date with Severus, it had to be at least as uncomfortable for him. Severus had never been charged as a Death Eater, but he certainly wasn’t welcomed with shouts of greeting from friends and excited whispers from onlookers. In fact, it seemed as though many people treated him as though he were a slightly unstable form of Pepperup Potion. Even the wizards from the Ministry didn’t seem all that pleased to see him in the box. Maybe there’s a way to end this evening before it becomes more awkward.
Their reprieve was mercifully quick; at the end of the first act, Kingsley Shacklebolt shook hands with several of the Ministry department heads and then turned to Hermione and Severus. “If you will excuse us, I think I am going to make this an early evening. I’m feeling a little under the weather,” his voice trailed off and the Minister smiled apologetically. The other members of the Ministry murmured sympathetically.
“I hope you feel better, Kingsley. And thank you for letting us share your box this evening. This has been quite enjoyable,” Hermione replied, forcing her enthusiasm only slightly.
Severus shook hands with Kingsley and then the couple left. Severus stood woodenly for a moment, watching the departing figure. “Hermione,” he ventured, “do you want to stay for the rest of the performance, or, would you – ah, do you want to stay?”
Hermione looked at the man she had once feared, then thought she loved, and now realized she didn’t really know. His desire to leave the opera was palpable and she could already feel the tension lifting. “We can go if you’d like.” She paused briefly, noting the relief washing over his features. “But you have to tell me why you invited me to the opera when you clearly don’t enjoy it.”
Noticing the wizards in the box paying closer attention to their conversation, Severus stepped closer and spoke in a low voice that suddenly returned Hermione to her school-girl fantasies. “I’d love to tell you, but I don’t think this is the place. Perhaps we can go someplace else.” She nodded, and he retrieved her cloak before escorting her out of the box, the tightness in his chest dissipating.
“Where would you like to go?” Severus asked as they made their way to one of the Apparition Points, hoping she would come up with a suggestion so he wouldn’t be forced to compound his errors for the evening.
“How about something to eat?”
He nodded as though he had been thinking along the same lines. “I don’t think there will be any wizarding restaurants open until later. It’s still pretty early,” his voice trailed off.
“Maybe somewhere in the Muggle West End? Plenty of places are open for the before-theater crowd, and our clothes won’t be out of place.”
“A Muggle restaurant?” he asked dubiously.
“We’re bound to find something open and we’ll be anonymous,” she replied, thinking back to his seeming desire to avoid the conversations in the entrance hall of the opera.
“Very well. I’ll leave the directions to you. Shall we?” He took her arm and drew her close before they disapparated.
It was raining hard in the theater district of London, and Severus quickly pulled Hermione into the nearest restaurant he saw. Hermione glanced around the place and picked a small table near the back of the dining room. Severus pulled out her chair for her before seating himself and taking in his surroundings. He was pleasantly surprised with the dark wood paneling and dimly-lit atmosphere. He also liked the fact the restaurant was quite empty. A waitress appeared and handed them menus. “Catching a late show?” she asked conversationally.
“Yes,” Hermione replied, trying to remember what might still be playing in London. “Phantom of the Opera.”
“Oooh,” the waitress cooed. “Raoul is dead sexy! I’d watch him perform anything,” she grinned before remembering her job. “Drinks to start?”
“Yes, please. I’ll just have a glass of the house white, I think.”
Looking a little puzzled, Severus ordered what he knew, “Brandy, please.”
The waitress left them. “What did you order?” the dark-haired wizard asked, partly curious and partly as a way to start a conversation.
“Just a glass of wine,” she replied absently, fixating on the prices on the menu. Crap. This place is expensive. Of course, it is the West End.
“Hermione?” Severus’ voice broke into her thoughts.
“Uh. Yeah. Sorry. It’s just been a long time since I’ve been in a restaurant – a Muggle restaurant, that is,” she amended, hoping to hide her dismay at the prices.
“Anything wrong?” he asked, confused at her distraction.
“No. It’s fine.” She closed the menu emphatically, fervently hoping her Gringotts-issued credit card was still good, even though her vault was almost empty. “So, why did you invite me to the opera if you don’t enjoy it?”
The waitress returned with their drinks before Severus could answer. “Do you need a little longer with the menu, or are you ready to order?” Severus looked blankly at Hermione.
“Let’s go with the hors d’oeuvre sampler,” she replied calmly.
When the waitress was out of earshot, Hermione asked again, “Why the opera if you don’t like opera?”
The dark-haired wizard took a swallow of his brandy. Contemplating his answer. Honesty or vulnerability? Vulnerability. Definitely. “I don’t get out very much.” He paused, hoping Hermione would say something, but she didn’t. “I, ah, haven’t been out with someone for anything other than business needs in a very long time. I wasn’t sure what would be an appropriate outing. When the Minister mentioned the opera, I thought it might be more appealing, than, well, anything else I could come up with.” And it seemed like something Lucius would do, if he could. Which he can’t. And I wanted to remind you if you are with Lucius you are doomed to that mausoleum of a manor, while I can take you anywhere. “I just didn’t realize it was going to be a Ministry outing. I need to do more research in the future.” He smiled in a way he hoped would be captivating.
Hermione was captivated, although not in the way Severus was hoping for. Really? You expect me to believe that cock-and-bull story? That you don’t date much, I can believe. That you thought the opera would be appealing? Come up with a better story, Severus. “Well, for future reference, I enjoy Wagner but only in small doses, such as on the wireless, so I can turn it off or turn it down when I’ve had enough.”
Severus’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “’Future reference’? Does that mean we have a future?” he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
Hermione wanted to kick herself for insinuating any possibly hint of a suggestion that she and her former Potions master had a ‘future’. “Well, unless you are rescinding your offer to mentor me in potions, I assume we will have future dealings.”
The wizard picked up his brandy quickly and took a healthy swallow, glowering into his glass. Hermione had been interested in me. Why is she falling all over Lucius and being so uptight with me? “Of course I haven’t rescinded that offer. In fact, I think we should arrange a time for our first meeting—.” He was interrupted by the waitress who had returned with a large platter of finger-foods. He waited until the woman was out of earshot, all the while, silently berating himself. Fool. Conversation around a cauldron will be so much easier than at an opera. I’ll be in my element. And there’s always the opportunity for the brushing of hands, accidental touches, and physical tensions that have to be postponed and prolonged because potions brew on their own schedule. Yes. Potions is the answer.
Hermione nodded as she delicately selected a tempura shrimp. She felt a sudden wave of sympathy for Severus; she had likely been a little hard on him. “I haven’t looked at the potions facilities in the Manor, so I have no idea what I’ve got there, or what I will need.” She took a bite of the shrimp, chewing slowly. “However, I don’t think I’m in a position to restock a potions laboratory right now, so we may have to work with the theoretical for a while.”
Severus chose a bite-sized crab cake before continuing. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m sure between the non-perishables and my own personal storerooms, we shouldn’t have any issue in making the laboratory fully-functioning in no time.” He gave her a small but sincere smile.
“Thank you, I appreciate that. Maybe we could look over lab in the Manor sometime this week,” she suggested, her voice rising at the end, in a subtle question. Getting back to work in potions would be a welcome mental challenge.
A bit surprised, Severus nodded before answering. “I’d like that. Perhaps the day after tomorrow?”
Hermione nodded as she selected another item off the platter. “That should be fine. I think we’re going to go see Draco tomorrow or the day after, but that’s not usually an all-day event. Just owl me.” She didn’t notice the dark look that crossed the wizard’s face at her casual use of ‘we’.
The conversation died, and they both focused on demolishing the hors d’oeuvres platter. Noticing the lack of conversation between the couple, the waitress approached. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” She made a point of looking at her wristwatch. “You’ve got a little more time before the next show,” she added with an encouraging smile.
Even if they had been deeply involved in a captivating conversation, Hermione was all too aware of the prices on the menu, and knew the only thing she could ask for at this point was the check. Politely, the waitress nodded and left.
“I don’t, ah, have any Muggle money,” Severus said quietly. “I hope that’s not a problem.”
Of course you don’t, she thought uncharitably. But I was the one who suggested a Muggle restaurant, so I guess I can’t be too upset. “No problem. I always carry a credit card with me for emergencies just like this.” Hermione went to her cloak and retrieved a slim wallet. When the waitress returned, she removed a gold-colored card and slipped it into the padded bill folder she was handed.
Severus watched silently. Clearly this ‘credit card’ was some sort of letter of credit. Although the brilliant flash he saw on the card suggested it was from Gringotts. Maybe it was something that converted wizarding money to Muggle money. He made a mental note to ask Hermione about it later. He wasn’t particularly comfortable with the Muggle world, but he made an immediate decision to learn more about Muggle practices; not only would it give him additional conversational topics with Hermione, but he was certain Lucius wouldn’t show the slightest interest in anything Muggle. I can only look better in comparison, he thought smugly.
They both donned their cloaks and ventured back out into the relentless London rain. Ducking down a side alley, they walked until they were certain they were out of sight of any curious Muggles before apparating back to the front steps of the Manor.
Severus held Hermione’s hand, not wanting the evening to end. True, he had botched it from start to finish, but now that it was drawing to a close, he didn’t want her to go back into the Manor. And he didn’t want her to go back to Lucius. “Hermione. I’m really sorry about the opera. Can we try again?”
Crap. Don’t make me commit to anything tonight. Let me get over this fiasco, first. “Owl me about the potions lab, okay?” She stood up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek and stepped back before he could react. “Good night Severus,” she added as she headed toward the main entrance of the Manor. She didn’t see Severus reach his hand to his cheek, savoring the feel of her lips on his skin.
***
“You’re home early,” Lucius commented, coming down the stairs from the library to meet her in the entrance hall.
Hermione looked up at him, taking in his crisp ivory shirt, black wool pants and black vest that accented his loose blond hair so nicely. “My mother always said if you came home early from a date, the date was either very good or very bad,” she replied, and then immediately blushed at the implication.
The wizard raised his eyebrows, the hint of a smile on his lips. “So, which was it? Very good or very bad?” He stepped forward and took her cloak from her, guiding across the entrance hall.
“’Good’ is not a word that could remotely describe the evening.” Seeing his still puzzled look, she smiled as she walked into the drawing room. “It was awful.” Not noticing the brief flash of relief on Lucius’ face, she continued. “Severus clearly doesn’t like Wagner, nor, apparently does he like being out in public, and he definitely didn’t like me being greeted by people I haven’t seen in months. And since we left after the first act, he didn’t have any idea what to do, so we went to some trendy overpriced Muggle restaurant in the theater district. He didn’t have any Muggle money, and I didn’t have much, so we had a drink, some hors d’oeuvres and left. And thus the evening ended.” She accepted the glass of scotch he handed her and sat down in one of the chairs facing a blazing fire. “Thanks,” she smiled again, happy to be home again.
“Sounds like an enchanted evening,” Lucius replied blandly.
“I haven’t been on a lot of dates in my life, but I can safely say this one was in the bottom five.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. As much as the night was a disaster, she didn’t want to fuel the obvious rivalry between the two wizards. She had to change the subject, so she sipped the scotch while racking her brain with something to say that had nothing to do with her evening with Severus. She savored the scotch and gave an appreciative sigh before looking again at Lucius while holding up her glass. “This is different from what we’ve had. Much richer and smokier. It’s fantastic.”
Lucius smiled at her obvious enjoyment and made no notice of her change of subject. “When I came of age my first major purchase was a distillery in Islay. They don’t sell anything that has been aged less than 20 years, and this particular bottle is one of a case I have from the first cask opened and bottled after I bought the place. I get several cases each year and they are stored in the back of the wine cellar. I don’t open a bottle often, although Dobby was able to find this particular year quite easily. I never realized how impressively efficient he is.”
Hermione smiled at the last comment; it had only taken Lucius 40-some-odd years to realize Dobby’s value, but better late than never.
They both sat in contemplative silence as they finished their drinks, then Lucius suddenly spoke. “May I show you something? If you aren’t too tired, that is?”
She put her empty glass down on the table by her chair. “Sure,” she replied curiously.
He took her hand and led her out of the drawing room and down the entrance hall to two large wooden doors. Hermione glanced at Lucius; she had opened these doors only once before and knew they led to a large ballroom. Lucius offered her his arm as the doors swung open with silent ease. Hermione gasped as she entered the room; candles blazed from every horizontal surface, and two large chandeliers lit the room, all reflected in the floor to ceiling windows that comprised two of the room’s four walls.
“Wh-what is this?”
“I am sorry that your date this evening did not go as planned, but I was hoping I might make sure your evening ended on a more positive note. Would you might honor me with a dance?”
No matter how long I live in the wizarding world, I will never cease to be amazed at sights like this, or that it can all be created with the wave of a wand.
“Uh. Certainly.”
Lucius smiled and took her hand, his other hand resting lightly on her hip. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and first notes of a Viennese waltz were played by an unseen orchestra.   They glided across the ballroom, neither speaking, but both covertly studying the other.
He’s so damnedly, breath-takingly handsome. It really should be a crime. And yet he is so comfortable in his own skin. She glanced around the room, her eyes catching the dazzling reflections in the windows. This is his birthright, and yet he still appreciates it. What a far cry from Severus, who doesn’t seem to be comfortable anywhere. She glanced back up at Lucius and caught him gazing at her.
Instead of looking away, or blushing, he smiled. Hermione. I never knew a woman like you existed. So beautiful, so brilliant, so confident. I don’t deserve you, but if there was anything I could do to make myself a worthy companion, I would do it for you. You are a blazing fire in a future I expected to be filled with nothing but darkness and cold.
“Why did you do it?” she asked suddenly, holding his gaze, and he knew she wasn’t asking about the ballroom.
“I knew Draco hadn’t taken the Mark, but I feared the longer the battle went on, the greater the likelihood was that he would. In the Glen, when it became clear Potter – and the rest of you were there - I was struck with a sudden fear that the Dark Lord would be victorious, and Draco would be caught and killed as a deserter. I couldn’t let that happen. And I couldn’t let the world be ruled by that thing, not even human any more. I just couldn’t let it happen. When it seemed as though Harry was in range, I fired the killing curse at point-blank range. Voldemort was dead before he hit the ground.” He spoke matter-of-factly, as they continued the steps of the waltz.
“The prophecy?” she asked, although she hadn’t put much stock in it.
“Who knows? Maybe there was some truth to it, as Potter was given the credit and the glory. But I never thought it meant that Potter himself had to kill the Dark Lord. And I just happened to be closest at the time. It doesn’t matter either way. The Ministry likes neat endings, and a sworn Death Eater killing the Dark Lord definitely did not fit into their happy ending.”
“But why go to Azkaban?”
“I didn’t have a choice. The Ministry wouldn’t have believed me – they wouldn’t have wanted to. And I thought Draco was safe. I was willing to give up my life – especially what it had become – for him. I didn’t think anything would happen to him. And I didn’t think there was any hope for me.”
“No hope for you?”
“I won’t catalogue for you all the things I did while serving Voldemort, but I will say that I believed myself damned and a lifetime in Azkaban was likely the least I deserved.” He paused, pulling her closer to him as they danced. “And then you came along. You saw to Draco’s care, although you had no reason to, other than compassion for a fellow human being. You came to me, and in spite of all of my attempts to push you away, you secured my release and brought me back to my home. Even if it’s not mine anymore, it is far more than I ever could have hoped for. And yet you did more. You became my friend. I’ve never had a true friend before. I’ve had people who have wanted things from me, and I’ve had people who have done things for me because they were scared of the consequences if they didn’t. I’ve associated with people who were bound to me, and me to them by heinous acts we had in common. But you ignored all of that and treated me as a guest and a friend. You know the story of Doctor Faustus? I had sold my soul to the devil, but unlike Marlowe’s version of the story, I am Goethe’s Faust – redeemed by the love of a good woman. You are my Gretchen. I don’t know if you love me, Hermione, but I love you. I had never loved anyone other than myself before I met you, and yet I want to lay my soul bare for you. I want to make up for everything I have ever done before now. I want to make you smile, I want to make you happy, and yes, I want to love you. I don’t know if you can love me, or if you would love me, but if there is any possibility, let us try.”
He tilted his head toward her and his lips found hers. They kissed gently, slowly exploring each other physically and emotionally. Lucius drew her closer, the kiss intensifying.
Abruptly, Hermione pulled back, breathless. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. You are a paroled prisoner and I am your guardian. I – we – can’t do this. It wouldn’t be right. I can’t. Not when I am responsible for you. It would be a breach of the ethical fabric that connects each person to every other person. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and left the ballroom carried out by the maelstrom of emotions engulfing her.
Lucius watched her leave. Damn it. Damn. It. And damn it because I understand her. Her driving sense of honor – the same sense of honor that had her pursue my release from Azkaban - is the same sense of honor that prevents her from getting involved with me unless we are on a level playing field. I want her, and I want to make her happy. And yet the only way I can hope to make her happy is to be free from my parole, and be a free citizen of the world again. Which means I only have one choice. But what will that choice cost me? What will it cost her? Will I free myself only to be banished to an estate where I’m completely alone? Or is it better to have the small part of her that she’ll allow me? Who knew one good deed could cause so much trouble? He sighed and headed to library, where he glanced briefly at the desk before heading to the sideboard and pouring himself a very large brandy.
***
He loves me? I’m his Gretchen? She giggled at the thought. It’s actually a very poetic reference. I can’t imagine Severus ever calling me ‘his Gretchen.’ She stopped at that thought. Damn it. I cannot go around comparing the two of them. I like Lucius. A lot. And I definitely have feelings for him. And I think he cares about me. But he’s my responsibility. And Severus. Well. Severus. I get so many mixed signals from him I can’t tell what his true feelings are. She tossed and turned for over an hour before she finally gave in and took a Sleeping Draught.
She woke up refreshed the next morning, but the deluge outside wasn’t conducive to a run, so she decided to practice some yoga to help sort her thoughts.
An hour later as she headed into her shower, she had decided they should go see Draco, and she’d pen a note to Severus to find out when he’d like to come by to help her sort through the potions laboratory. When she stepped out of the shower, she was still debating whether to hide in her private study off her bedroom, or if she should go up to the library. What do you say to someone who has told you he loves you, and yet you haven’t returned the sentiment? Or even know if you really do return the sentiment? Maybe I’ll just see if he wants to see Draco, and hopefully avoid any discussion about last night.
***
Lucius looked up from The Daily Prophet as Hermione came in. Gods, Hermione. I want you. But I’m scared I’ll lose you completely if I go to the Minister. I’d rather have some of you than none of you. He smiled at her. “Did you run from anything today?” He glanced at the windows where the rain was beating down steadily.
“No. I did some yoga instead – I didn’t relish the thought of being soaked to the skin within seconds of stepping outside.”
“Yoga?” He sounded surprised. “I didn’t realize you were a mystic, on top of your other accomplishments.”
Hermione studied him for a few moments before realizing he was serious. “Um. No.” She finally stammered. “I do it for exercise.” Although she now remembered reading somewhere that most of the great yogis were wizards. No surprise there, she thought. “No magic or mysticism when I do it.” She paused. “Do you want to see Draco today?”
“Absolutely. Is there anything I can do? Is there anything you need? Or anything Draco needs?” He knew he was babbling, but after last night’s mishap, he was happy she wanted to do anything with him.
“No thanks. I think Dobby’s got everything covered. Can you be ready in a half hour?”
The blond wizard dropped the paper to the side table and stood up, “Definitely. I’ll meet you in the entrance hall then.” Hermione smiled as she watched him walk from the library. He wasn’t relying on his cane much anymore – maybe his swimming was strengthening his leg. She continued to stare at the space he had occupied. Damn it. Why is life so complicated?
***
Hermione and Lucius met in the entrance hall 29 minutes later. She was dressed in dark blue robes with a dark grey cloak to keep out the rain, while Lucius was wearing black slacks, an ivory shirt, and a black and burgundy brocade vest Hermione had come to like. His black cloak with snake fastenings was settled comfortably on his shoulders and his cane was loose in his left hand. He nodded at Hermione and then saw the bundles beside her; a covered picnic basket and a cloth bag were on the floor by her feet.
“Can I carry anything for you?” he asked. When she nodded he picked up the surprisingly light picnic basket.
“Is there anything in this?” he asked curiously, lift up one corner of the covering flap.
She smiled. “Everything, actually. Whatever you want – you just reach in, and you’ll pull it out. House elf magic,” she added as he nodded wonderingly. “Shall we?” she asked, picking up the cloth bag with one hand and extending her other arm to him.
He took her arm, pulled her in close, and they disapparated.
When they reached the halls of St. Mungo’s Lucius was reluctant to let go of Hermione’s arm and yet it was difficult to manage the picnic basket, his cane and still hold her arm. He let go but stayed close to her, aware of the glares directed at him as they walked. Hermione seemed oblivious until an ancient witch pointed her wand at the ceiling and conjured a scarab beetle that settled on her hunched shoulder. Lucius scowled fiercely instinctively reached for his wand, housed in the head of his cane, only stopping when he had his wand partially withdrawn. Hermione saw his motion quickened her pace.
People continue to stare at them as they walked to Draco’s door, and Lucius’ scowl deepened. By the time they had reached Draco’s partially opened door, Lucius’ pleasant mood from the morning had evaporated.
“Hermione!” Draco gave Hermione a big hug before she had even had a chance to drop her bag or remove her cloak, but his enthusiasm brought a smile to the witch’s face. Lucius remained standing just inside the door, and it took a few moments for Draco to notice him. The young wizard became more solemn and glanced at the photographs on the wall before extended his hand to Lucius. “Hello, Father,” he said with a quietness that Hermione knew was the young wizard trying to recall the person he was greeting. Not having as much experience with his son, Lucius assumed the young man didn’t want to see him, and his lips remained pressed together as he shook his son’s hand.
“Draco,” Hermione said, noticing Lucius’ tension and Draco’s confusion at why ‘Father’ hadn’t greeted him warmly, like everyone else did. “We’ve got some lunch, and some presents for you. Which would you like first? Food or presents?”
The young wizard pondered the question for a few moments before deciding on food. Lucius set the picnic basket down on the table and retreated to Draco’s couch.   “Are you going to join us, Father?” Draco asked hopefully, and Hermione glanced at Lucius who was sitting sullenly on the couch.
What on earth is his problem? He was cheery this morning, and now he’s all pissy. Just because some old crone conjured a protection against evil when she saw him? He’s got to be used to that sort of response by now. At least he didn’t hex her. Then a thought struck her. Has he suddenly decided he’s upset with me not leaping into bed with him last night? If he truly loves me, like he professes – or has any shred of honor whatsoever – you’d think he would understand why I couldn’t be anything more than a friend while he is still under my guardianship.
At Hermione’s look, he stood up again. “Of course. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he replied, attempting to infuse his voice with a semblance of keenness.
Lucius seated himself at the table, although he found Draco’s continued astonishment at the magical picnic basket more grating than endearing. He ate mechanically, and only when Draco pressed him to “Try this, Father.” He knew Hermione was sending questioning looks his way, but he wasn’t in the mood to try to come up a facial expression which could convey “I wouldn’t mind the rest of the world treating me like a pariah if only you were with me and my son was whole,” and so he avoided meeting her eyes, and then felt bad about not communicating with her.
Deciding Lucius had slipped into a funk of unknown origin, Hermione focused all her attention on Draco, and once he got the hang of the picnic basket, he amused himself by retrieving (and then putting back) a whole cooked ham, a slightly squashed birthday cake, several whole pumpkins, a live lobster, a full rack of ribs, assorted raw vegetables and marzipan treats in the shapes of farm animals, which he insisted Hermione and Lucius try.
Lucius remained reticent and withdrawn throughout the visit, half-heartedly playing games and listening to Hermione and Draco read books together. Hermione had to force herself to not dwell on Lucius and put all her attention toward Draco. By mid-afternoon, Draco was ready for a nap and Lucius was visibly restless, so Hermione removed a cupcake from the picnic basket as a treat for Draco, put his books and games on the bookshelf, and gave Draco a warm hug goodbye. Lucius shook hands again with his son, but neither party seemed particularly interested in the other.
Carrying both the picnic basket and the empty bag, Hermione walked briskly through the thankfully empty halls of St. Mungo’s with Lucius trailing behind her. Out on the street, she took his arm and apparated home without another word. One back at the Manor, Hermione headed directly for her rooms and took a long bath before taking an even longer nap.
Lucius watched her walk toward her rooms before heading up the library. He knew he was in a bad mood, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He poured himself a large brandy and began to drink steadily.
Several hours later Hermione woke up and contemplated staying in her rooms for the evening. Lucius was likely drinking or sulking or both. On the other hand, if she stayed in her rooms he’d brood and she’d be no closer to finding out what was wrong with him. Besides, she told herself, if he’s still in a bad mood, I can always leave. I’m not anchored to the library. Or him. Satisfied, she changed into some jeans and a fleece pullover and went up to the library.
As she expected, Lucius was stretched out on the couch, a half-empty brandy snifter in his hands. He turned his head toward her when she came into view but didn’t say anything. She poured herself a scotch and took a handful of mixed nuts that had appeared on the center table. When he remained silent, she sighed inwardly. “Do you care to tell what’s bothering you, or would you rather continue to sulk?”
“Nothing’s bothering me,” he relied. Except my son is lost to me, the woman I love doesn’t want to be with me, and I’m doomed to be a prisoner for the rest of my life. I might as well be in Azkaban.
Hermione gritted her teeth in frustration for a moment before continuing. “If nothing’s bothering you, why have you said no more than two words all afternoon? Why did you ignore Draco? And,” she glanced at the sideboard, “why are you drinking brandy like it’s water?”
“I like brandy,” came the petulant reply. “And Draco was captivated by you. Also, I just don’t have anything to say. Nothing’s bothering me.”
Okay. This is fun. One more chance, and then I’m getting a book and burying myself in it. “If something is bothering you, and you ever feel like talking about it, I’m willing to listen.” The only response from the prone wizard on the couch was dead silence.
Hermione finished her drink and put the glass back on the sideboard before walking to the bookshelves holding the gothic romances. She picked one at random before turning to look at Lucius, who hadn’t moved other than to raise the brandy snifter to his lips. She gave a despairing shake of her head. “Have a good evening,” she finally called cheerily and left the library.
A/N: Poor Severus. He really hasn’t got a chance. (If he did, this would be in the Hermione/Severus category, and not the Hermione/Lucius category, now wouldn’t it?) Lucius, however, needs to act a bit less the spoiled child, and a bit more like a man trying to woo his lady love.   But it’s not easy being Lucius; his life has crumbled before him, his son doesn’t recognize him, his ancestral home is in the hand of a Muggle-born witch, and the aforementioned witch won’t sleep with him while he is still officially her ‘charge’. I think it’s time Lucius did something about his life, rather than just being a passive observer, don't you? BTW, not quite a year between updates - not bad, eh? Heheh. Actually, while I have this whole story mapped out, I finally came to a better conclusion (i.e. what happened to Draco, how Lucius will finally act like a spoiled brat, and how Severus will fit into the big picture). Now I just need to carve some time out to write, between my day job, my photography business (http://lizdranowphotography.com) and my home life! But I haven't given up on this - it WILL get finished.
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The Kill Shot