Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Amazing Grace	By : Kooldragon400 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 41309 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any recongizable characters, nor do I make any money off of this story.

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Well, folks, 500 hits and 6 reviews. I would just like to take this time to shamelessly beg for reviews. I love them. To those readers who don't normally review, I would say that it isn't hard. Even just a 'It was good. I enjoyed it.' Review is like Manna to us starving, unpaid Authors. :3

Anyhoo. This is a Her-my-no-nee chapter, so get ready for a surprise. There's also some Harrykins in this chapter as well. Enjoy.

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Hermione’s short heels clicked primly against the floor as she stalked back to the public Floo. Her little brush with Lucius Malfoy had set her heart pounding with adrenaline, ready for a fight that she hadn’t been able to indulge in. The sight of his great prat face had been enough to make her nearly foam with unspent magical energy.

She’d had a relatively smooth ride since the War had ended. Being a Heroine of light had its advantages, and she had her pick of any job she wanted. No one would ever understand why she chose to catalogue books in the Official Ministry Library. The job was unwanted and the post had been abandoned for decades, which was what drew Hermione to it.

The Library was relatively complete, only outmatched by private collections. Even Hogwarts wasn’t this big and complete, and she felt certain that she would have several years of work to do. She still wasn’t finished cataloging everything, but then again she’d been given permission to peruse as she worked, and sometimes she lost entire days buried in the pages of dusty history.

But that was not her only job. When she left the Ministry’s halls she returned to her flat, where she had voluntarily taken a job nearly four years ago.

As Harry had dueled Voldemort for the last time, he had been seriously injured. Voldemort, a skilled and deceitful duelist, had Apparated behind him and shattered his spine with a well placed hex. The aim had been lower than anticipated, however, and it had not damaged the use of Harry’s arms. He had twisted, in great agony, and used a judicious Sectumsempra that separated Voldemort's head from his shoulders.

From that moment on Harry's life had been bound to a wheelchair. The Healers had been able to heal some of the damage to his spine, but he couldn't stay on his feet for more than a few moments before great pain overtook him. The first three months after the Final Battle, Harry had sat himself in a corner and cried nearly all day, only moving when he had to go to the bathroom. Even that was depressing, because he had to have help getting there.

Ginny hadn't been able to handle the strain of his condition, and had bolted at the beginning of the fourth month. Hermione had stepped in, and invited Harry to move into her flat, which had no stairs and was equipped with an elevator for convenience. Harry had obliged her, and for the past four and a half years he had been not only a room mate, but her brother.

Though he had very little use of his legs, Harry was an amazing help in her flat. Because he had been injured doing a great service to the Wizarding World, he received a pension every week of a few thousand galleons. He didn't spend much, and so placed most of it in savings. He didn't need to work, so while he was at home he would clean and cook. Hermione tried to repay him, but he took offense whenever she tried and insisted that her continuing support was the only payment he'd ever needed.

And Hermione believed it. Harry had been so starved for attention during his childhood that anyone who showed him genuine interest and care was immediately one of his greatest allies. It was almost sad.

She shook these morbid thoughts from her mind as she stepped through the front door. She could smell Harry's favorite meal to cook, spaghetti with home made garlic toast, and her mouth began to water.

“That you, Mione?”

“Yes, Harry, Voldemort hasn't come back from the dead yet!” Hermione teased.

“Oh, that was so funny I should give you a standing ovation – oh wait!” came the reply. Hermione had found that Harry's best coping mechanism was laughter, and if he made light of his situation, he could deal with it better. She didn't particularly think that was healthy, but who was she to argue with him when he smiled so much?

“Are you being a sarcastic arse again, Harry Potter?” she called, walking into the kitchen in time to see Harry using his wand to tilt the boiling pot of spaghetti over the colander to drain it.

“Hermione Jane Granger, I am offended that you think I'm being sarcastic...” Harry said with mock offense. Hermione just laughed.

Harry had a sleek wheelchair that was a cross between the best Muggle money could buy, and the best Charms the Magical world could offer. It was lightweight, gleaming stainless steel, with leather padding under his bottom and a nicely padded lumbar support behind him. The handles for assistance were detachable, and harry almost never used those unless he was in the Muggle world, because another built in Charm allowed him to glide up and down stairs and hop over large steps. There was a cushioning Charm over the wheel so that he wouldn't hurt his hands, but even still Harry had taken to wearing fingerless leather gloves to protect his palms further. He also thought they made him look badass. He was right.

“I made the sauce from scratch tonight, Mione, and also washed the clothes. They'll be ready to fold if you want to do that.” he said absent-mindedly while he stirred the tomato sauce.

“Oh, Harry, you didn't have to do all that...” Hermione cooed, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind and kissing the top of his messy head.

“And you don't have to make sure I'm not stuck in St. Mungos in the Debilitating Spell Ward.” Harry replied, rolling to the oven and retrieving the garlic toast.

“You're my friend, Harry. Of course I do.” she whispered, her reply every time he said something like that.

“Not all friends are as good as you, Herms.” he said seriously, looking up with his impossible green stare.

“You're just saying that because your birthday is a few weeks away.” Hermione replied mistily. Harry snickered good-naturedly.

They made idle talk during dinner, and Harry told Hermione about a new procedure that some of the senior Mediwizards at St. Mungos were working on that might help him walk again.

“Oh Harry, that’s amazing. What does it do?” she asked, cutting her spaghetti into manageable forkfuls.

“Well, it would be incredibly time-consuming and very painful. Basically they’d go in and Vanish each vertebrae one at a time, and then use Skele-Grow to grow it back. Then the spine would have to heal, and they’d do it again until all of the damaged vertebrae were gone.” He said. Hermione’s eyebrows raised slightly.

“That would take a very long time, Harry. Nearly half your spine was damaged.” She said realistically. Harry suddenly found his plate very interesting, and pushed around a clump of noodles.

“I know, but it’s not like I’m a stranger to pain, or anything. And if it would make me able to walk again, you know I’d do about anything for that…” he said. Hermione gave him a small smile.

“Of course, Harry. If that’s what you want to do, then I’ll be happy for you, and if you need help, you know I’m your girl.” And this earned her one of his signature lopsided grins.

“I know, Mione, I know.”

When they were finished eating, both of them put away the leftovers for another day, and Harry popped popcorn while Hermione washed the dishes. Then they retired to the living room for a movie.

“So, are we feeling 'X-Men' or 'A Walk to Remember?'” Hermione asked, before giving her friend a puppy-eyed stare, making her feelings clear about which movie she preferred. Harry groaned.

“Fine. Chick flick it is.” he conceded. Besides, he'd picked the last one, and he was sure Hermione hadn't appreciated nearly two hours of sex and blood.

An hour later Harry was nearly catatonic with boredom and Hermione was sniffling suspiciously.

This is bloody depressing...Harry thought to himself, trying to stay awake. Chick flicks suck.

At the end, Hermione grabbed a tissue from her stash on the corner table, and dried her eyes.

“What a beautiful story...” she sighed. Harry gave a sleepy grunt, which earned him a pillow to the face. “You great arse! I watched that glorified porno with you with nary a complaint, and you go and fall asleep?” she groused. Harry jerked awake when the pillow hit him, and gave a cheeky grin.

“Sorry, romance puts me to sleep.” he replied. Hermione rolled her eyes, and started down the hallway towards her room.

“You're an arse, Harry Potter.” she groused.

“You wouldn't have me any other way!” he laughed. She was glad her back was to him, so he couldn't see her supressing a grin.

“Too right, brat.” she murmured.

~~

That night she woke him up from a screaming, thrashing nightmare. He was writhing on his bed as if in the throes of the Cruciatus, and his hair was plastered to his face as if he'd just come out of the shower.

Harry's bed was like his wheelchair in the fact that it was a mix of Muggle and Magic. The bed tilted at the halfway point so his back wouldn't be completely straight, and it could also tilt his legs up for comfort. He didn't always tilt his legs back, because if he had a nightmare he almost tossed himself right out of the bed.

His injured back arched away from the magically cushioned mattress, and he let out a keen worthy of a banshee. Hermione finally made it to his bed, and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close and whispering words of comfort in his ear.

“Hush now, Harry. It's all right, love, Hermione's here. I won't let them hurt you. You're safe.” she cooed gently, stroking his wet hair until his body-wracking sobs became whimpers. Eventually Morpheus released him, and Harry opened his eyes.

“M'sorry, Mione.” he choked. She stroked his damp cheek.

“Don't you dare.” she scolded softly, still holding him close and rocking him. After he was completely awake, he reached for his wand and cast a combination of cleaning spells Hermione had researched for him. Then he cast a drying spell at himself and his mattress, and eased back into his built in pillow. Hermione pulled a chair beside the bed, and took his hand, running her thumb across his knuckles until he fell asleep. That was the only way he'd go back into slumber's embrace after such a terrible nightmare.

Five years later and he was still looking at Voldemort face-to-face. He was still reeling from the agony of his crushed spine, and suffering from the nightmares of his youth. Many others would have broken already, but Harry was strong, and though Hermione didn't really realize it, she was his rock. A sister that he'd never had, and a friend like none other.

Not even Ron had been so good a friend. Like his sister, he had not been able to completely deal with Harry's injuries. He had distanced himself from the cripple hero, until he only ever saw him in public. Hermione still dated him, and that secretly hurt Harry, but he brushed it off in front of her and insisted that he was happy. She couldn't see the lie in his words, and so she was still with the fire-haired wizard that had befriended him on the Hogwarts Express.

Hermione herself fell asleep still gently rubbing Harry's hand, her face finally coming to rest against his elevated mattress.

~~

The next morning, Harry opened his eyes blearily, feeling around for his glasses on the nightstand. He grasped them, and put them on with one hand. He vaguely felt his other hand in a warm grasp, and looked down to see that Hermione had fallen asleep in the chair next to his bed. She'd done it before, and each time she did Harry felt guilty for keeping her from her own rest. He vaguely remembered the nightmare he'd had, seeing only brief glimpses of electric blue light, the ghostly feeling of his vertebrae smashing under the force of a spell, and the feel of the artierial spray on his front as Voldemort's headless body had collapsed right in front of him.

He glanced at his wall clock, and gasped softly.

“Mione! Mione!” he called, shaking her hand. She jerked up so fast she nearly fell out of the chair.

“Whazza matter, H'ry?” she asked groggily.

“Herms, it's 10:42!” Harry said urgently. The sleep cleared immediately from Hermione's eyes, and she rushed out of her chair, flying from the room and straight back to hers. She was late!

Harry put his hand on his forehead and groaned. Merlin be with him....was he ever going to stop ruining her life?

~~

Hermione threw off her stale clothes from the previous night, before running a general cleaning spell over her body. She shivered at the magic-induced bubbles, before throwing on some fresh clothes and grabbing her purse. By this time Harry was rolling into the hallway, still in his pajamas.

“I'm so sorry, Hermione.” he said, his dark brows furrowed.

“Don't start, Harry. I'll break both your arms if you start feeling guilty for being here again!” she nearly snarled, and Harry gulped.

“Sorry. Won't feel guilty anymore.” he said childishly, pouting at her threat. She paused, raised an eyebrow, and then rushed back to her friend. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Don't feel bad, Harry. I could have easily gone back to my own bed, or set an alarm.” she said. He gave a grumpy snort.

“Yeah, but you wouldn't have had to if-” and he stopped mid sentence when Hermione pulled back and gave him a glare that would chill Dementors. “Got it. It's entirely your fault, you lazy tart.” he said quickly. She laughed, punched him light-heartedly, and then rushed out the door.

Harry sighed softly as the door shut, before rolling his wheelchair into the kitchen to cook himself a late breakfast.

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Aw, poor guilt-ridden Harry in his fancy wheelchair and tilty bed. He thinks everything is his fault. And he's mostly right. -_-
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Amazing Grace