Chapter 15

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. Huge thank you to my beta AmyLouise.

Chapter 15

Got me hanging on a string, honey...*

Two Weeks Later

Hermione

Today Hermione sat in her office with her head resting on her hands. She was tired, and to be honest, utterly miserable. How long can a lonely, pregnant, heartbroken woman last? Even if her name was Hermione Granger, even if friends and family surrounded her, even if she was convinced that she was doing the right thing. Hermione knew the answer...eight weeks. It took her just two short months, or an almost tolerable eight weeks, or somewhat troubling fifty-six days, or torturous, agonizing, and at last, simply unbearable one thousand three hundred forty four hours...to cover the distance between sanity and madness.

The last time Hermione had seen Lucius on that fateful Monday was when, after a night of lovemaking, they had gone their separate ways in the morning. On that same Monday, she had marched through the Ministry corridor with Harry, Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys around her, when she had sensed his presence. She had known that he was watching her. She had felt how his warm gaze caressed her, forcing her heart to pirouette dangerously. She had turned, and her eyes had found him. He had stood in the dimly lit alcove...proud, powerful, and irresistible; his gray eyes had been locked on her. There had been no anger, no coldness in them, only burning passion mixed with determination. Immediately, she had sunk into their shimmery-gray depth, finding perfect equilibrium, perfect balance and peace there. She had felt so comfortable in this deep, gray ocean, so safe, so desired, and so... No, it wasn't possible.

The moment Lucius had broken their eye contact, had turned on his heel and left, the equilibrium, the balance, had been destroyed.  The harmony had been killed with one elegant swirl of his robes, forever...or so it seemed. Thank God, almost nobody had noticed that staring contest between them. Only Arthur had given Hermione a long, sympathetic look and had smiled sadly. The kind eyes of her father-in-law had been filled with compassion.

A few hours later that day, the press had left and had never returned...just as Arthur had predicted. He had been sure that Lucius would suppress the matter quickly and effectively.

That same evening, in a conversation, Arthur had tried to prepare Hermione for rumours, for the pressure she most likely would have to endure. He had been right again. Whispers...hushed, muffled whispers...rustled constantly behind Hermione's back. Whenever and wherever she went, she heard them. This endless hissing was enraging her. She had tried to fight it at first. But how can one fight thin air? And that exactly was what it was...faceless, shapeless shadows in the air; whispering, shameless rumours; rustling, disgusting innuendos; and gossip.

Life had returned to its almost normal cycle. Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, and Ginny hadn't said a single word about the article in the Prophet or Lucius, probably thanks to Harry's efforts. All of them had been happy and excited to have one more Weasley on the way. Molly couldn't stop fussing around Hermione for weeks until, exhausted, Hermione was forced to hide from her motherly care.

During those weeks, Hermione had accomplished quite a few crucial things. First of all, she and Ginny had gone to St Mungo's. There, they had found out that Hermione indeed was pregnant with a little girl and that she was already around three months along. The second...important, difficult, but necessary...accomplishment had been that Hermione had finally gone through all Ron's things. Everything had been carefully folded and put in boxes for Molly, Ginny, and her to keep. She had needed it. It had given her some sort of closure, the feeling that life still goes on.

And life did go on, with the only hiccup being that Hermione could not forget Lucius, could not tear him from her head and...this she wasn't willing to admit even to herself...from her heart.

For weeks, every morning Hermione had been waking up hoping that this day would be easier. Then again she had hoped for it before going to sleep at night. No such luck! No matter how thoroughly she had busied herself with work or friends and family, it hadn't been getting any easier. No, it had been only getting harder and harder. She had tried to forget and couldn't. Work, friends, family had all been there for her, but unfortunately, they just were not enough.

Hermione had gone to the cemetery frequently...crying and seeking comfort there. However, unyielding granite hadn't been particularly understanding and could not provide anything, except for the black emptiness, freezing coldness, and all-absorbing loneliness.

And she was still alive, damn it! Hence, she needed a man with warm flesh and blood to sustain her. Every night Hermione's body betrayed her, taunting her with dreams and memories. Sometimes they would start with Ron, sometimes not. Yet, by the middle of the night, they always returned to Lucius...Lucius kissing her, Lucius touching and caressing her, Lucius making love to her. Hermione craved him with every fibre of her being, and yet she was still fighting. Still fighting against herself.

Some days, she would throw away Lucius' silk robe, only to take it back a few hours later. Some days she would eat tons of chocolate and pleasure herself. All these attempts were fruitless, futile. Thoughts of Lucius never let her go.

By the end of the sixth week, the scent of his cologne had begun to pursue Hermione everywhere, especially at work. Often she had imagined the swirl of his robes as if he'd just turned around the corner of the Ministry corridor. His soft baritone had sounded in her ears in a low murmur, as if he just had been talking to someone outside of her office.

It was madness...hot, white madness...that was slowly engulfing her.

And now Hermione was there, at the end of this downward spiral, at the sacred place called her wits' end. "Who could have thought, I would be so weak?" she chuckled sadly. Tomorrow would be Dolohov's trial, and Hermione would need to take the stand, but this didn't worry her. She wasn't afraid of that. Lucius would need to take the stand as well. That meant tomorrow she would have to face him again. Tomorrow, for the first time in eight weeks, she would see Lucius.

Hermione Granger was never a coward. But this time she was afraid...afraid of herself.

 Lucius

It was not easy to stay away from the witch. At first, he thought it would take a week, maybe two, and Hermione would run into his waiting arms. She had not.

"Stubborn little witch," muttered Lucius to himself.

By the end of the third week, it was clear that Hermione would not give up easily and quickly. Lucius braced himself for a long and excruciating wait. He had enough common sense to understand the necessity of this...the witch had to come to him willingly, by herself. Lucius, being a veritable Malfoy, was sure that time would do its job, and eventually her need for him would overcome the witch's stubbornness. He would not push her; he would wait. Lucius would do as he had promised Hermione...he would stay away from her. Well, at least he would try.

Lucius busied himself with slight remodelling of the manor. Occasionally, he would go to the cemetery. However, soon he began to crave his witch. The image of them making love haunted him. It stole his sleep in the darkness of the night, and his peace in the light of day. Frequently, he would walk back and forth in front of the Floo in silent battle with himself. Desire and need for her were so acute that he could barely contain himself. The sensation of a horribly blunt, steel blade slowly slicing his heart to pieces tortured him. Was it love? Was it supposed to hurt this much? Lucius did not have an answer. He was a complete novice at this...an amateur, lovesick, half-century old wizard.

On the sixth week, Lucius Malfoy partially gave up. He went to the Ministry. There, he spent hours around Hermione's office under the pretence of taking care of some nonexistent matters. He talked with her secretary about the weather and politics. He knew quite well that she could hear him from her office and that she would be able to distinguish the scent of his cologne long after he was gone. A few times, Lucius even let Hermione see him as he rounded the corner of the Ministry's corridor. He was driving them both crazy, torturing her with his presence, torturing himself with her nearness. In other words, it was madness...complete, utter madness.

Eight weeks passed, and finally the investigation on Dolohov's case ended. The trial date was set for the next day. Lucius sat at his desk, looking at the Malfoy's family tree. He was waiting for Draco. He had sent for him this morning...they needed to talk. He had seen his son a few times after Dolohov was caught. To Lucius' surprise, Draco and Astoria were not at all eager to return to England. They both felt quite comfortable and content at their villa in Nice. Astoria was almost at her due date, and in about three weeks, the Malfoys would welcome a new heir...Scorpius.

Lucius drew a heavy sigh. Looking at the Malfoy's family tree, he saw generation after generation of pure-blooded wizards. One arranged marriage after another. Marriages in which everything was considered...wealth, social status, blood purity. The only thing that was never considered in these marriages was love. It was never about love in the Malfoy history.

Lucius strived to convince himself that he had fulfilled his duty to his family. He had given the Malfoy line a son, a pure-blooded heir. Now it was Draco's turn to become the Lord of the Manor. Lucius would step down, and his son would take his place. That was the plan.

Luckily, Draco's marriage with Astoria was a success. They were perfect for each other and looked genuinely happy. And now Lucius was granted a chance to be happy as well. He had found himself a witch with whom he wanted to share the rest of his life.

"Father?" The customary drawl sounded in the library, interrupting Lucius' musings.

"I am here, son."

Draco came into view. Lucius watched him thoughtfully. To Lucius, Draco was a fine young man. All authentic Malfoy features were in place...he was blond, tall, broad-shouldered and handsome. Lucius also recognised the fact that the boy had a keen, witty mind. Yes, Draco was certainly ready to replace him.

After greetings and a brief news exchange, Lucius decided to get straight to the point. "I think it is time for you and Astoria to return to England, son. I want you to take my place, to fulfil your duties as the Malfoy heir," said Lucius, watching his son carefully.

"So, it's true then. You've got yourself tangled in Granger's curls, father. Interesting...."

"Where did you hear this? Did you believe that rubbish in the Prophet?" snapped Lucius at him.

Draco chuckled and gave his father the best Malfoy's smirk. "No father, not the Prophet. We share elves, remember? And elves like to talk to their young master. Therefore, I know everything. Thus, you can spare the explanations and especially, the details."

"Well, all the better that you know the reason, then. And wipe that smirk from your face, boy, before I whip you."

"No."

"No?" Lucius frowned.

Draco looked into his father's eyes and added, "We are not coming back, father. Astoria does not want to return to England, not until Scorpius turns eleven. And taking into account that he is not even born yet, we are not coming back for quite some time. I am surprised that you were able to see past Granger's blood status, but I can understand you, father, honestly I can. You never loved mother, and mother probably never loved you. Now you've found it...the love. I am glad you eventually did. But I am not coming back, sorry. You are on your own in this. At least for the nearest eleven years."  

Lucius listened to his son quietly, and then, after a moment, he said, "Very well, son, you made your choice, and now it is time for me to make mine. I will marry the witch and will bring her here. She will become a Malfoy, the new Lady of the Manor. I am still the head of the most influential wizard family in England, and I can and I will do as I wish. No one will stop me."

Draco shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "It works fine for me. As long as I don't have to call Granger mum. Are you sure she will have you though? The little witch can be quite stubborn sometimes; I know her. She does not always know what's good for her." Mischievous flecks played in Draco's eyes as he wiggled his blond eyebrows.

"Don't tempt me, boy...on your way now. Give Astoria my regards, will you?"

"I will. Goodbye, father."

A few minutes later, Lucius was alone again. He was pleased with himself. Tomorrow. He would have his witch tomorrow.

*Karen Elson/Pretty Babies