Disclaimer: see first chapter
AN: The finale; big, dramatic, romantic, sappy Lucius-Hermione scene, obviously. I'll shut up now.
The genuine article
Genuine at last
It was slightly ridiculous, she had to admit, to be sitting on your sofa at four in the afternoon, dressed for bed when you weren't ill. Hermione held the large mug of hot chocolate between her cold fingers, pretending to read the book that was lying open in her lap.
After her little sojourn into the realm of the terminally melodramatic, she had hesitated only for seconds, before taking off her work clothes. Her new fluffy blue bathrobe was large and soft and a housewarming gift from her parents. She suspected she looked like an escapee from Sesame Street, but it was long enough to come to mid-shin and certainly large enough to bury herself in completely as she sat curled up in a corner of the sofa.
The hot chocolate had also been a necessity. Being a woman and needing consolation, there was but one answer. Well, as long as the trouble was man trouble anyway.
Harry and Ginny were supposed to come over today after work, but she had owled Ginny, saying that she was a little under the weather and was going to go to bed early today.
Which left her free to do whatever she needed to do to be able to function normally again.
Burrowing into large fluffy articles of clothing and hot chocolate had seemed like a good start. Having a good cry also seemed to have relieved some of the tension, even if it hadn't made her feel less sad.
'Oh well, one thing at a time, I guess,' she thought as she blew on the hot chocolate and tested its temperature carefully with her lips. She might get through this after all.
She had just taken her first few careful little sips when she heard the doorbell. Rolling her eyes, she set down her mug and got up, rather glad now that she had changed into her robe already: it would convince Ginny to leave quickly.
"Let me guess," she said as she opened the door, "you brought chicken s..."
The rest of the sentence got caught behind the sudden lump in her throat as she stared at the man in front of her.
Her hand instinctively shot up to her throat, holding the two sides of the robe closed with a vice grip.
"Lucius, what are you doing here?" she blurted, forgetting they weren't exactly on first-name-terms anymore.
"Can I come in?" he asked, voice terse, face carefully blank.
She hesitated.
"It won't take long," he added, his voice as well as his eyes acquiring an additional layer of frost.
She opened the door wider and stepped back. He moved into the hallway and waited for her to close the door and turn around.
"Living room's straight ahead," she said as she pointed and followed after him.
He didn't sit down, nor did he take off his cloak, instead moving around the room restlessly, picking up knickknacks here and there, fleetingly looking over the books in her bookcase in passing.
Hermione had sunk down on the sofa, one hand still holding her robe closed and was watching him with mounting curiosity. Not that her heart wasn't thudding against her chest in a pace she wasn't sure it should be capable of, but she had never before seen Lucius look so... ill at ease, she supposed. Seeing him behave so uncharacteristically took her mind off of being nervous herself for the moment.
"Was there something you wanted?" she asked quickly, when she saw him move in the general direction of her desk.
"Yes," he replied almost absentmindedly as he stared at her desk for a moment.
"Yes," he repeated, turning to face her. As he moved towards where she was sitting, his hand slipped into his pocket. Hermione couldn't explain why the thought popped in her head – it was probably a reflex on account of being anxious more than a well-thought-out response- but she thought he was going for his wand and her gaze unwillingly flickered to her own, laid inconveniently on the coffee table.
Lucius caught the look and froze, his grey eyes turning absolutely glacial.
"I won't harm you," he said between gritted teeth.
Hermione looked at her lap. "I know," she said softly. When she looked back up again, she met his gaze unflinchingly.
He relaxed infinitesimally at that and reached again into his pocket, pulling out a small paper box.
"I came to bring you this."
Intrigued in spite of herself, she took the box from him, their fingers brushing for the briefest of moments. His were cold as ice.
"Do you want some hot chocolate?" she offered awkwardly, "I just made some."
He shook his head, eyes never leaving the box in her hand. "Just open it."
She stared at him a moment longer, taking in the strange intensity of his eyes and unusually insecure behaviour before turning her attention back to the small box he gave her.
As she lifted the lid, there was a sparkle and a moment later she was staring down at one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. The ring was white-gold (she had told him once she liked white-gold best) with a beautiful arrangement of five luminous emeralds, flanked on either side by a single diamond. Their reflective qualities were so bright they were almost blinding and Hermione didn't need anyone to tell her that this was, indeed, a Very Expensive piece of jewellery.
She didn't know how long she had sat there, staring at the ring in it's box, so mesmerized by it that the idea to pick it up didn't even occur to her, when he broke the silence.
"Do you like it?" His voice was curiously flat, as if he wanted her to believe he didn't care one way or another.
She looked up at him, confusion in her eyes.
"I don't understand."
He inhaled rather sharply, before moving towards the sofa and sitting down on the sofa next to her at a respectable distance.
"I know you didn't like the fact that the last ring I gave you was...not very expensive," he said, his face a careful blank.
"This one..." he picked up the emerald ring, "I have had it made this afternoon. There is no ring like it anywhere else. It's absolutely unique. And the stones are very costly."
Hermione's eyebrows were slowly rising. What was the man on about?
He struggled on.
"I know you do not...care for me the way that I'd like, but if it's expensive jewellery you want... I can give you that." He took a deep breath like a man preparing to put everything on the line. "I can give you anything you want."
Hermione had to forcibly clamp her jaw shut to prevent her mouth from falling open. 'What?'
"It was never about the ring." / "Would you wear this ring to replace the previous one I gave you?" They said simultaneously
"What?"/ "What?"
Lucius looked at her sheepishly, gesturing for her to speak.
"It was never about the ring, Lucius," Hermione repeated.
"Forgive me for asking," he shifted nervously, eyes downcast "but what was it about then?"
Hermione thought for a moment, her eyes softening in spite of herself for the harsh message she was about to give.
"It was about recognition. It was about you knowingly giving me a ring that Narcissa would know to be fake. It was about you leaving me open to ridicule and derision from pureblood society."
Her voice had grown quieter.
"It was as if you were proving Narcissa right, that I didn't belong there and you did nothing to help me protect myself from her attacks..."
His eyes came up to meet hers. She took a deep breath as she came to the heart of the matter: "I felt betrayed, Lucius."
He swallowed.
"You did? I thought..." he trailed off.
"What did you think?" she prompted gently.
"I thought you were angry because I didn't spend enough money." His eyes were everywhere but meeting hers, his body language that of a man...embarrassed?
Hermione smiled, really smiled for the first time in she couldn't remember how long. It almost hurt it was so good.
"I don't care about the money," she said, her voice light.
Lucius looked at her, really looked at her, took in her red-rimmed eyes, the messy mane of curly honey-coloured hair, that ridiculous blue robe, the... He frowned.
"You stole my shirt!" he exclaimed.
The warm and languid feeling that had started to develop in Hermione's stomach died a quick and untimely death as she jumped up as if stung, the hand she had neglected to keep at her throat moving upwards again and closing the robe, hiding what she wore underneath.
"I..." she floundered, cheeks colouring "It isn't what it looks like!"
"It's not?" asked Lucius, exaggerated wonder in his voice. Hermione was too distraught to note the faint tinge of hopefulness: for the first time since he had entered her apartment, he seemed to have the upper hand. With a predatory look in his eyes he slowly got up from the sofa and moved towards her.
Hermione moved backwards, away from him as he slowly advanced on her, driving her into the corner where her desk was.
As she felt the edge of the desk bump into her bum, Hermione admitted defeat.
Lucius came to a stop two feet in front of her, his arm reaching out to the ties at her waist that kept the robe closed. He cast a quick glance at her face before he took hold of them and pulled.
Hermione did nothing to stop the robe from falling open, revealing that she wore nothing beneath it but a pair of thick grey socks and a sky-blue men's shirt that reached to the top of her thighs and smelled of Lucius Malfoy's cologne.
"Not what it looks like huh?" he asked, a small flicker of hope in his eyes now.
Embarrassed to the core of her being, Hermione turned away from him and toyed mindlessly with the quillbox that stood on her desk.
"You stole one of my quillboxes too, I see." 'There was a definite hint of amusement in his voice, wasn't there?' Hermione thought desperately, too afraid to look at him and see for herself.
"And I do seem to remember the house elves are unable to locate one of my travelling bags," he continued, definitely sounding amused now.
Hermione found she almost dared to look at him, as she mumbled; "I was going to send them back to you, but somehow I never got around to it..."
"Never got around to it?" He repeated incredulously, even though his hand was coming up to gently move a couple of strands of her curls behind her ear.
She had lifted her head enough to be able to see his chin and going strong towards his eyes, when he suddenly froze. His hand moved to the side of her neck and though still gentle, his behaviour had changed to being completely on edge.
"Tell me once and for all: what is going on between you and Ronald Weasley?" He demanded, his voice cold and cutting.
Momentarily forgetting their encounter that morning, Hermione looked up to him in confusion, surprised at the coldness in his eyes.
"Going on between Ron and me? Nothing. I haven't even seen him in over a year. He didn't take very kindly to me working for you, you know. I thought I mentioned it before..."
"Don't lie to me," he hissed, face uncomfortably close to hers.
There was a sharp tug and then she felt the delicate silver chain that she wore around her neck break. The weakest link, she thought humourlessly. Her last secret.
Lucius was staring at the broken necklace he had so carelessly torn from her neck in bewilderment.
"This is your ring," he said hoarsely, looking at the sapphire and diamond white-gold ring that was the only pendant on the necklace.
Feeling more exposed than she had ever been in her life, Hermione nodded haltingly, pushed herself off from the desk and moved away from him, back to the sofa.
She picked up her mug of hot chocolate, for want of anything better to do and took a sip. Ylergh. It was lukewarm at best. With a look of distaste she set it back on the coffee table.
"How long...?" It was barely more than a whisper.
Hermione gave him a weary look.
"When I went to the apartment on the day after the ball, I found you asleep on the sofa in the study; the ring was on the floor next to your hand. I took it and when I came home I put it on the necklace. I have been wearing it ever since."
Lucius squinted at the ring now held between his fingers, still warm from her body.
"It's the fake one," he said, surprise in his voice.
"Of course it is," she said exasperatedly and somewhat embarrassed. "I called myself all kinds of fool for wearing the ring of a man who knew his ex-wife had a more expensive version and didn't even deign to inform me of that little fact, but I couldn't put it away."
"Why not?"
Hermione wanted to hate him for digging around in her emotions like that, uprooting old hurts and reopening wounds that had barely stopped bleeding as it was, but there was something in his eyes, a sense of desperation, that seemed to indicate he was at least as vulnerable as she was.
"Because it was the only thing I had left connecting me to you," she whispered. "I couldn't let that go, even though I knew you didn't love me."
He staggered as if she had physically struck him. Closed his eyes slowly.
"I'm sorry I've been such a fool," he mumbled, before opening his eyes and looking straight at her.
"I'm sorry I thought even for a moment you care about superficial things. I should have known better, even when you took the ring and all the designer robes from our apartment. And then I come," he laughed bitterly, "to offer you an expensive ring, as if your love can be bought." The words were dripping with contempt.
His voice had been rising over those last sentences, so when he suddenly switched to a voice barely more than a whisper, she looked at him keenly.
"I have been so miserable without you these last few weeks," he admitted, a savage sense of justification in his voice. As if he deserved to be miserable.
"I have been so miserable and yet I still didn't see you for what you were." His tone was self-deprecating and Hermione felt her stomach churning in response. She hated seeing him this way: beating himself up over something that, in hindsight, was a very understandable mistake. After all, she was nothing like Narcissa: trying to interpret her actions while unconsciously still using the patterns he acquired to interpret his ex-wife's must inevitably lead to gross misinterpretation.
Yet he seemed to have little to no such understanding, much less forgiveness to offer himself.
"I love you," she blurted, stopping him hurting himself in the only way she knew how.
He stared at her in shock.
"Don't stare at me as if I've lost my mind! You came here with an expensive ring because you thought I cared about those kind of things. It wasn't the problem but it is probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I only took the robes and my sleeping wear, because I couldn't bear the thought of you destroying them, or worse, give them to someone else."
As she said this, his face contorted in distaste, but she was in the middle of a good rant and couldn't, wouldn't stop.
"I will wear the emerald ring if your offer's still valid. I will wear the fake sapphire ring, if you prefer that. Hell, I would wear any ring you would ever give me, not caring if Narcissa had ten more expensive versions of it, as long as she didn't get them from you. That's why I took the fake ring with me when I found it on the floor. It is also why I couldn't stop myself from taking the shirt you had worn and why I didn't return your quillbox or the travelling bag. They all reminded me of you. And I found that I love you so much, " she hiccupped a small sob here, "that I couldn't let go of you completely, even if you didn't love me in return. I couldn't let go yet."
He hadn't moved a muscle, didn't move a muscle when she got up from the sofa and moved to stand in front of him.
"So please, Lucius, tell me that your being here means that it is not yet too late. Tell me that you bought that emerald ring because you care for me, even a little, just...please."
"You...I..." said Lucius eloquently, his eyes searching her gaze for she didn't know what.
The next thing she knew, he was kissing her, his familiar lips so welcome against her own, having been missed so dearly. Without hesitation, Hermione's hands slipped inside his cloak and around his torso, pulling his body flush against hers. The feel of his solid chest against hers, the warmth of his body, the play of the muscles on his back as he frantically buried his hands in her hair, tilting her head and deepening their kiss was like coming home to her.
His tongue touched her bottom lip almost shyly, as if he were afraid of being rejected. Hermione allowed him entrance without hesitation, welcoming him into her mouth, her own tongue licking, caressing, worshipping the mouth she had to miss for what seemed like an eternity.
She didn't even realise she was crying until Lucius gently broke away from her and started wiping away her tears with his thumbs, her jaw cradled in both of his hands.
"I am so sor...." he started to say, but was stopped by her fingers against his lips.
"Stop apologizing. I don't want to hear it anymore," she said, eyes locking with his.
She saw uncertainty there, vulnerability. He took a shuddering breath.
"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" Again that curiously flat tone of voice.
Hermione let her arms slip from around him and moved to sit on the sofa.
"It means you may be forgiven, in time."
His eyes hardened. "Do not play games with me," he commanded flatly.
Hermione was about to snap back at him, when suddenly a mental image of Narcissa loomed in front of her. Taking another look at Lucius, she saw that yes, superficially he was exuding anger, but his hands were clenched into tight fists and he seemed to have trouble staying still.
As if somebody had just given her the key to deciphering his body language, she realised that he was afraid.
Well, she didn't know Narcissa very well, but she thought that lording an argument like this over Lucius' head for interminable amounts of time and milking it for all it was worth in terms of jewellery and fine clothes wasn't beyond her. Lucius was merely responding in the way he had been taught.
Obviously, it was high time to teach him some new things.
She got up and moved to where he was standing stiffly, reaching over to his left hand with both of hers. She gently uncurled his fingers from the tight fist and gave his hand a brief squeeze, before letting it drop and moving to his right hand.
He was watching her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, but did nothing to resist her as she held onto his right hand and led him back to the sofa with her.
Her hands came up to the fastenings of his cloak and with a few deft movements she undid them and took the garment from him, draping it over the back of a chair. Indicating that he should take a seat, which he did, she moved back to her old spot.
She turned her entire body in his direction, unequivocally giving him her undivided attention.
"I am not Narcissa," she said.
When she saw how badly he started at that remark, she realised she might have been a bit more diplomatic about this. Reaching out to take his hand in hers, she tried to explain.
"When I said you may be forgiven, in time, I meant nothing more than to indicate that I will need some time to get comfortable with you again." She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb comfortingly.
"It does not mean that I will withdraw my acceptance of you the moment you do something I don't like. It does not mean I am going to have this hanging over your head like the sword of Damocles."
She moved a bit closer towards him.
"So, what I should have said just now, was that you would be forgiven, in time."
She moved closer still.
"Wholeheartedly, I think."
He stared up at her, as she was now sitting on the sofa on her knees in front of him, tentative relief and something akin to wonder in his eyes.
Hermione smiled at him, before she lowered her head and tenderly pressed her mouth against his.
It was unlike the passionate kiss they had just shared, not frantic and full of longing for something dearly missed. It was tender and compassionate, reassuring and promising.
She smiled against his mouth as he felt some of the tension leaving him. Putting her arms around his shoulders, she pulled him against her upper body, cradling his head against her chest.
Lucius, for his part, merely closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax. The hands that were rubbing soothingly along his back started to ease out the kinks that five weeks of misery had left there.
"You have lost weight," Hermione said accusingly, the feel of him under her hands confirming the half-held suspicion from their meeting that morning.
He merely hummed, not bothering to open his eyes.
"Have you been eating enough?" she pressured.
"Wasn't very hungry," he replied languidly.
She looked down at the top of his blond head with something akin to guilt. "Because you were so miserable?"
"Hm," Lucius said non-committially .
She felt her eyes start to tear up. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Stop apologizing," said he, "you will be forgiven in time."
At being so neatly outmanoeuvred with her own words no less, she had to laugh through her tears. She moved her hand to the ribbon tying his hair together and released it.
He let out a groan as she buried her hand in his hair at the back of his head.
"You do realise I love you, don't you?" he murmured.
She froze.
Untangling himself from her with reluctance, he moved so their eyes could meet. Hers were teary.
"I was hoping you cared when you showed up here."
"Dearest, 'caring' doesn't even begin to describe it," he said lightly, but the look in his eyes belied his levity. For there, quite visible in their silver depths, his love shone brightly.
Hermione launched herself at him with such momentum that he landed on his back on her sofa, with her on top of him. They were kissing frantically, hands moving, caressing the other's body, burying themselves in the other's hair, tugging at buttons that wouldn't cooperate.
Hermione moaned desperately as she felt his tongue swiping against the seam of her lips, permitting him entrance gladly as her hands clumsily undid the buttons of his robes. Lucius for his part was content to just lay there with her on top of him, kissing the living daylights out of her and allowing himself to be undressed.
He gasped as he felt her hands on the naked skin of his abdomen, Hermione using the disconnection of their mouths to attack the soft skin of his neck, sucking, nipping, licking, kissing and suckling a way from below his ear to the hollow of his throat. Unable to resist any longer, he placed his hands on her hips, letting them slip under the shirt she wore and moving upwards, to the warm skin of her abdomen.
She lifted herself up briefly, to allow him to slide the shirt up higher, her mouth never once leaving his chest. Both of them sighed as their bellies touched skin to skin. There was no feeling just like having the warm, naked body of the one you love against your skin, Hermione thought vaguely as she mounted an attack on Lucius' right nipple.
Feeling the wet heat made him moan in delight, the hands on her back unconsciously clenching.
With a supreme effort, Hermione paused her assault on his person long enough to push herself a little higher so she could look at his face. His eyes opened languidly and he gave her a warm contented smile that made her heart melt all over again.
"You know," she started conspiratorially, "much as I'd like you to meet your dietary needs from now on – so you can regain the weight that you've lost-" Lucius frowned slightly at the apparent non-sequitur. "I think for just this once we can...start with dessert."
Giving him a last, impish look, she quickly pushed up and away from him, crawling off of the sofa and darted out of reach. Lucius made a half-hearted effort to grab her and pull her back down, but she easily evaded him and with a naughty glance over her shoulder disappeared into the bedroom.
Lucius rolled his eyes and pushed himself up to a half-sitting position. Looking down at his, uncomfortably tight, trousers he yelled: "Granger, you can't leave me like this!"
His only response was mad giggling from the open door of the bedroom.
Smiling to himself, he got up from the sofa and crossed the room.
"You're going to regret leaving me alone," he threatened, the double meaning of his words quite unintentional.
Because, even though he had come here prepared to offer her his wealth in return for her company; even though he had despaired of ever gaining her affection but had been miserable enough without her to settle for a mere fondness of his money...Lucius Malfoy found he was infinitely happier when it turned out that there was only one genuine article she had ever been after.
Him.
Finite.
AN: I definitely am going to write an epilogue for this story, because there are still loose ends to be tied. Don't know when I'll get around to it, but my head's still bubbling with ideas.
Anyway, let me know if I delivered on my promise of an outrageously happy ending. Oh and thank you for reading; you were a lovely audience.