Setting aside his empty teacup, Lucius turned the page of his book and continued reading without looking up. The witch was hovering just out of sight, but he was content to let her do as she wished. Barely perceptible shifts had been occurring for weeks now, since the scene on the balcony had led to yet another ménage, but he still wasn’t sure he’d ever get her to trust him.
Not that he blamed her.
So he let her linger, watching him or just hiding from him, he wasn’t certain. He made it through three more pages before she made her appearance.
Looking like a dream in a pale blue dress, the hem fluttering around her sun tanned thighs, she emerged from between the hedges. Her hair had been plaited at some point, but curls escaped and framed her face.
“Hermione.” He marked his page carefully and set the book aside, giving her his full attention. She shifted uncomfortably on bare feet, and toyed with her wand in her hands.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said softly, and Lucius had to fight to keep a straight face. If only she knew how captivating she was.
“No need for apologies. The book will remain.” Surprise flickered across her face, and Lucius had to exercise Olympian self control to not reach out to her and scare her away. Instead he crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and waited. “Will you sit?”
Uncertainty bowed under her curiosity though, and she perched on the very edge of the chair beside him.
The summer breeze was pleasant in the shade of the garden, and a butterfly hovered nearby.
“You spend so much time out here.” Hermione cocked her head, a gesture of curiosity akin to a puppy.
Lucius nodded slowly. “I suppose so. I like the fresh air.” There was no need to add that it was claustrophobic in the manor after being locked inside it with a madman, or how shadows still loomed like Dementors in corners. Even the warmth of the summer air was just an added layer of insulation against the memories that plagued him.
Hermione just nodded, and he could see a war occurring behind her eyes. He didn’t believe there was much he could do to soothe her fears until she asked for it, so he simply tilted his head back, eyes closed, and listened to the familiar sounds of the garden.
It was quite some time before she spoke again.
“You’re not what I expected.”
Lucius allowed a sardonic smile to touch his lips, but kept his eyes closed and posture relaxed. “Nor are you what I expected.”
Hermione laughed shortly, and he cracked his eyes ever so slightly to gauge her reaction. She’d relaxed slightly, no longer perched on the edge of the chair, but sitting back with her legs tucked under her.
Content to stay that way, basking in the warmth of the summer afternoon, they shared a quiet, completive hour before she made her excuses and disappeared into the manor, presumably back to Severus’s side. He simply returned to his book, though his mind wandered back to the witch.
A few days later, she sought him out again. She appeared holding a book of her own, and she looked nervous. He simply inclined his head towards the open chair beside him and continued reading. Her relief was nearly palpable when he didn’t attempt to make small talk or ask her why she’d chosen to join him.
Several days after that, she found him in the conservatory, the rain lashing the windows and a fan spinning lazily above him. This time he’d strategically sat on a sofa facing out over the gardens. Without any other chairs nearby, she’d deliberated longer than usual just outside his periphery, but ultimately approached, and sat on the opposite side of the sofa with her book.
It was almost comical, how small she made herself initially, tucking her legs beneath her and holding her book at an uncomfortable angle. Still, he didn’t say a word, letting her relax as she sunk into her reading and forgot why she was anxious. After several hours, she was relaxed enough that she stretched out her legs on the sofa, nearly touching his leg with her feet.
Her toenails were painted with the same pink lacquer they’d been the night he’d interrupted her sleep, though it had to have been reapplied at some point. She flexed her foot, and Lucius wondered if she’d been a dancer as a child with her small frame and high arches.
Slipping down the sofa a few inches further, and the tips of her toes brushed his thigh. From the corner of his eye, he could see her freeze, as if she wasn’t sure how he’d react. He simply turned the page, and waited. Hermione eventually relaxed again, sighing almost inaudibly when he didn’t react negatively. He waited for a moment, and after he’d turned the page, rested his hand lightly on her ankle.
He wasn’t sure which of them held their breath longer, but eventually she turned the page of her book, and he went back to skimming over the text, fully aware he’d need to go back and reread everything since Hermione had slipped through the door of the conservatory.
Days later, Lucius found her alone in the library. She sat on a leather loveseat with her legs over both cushions, her back against the arm. It was late, and the warm glow of the candlelight reflected off her skin.
A reckless split second decision had him sweeping her feet up in one hand, before settling down with her legs draped across his lap. Her expression shifted quickly from relaxed to shock and horror, then just as quickly to confusion and cautious acceptance when he flipped his book open, and let his hand rest lightly on her legs.
He could feel her heart thundering under the light touch of his fingertips, but he was rewarded when she returned to her book without a word, just tucking her bare toes into the folds of his robes. He was almost smug with how readily she accepted his touch, but it hadn’t prepared him for her falling asleep as he rubbed small circles over her legs. When Severus came looking, he found them in the same position, with Lucius beginning to nod off as well.
Somehow, Lucius still found himself in uncharted territory a week and a half later, when he was stretched out in an arm chair in his office, and Hermione slipped in without a book of her own. He wasn’t sure how he found himself with the witch sitting in his lap, reading from the same book he was, but he couldn’t find it within himself to be upset at the turn of events.
He could smell the sweet scent of her hair, and the rhythm of her breathing against his chest. Her fingers traced the Malfoy signet ring on his left hand, almost unconsciously. Tracing his ring gave way to mapping his hands and arm until he captured her hand and held it firmly in his own.
Still, soon she was turning slightly in his lap to lay against his chest, her head tucked under his chin. He didn’t think he’d ever held another person as he was now holding Hermione, and it made his heart ache. She’d awoken something within him he didn’t know was possible.
Setting aside his book, he wrapped both arms around her, and kissed the top of her head.
“You’re not what I expected,” he breathed, and Hermione exhaled, relaxing more fully against him.