fic: harry potter, visions and visitations
Visions and Visitations
Harry/Hermione, post-war. Spoilers for DH.
Rated PG-13.
Summary: Hermione wondered why the passersby didn’t notice a blonde man carrying a cane, especially when he was shouting.
For Megg.
----
Previously...
Hermione saw Lucius laughing, saw piles of bodies, saw his lips twist into the imitation of a smile. “I told you I’d be back,” he said, and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
Hermione screamed until Harry shook her awake.
----
CHAPTER TWO: Visitations
Visitation (n): 1. An official or formal visit; the appearance of a divine or supernatural being.
2. A disaster or difficulty regarded as a divine punishment.
----
“Are you feeling okay?” Harry shoveled burnt eggs onto a plate and put them in front of Hermione.
“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice was flat.
“You don’t sound fine.” Harry cracked two more eggs into the skillet and watched them sizzle.
“Well I am.”
“You tossed and turned all night, pet.”
“Don’t burn the eggs.”
“I won’t,” Harry said, turning down the heat. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Hermione pushed the plate away gently. “I’m going to be late for work.”
Hermione had always been a quick learner. She memorized endless passages in her schoolbooks--spells, potions, magical theory. You name it; there was a place in Hermione’s brain for it. Hermione had always been a quick learner, so she learned to stop talking about Lucius Malfoy. It worried Harry--she could tell from the way his mouth tightened when she said that name--and Hermione didn’t want to worry him. Hermione half-hoped that if she forgot the whole thing then she would never see Malfoy’s face again. The only problem was that the more Hermione pretended not to see Lucius, the more he crossed her path. She caught glimpses of his hair--long and white--disappearing around a corner. He sat on park benches, lingered near shop windows, prowled outside the apartment she shared with Harry.
Lucius seemed to find it infinitely amusing when she ignored him. “Avoiding me again, Granger?” He would hiss in her ear as she ate lunch. “What a silly, Muggle thing to do--bury your head in the sand like an ostrich. I can’t say I’m surprised,” he called out as she stormed away, “that a Mudblood like you is adopting Muggle tendencies.”
Hermione wondered why the passersby didn’t notice a blonde man carrying a cane, especially when he was shouting. The worst part were the looks she got--Ron gave her sidelong glances, as though he was afraid that she’d collapse or scream or try to kill him. Harry treated her like she was made of glass and elbowed Ginny when the younger witch compulsively mentioned Lucius’ name. Her co-workers treated her like an outcast--a crazy woman who saw ghosts. Maybe Hermione really was going crazy. Nothing really surprised her anymore.
She didn’t tell Harry that she was seeing things. She didn’t mention her dreams or the way Lucius’ mocking words had seemed weirdly affectionate. And she sure as hell didn’t tell him that while he worked late one night, Lucius appeared in her bedroom. Hermione was organizing her closet, giving her restless hands something useful to do, when the hackles rose on her neck.
“Miss me, Granger?” His words nearly gave her a heart attack.
“You’re not here,” Hermione whispered, closing her eyes. She prayed that when she opened them, Lucius would be gone.
“Nice try.” His voice, flat and cold, made Hermione’s stomach clench. She screwed her eyes shut, trying not to bolt when Lucius’ hands closed around her shoulders. “I am here.”
“Why?” Her throat was dry, her palms slick with nervous sweat.
“Because you fear it.” He pressed his mouth against her neck and Hermione could feel him smile. “And because, deep beneath the fear, you want it.”
Hermione jerked away, her heart hammering in her chest. “I don’t--“ she stammered, turning to face him again. “I would never--“ Lucius advanced on her, hunting her the way a wolf hunts a rabbit.
Gently, tenderly, he laid a finger on Hermione’s lips. She shuddered, but he just smiled. “Yes, you did,” he corrected her. His eyes wrinkled with cold mirth as he gripped her chin firmly. “Your fear brought me back, but your desire gave me life.” Hermione flinched, but Lucius tightened his hold on her jaw. “I just came to express my... undying gratitude, if you’ll excuse the expression.”
“I hate you,” she spat, venom dripping from her words. Lucius just laughed.
“Of course you hate me. I’d be worried if you didn’t.” Lucius considered her face, gripped so tightly in his hands. “Have you considered that your hatred is what fueled your desire?” Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “I guess not.” Lucius grinned humorlessly. “Hatred,” he said slowly, as though she was still a schoolgirl, “and love are not so far apart as one might think. They’re strong emotions, both of them. They each require a considerable amount of energy and they both have the power to drive men--and women--“ he winked at her, “completely insane.”
“I don’t love you,” Hermione whispered, feeling her stomach churn. “I love Harry. I always have.”
“Ah yes, your ridiculous engagement. I thought Potter would go after the Weasley girl. One would think that the Boy Who Lived would have a sense of bloodlines, no matter how fouled those bloodlines may be.” Hermione glared at him. “Come now, don’t give me that face,” Lucius said, releasing her chin from his grip. “Did you really expect me to say anything different?”
Hermione massaged her jaw. The skin was tender; she knew finger-shaped bruises would emerge tomorrow--proof of Lucius’ manhandling. “I didn’t expect you to say anything. I killed you, after all.”
“Don't think I’ve forgotten,” Lucius replied dryly.
Lucius disappeared as fast as he had arrived. Hermione, released from his strange spell, stumbled to the bathroom and collapsed in front of the toilet. She vomited over and over until the despicable memory of his touch subsided. She curled up on the floor, sobbing and hoped her heart would not, in spite of everything, truly break.
Harry found her asleep on the cold tile floor. She stirred as he gathered her into his arms and carried her to their bed. “Harry,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Harry sounded amused. “You’ve been under a lot of stress.” Gently tucking her into bed, Harry kissed her, smoothed her hair and shut the door softly. Hermione bit her lip to keep from calling him back. Sorry for what? For everything. For becoming a killer, for letting Lucius get to her like that. But most of all she was sorry because Lucius was right--she wanted him. And she had no idea what to do.
Harry/Hermione, post-war. Spoilers for DH.
Rated PG-13.
Summary: Hermione wondered why the passersby didn’t notice a blonde man carrying a cane, especially when he was shouting.
For Megg.
----
Previously...
Hermione saw Lucius laughing, saw piles of bodies, saw his lips twist into the imitation of a smile. “I told you I’d be back,” he said, and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
Hermione screamed until Harry shook her awake.
----
CHAPTER TWO: Visitations
Visitation (n): 1. An official or formal visit; the appearance of a divine or supernatural being.
2. A disaster or difficulty regarded as a divine punishment.
----
“Are you feeling okay?” Harry shoveled burnt eggs onto a plate and put them in front of Hermione.
“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice was flat.
“You don’t sound fine.” Harry cracked two more eggs into the skillet and watched them sizzle.
“Well I am.”
“You tossed and turned all night, pet.”
“Don’t burn the eggs.”
“I won’t,” Harry said, turning down the heat. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Hermione pushed the plate away gently. “I’m going to be late for work.”
Hermione had always been a quick learner. She memorized endless passages in her schoolbooks--spells, potions, magical theory. You name it; there was a place in Hermione’s brain for it. Hermione had always been a quick learner, so she learned to stop talking about Lucius Malfoy. It worried Harry--she could tell from the way his mouth tightened when she said that name--and Hermione didn’t want to worry him. Hermione half-hoped that if she forgot the whole thing then she would never see Malfoy’s face again. The only problem was that the more Hermione pretended not to see Lucius, the more he crossed her path. She caught glimpses of his hair--long and white--disappearing around a corner. He sat on park benches, lingered near shop windows, prowled outside the apartment she shared with Harry.
Lucius seemed to find it infinitely amusing when she ignored him. “Avoiding me again, Granger?” He would hiss in her ear as she ate lunch. “What a silly, Muggle thing to do--bury your head in the sand like an ostrich. I can’t say I’m surprised,” he called out as she stormed away, “that a Mudblood like you is adopting Muggle tendencies.”
Hermione wondered why the passersby didn’t notice a blonde man carrying a cane, especially when he was shouting. The worst part were the looks she got--Ron gave her sidelong glances, as though he was afraid that she’d collapse or scream or try to kill him. Harry treated her like she was made of glass and elbowed Ginny when the younger witch compulsively mentioned Lucius’ name. Her co-workers treated her like an outcast--a crazy woman who saw ghosts. Maybe Hermione really was going crazy. Nothing really surprised her anymore.
She didn’t tell Harry that she was seeing things. She didn’t mention her dreams or the way Lucius’ mocking words had seemed weirdly affectionate. And she sure as hell didn’t tell him that while he worked late one night, Lucius appeared in her bedroom. Hermione was organizing her closet, giving her restless hands something useful to do, when the hackles rose on her neck.
“Miss me, Granger?” His words nearly gave her a heart attack.
“You’re not here,” Hermione whispered, closing her eyes. She prayed that when she opened them, Lucius would be gone.
“Nice try.” His voice, flat and cold, made Hermione’s stomach clench. She screwed her eyes shut, trying not to bolt when Lucius’ hands closed around her shoulders. “I am here.”
“Why?” Her throat was dry, her palms slick with nervous sweat.
“Because you fear it.” He pressed his mouth against her neck and Hermione could feel him smile. “And because, deep beneath the fear, you want it.”
Hermione jerked away, her heart hammering in her chest. “I don’t--“ she stammered, turning to face him again. “I would never--“ Lucius advanced on her, hunting her the way a wolf hunts a rabbit.
Gently, tenderly, he laid a finger on Hermione’s lips. She shuddered, but he just smiled. “Yes, you did,” he corrected her. His eyes wrinkled with cold mirth as he gripped her chin firmly. “Your fear brought me back, but your desire gave me life.” Hermione flinched, but Lucius tightened his hold on her jaw. “I just came to express my... undying gratitude, if you’ll excuse the expression.”
“I hate you,” she spat, venom dripping from her words. Lucius just laughed.
“Of course you hate me. I’d be worried if you didn’t.” Lucius considered her face, gripped so tightly in his hands. “Have you considered that your hatred is what fueled your desire?” Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “I guess not.” Lucius grinned humorlessly. “Hatred,” he said slowly, as though she was still a schoolgirl, “and love are not so far apart as one might think. They’re strong emotions, both of them. They each require a considerable amount of energy and they both have the power to drive men--and women--“ he winked at her, “completely insane.”
“I don’t love you,” Hermione whispered, feeling her stomach churn. “I love Harry. I always have.”
“Ah yes, your ridiculous engagement. I thought Potter would go after the Weasley girl. One would think that the Boy Who Lived would have a sense of bloodlines, no matter how fouled those bloodlines may be.” Hermione glared at him. “Come now, don’t give me that face,” Lucius said, releasing her chin from his grip. “Did you really expect me to say anything different?”
Hermione massaged her jaw. The skin was tender; she knew finger-shaped bruises would emerge tomorrow--proof of Lucius’ manhandling. “I didn’t expect you to say anything. I killed you, after all.”
“Don't think I’ve forgotten,” Lucius replied dryly.
Lucius disappeared as fast as he had arrived. Hermione, released from his strange spell, stumbled to the bathroom and collapsed in front of the toilet. She vomited over and over until the despicable memory of his touch subsided. She curled up on the floor, sobbing and hoped her heart would not, in spite of everything, truly break.
Harry found her asleep on the cold tile floor. She stirred as he gathered her into his arms and carried her to their bed. “Harry,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Harry sounded amused. “You’ve been under a lot of stress.” Gently tucking her into bed, Harry kissed her, smoothed her hair and shut the door softly. Hermione bit her lip to keep from calling him back. Sorry for what? For everything. For becoming a killer, for letting Lucius get to her like that. But most of all she was sorry because Lucius was right--she wanted him. And she had no idea what to do.