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It was dark, small pin pricks of frost trailed across the knuckles of her right hand as it sprawled gently toward the barely cracked window. She swore she'd closed it properly, yet the hinge creaked with the force of wind, pushing open another centimeter. The same gust forced more flakes of ice and snow to scatter across her bed, mostly catching on her favored side.
The other side lay empty, as it always had. When she moved into this apartment, with its large bedroom, she had purchased her first bed with room for two. She was a habitual creature, always sleeping on the same side, easier to reach the tall stack of books that accumulated on the nightstand nearby.
Hermione had stacked the wood in the small freestanding fireplace too high as she cuddled up with a book in the evening. She had needed to open the window to let in the winter breeze while it burned to a more reasonable level.
The lock on the window had always been trouble, requiring a surprising amount of force to close, and she was still in the habit of latching it the muggle way. Not this time though, she lazily withdrew her wand from beneath her pillow, and cast a wordless charm toward the window to shut and latch it.
Nothing happened.
She sat up on her elbows. "Colloportus," she said, waving her wand again. Still, the window remained open.
Her heart jumped up its speed, and she was on her feet, illuminating the room, casting a detection charm, and checking her wards.
"Hermione, its me." The voice was cool, strained, and masculine.
She spun wildly to point her wand at the overstuffed chair that squeezed in the corner between her closet and the wall.
"Lucius, what's happened, why are you here?" Her heart steadied, though was still tight in her chest. She eyed the way his hand clutched his side, and how the hollows soaked up shadows beneath his eyes.
She rushed to his side before he replied, kneeling and waving a medical detection charm at him.
"The same problems as ever, for a former death eater."
She looked up and caught his firm stare, as she started to pry his hand away from his hidden injury.
"They either hate me because I was a deatheater, or because I am no longer." She nodded her reply, waving her wand over the shallow stab wound in his side, causing the separated flesh to press back together, not truly healing him, merely magic acting a surgical glue. He whispered a groan.
"The ministry should at least permit you a few simple healing charms." She huffed, scooting towards a bureau to snag some dittany.
"Why would a man need a healing spell if he isn't getting into any trouble?"
They'd had this argument before, and were merely walking the same conversational path, without nearly the same ire or fire, as they had previously.
It confounded her that he would side with the Ministry on this one, given the regularity with which these attacks happened. He, meanwhile, was astonished that she, as a ministry employee herself, couldn't accept the futility of expecting the ministry to evolve with any rapidity.
She unbuttoned his shirt so it hung open alongside his robes, not bothering to ask permission with the familiarity she had as his de facto nurse. She gently applied the dittany to the edges of magically sealed wound, as he let out a long intentional breath.
"Why didn't you wake me?" she asked, calming into the task.
"It didn't seem urgent and you must have needed the sleep, considering I did not enter quietly."
She nearly rolled her eyes, yes just bleed out in the corner so I can catch up on sleep.
"I've slept over at the Burrow so many times, I can sleep through anything."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't take the bait. She could tell he knew Hermione was provoking him on purpose. He was oddly sedate tonight.
"Why were you unable to close your window?" He almost sounded worried for her.
She looked him solidly in those silver eyes once more.
"My wards would never let me unknowingly lock myself in with a predator." Thats how she designed them, in an era of dark woods filled with carnivores and snatchers.
She watched as his eyebrows shot up, his brows furrowed, and then he smirked at her, eyes flicking down at her, still kneeling in front of him, finished with the dittany. The length her right pinky was still resting along his hipbone as to brace and balance her careful work.
Surprise, admiration, satisfaction. He was impressed with her wards, and also found some confidence in himself that they would consider him a threat, considering how hamstrung his magic power had been.
She started to pull away and he caught her wrist, forcing her hand flat against the healthy skin of his hip.
"Lucius." she warned.
"A predator," he growled. She placed the jar of dittany that was occupying her free hand on the ground. He tried to pull her closer to him, his right hand gripping at her loose sleep shirt. Maybe in threat, or perhaps something else.
He was always like this after she healed him, like he didn't know how to handle being treated so softly, or how to give softness in return.
"Yes, Lucius, and also a friend." She waved a hand at the window, it closed and locked.
His body slumped away some tension, his posture still refined, and his grip loosened. She slipped her hand away, moving her arms to wrap around his shoulders in a relaxed hug. He didn't return it, he never did, but his posture eased further and he released a long breath, his forehead leaning lightly to rest on her shoulder, barely touching.
She got up slowly, breaking the contact.
"I can't take you home now, its the middle of the night, but if you promise to be nice you can use half my bed."
His eyes flashed.
"You know I no longer make promises I'm not sure I can keep."
She turned down the empty side of her bed for him.
"I suppose I'll trust you anyway."
She pretended not to see the way her words made him shudder, his eyes clenched shut.
She tucked herself back into her side of the bed, and waved the lights off.
Rolling onto her side and closing her eyes she said, "Good night, Lucius."
A few beats passed before he said "Good night, Hermione."
A minute later she heard him rustle off his robe, pad quietly to his side of the bed, and slip in cautiously. He remained a respectful distance. Still, a thrill went through her, and her breathing shallowed. Progress with him was so slow, but maybe he truly could soften.
She tried to listen for his breathing to even out, to hear if he fell asleep, but the bed was large, the room was cozy, and her weary mind fell to rest in mere minutes.
Truthfully, he had fallen asleep before she had, resting easily without potions for the first time in decades.