No Looking Back
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Lucius/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
13,420
Reviews:
61
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Lucius/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
13,420
Reviews:
61
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I own no part of the Harry Potter universe, nor do I make any money from it.
9
I'd like to take a moment to thank all of you who have read my story and left a review! I've read every single one, and I love them all! Authors LOVE reviews! It gives me ideas of what you want to read! (Okay, like I don't know :D Honest, more lemons are on the way, lol) So, if you read and like my story, please be kind and leave a comment or two. Thanks! Dari
Written for the lovely and talented Dynonugget! Rawwrrrr!
“Now, tell me how I am to free Dobby’s older brother, Gobby.”
For the next hour, Hermione and I engage in delightful banter. Hermione flings facts and rehashes historical data while I offer my vast knowledge of elf history and welfare. The more I counter her arguments, the more animated she becomes. Soon, her hands are waving about while her voice takes on a stern, Head of House quality that is slightly arousing, much to my dismay.
Eventually she abandons her rhetoric regarding elf freedom in general and supplies the same information as Severus had earlier in the week. The notion of offering Gobbert clothing is repugnant, and I am loath to put both Gobbert and myself through the ordeal. The truth of the matter is that so much of an elf’s psyche is tied to his ownership that the elf oftentimes becomes depressed to the point of suicide should his owner offer clothes, for to offer freedom in the form of clothing breaks their deep-seated bond.
Gobbert must be able to leave the Manor, as much for his welfare as for my sanity, and as it is now, he cannot. While Dobby was bound to the family, his brother, being the eldest, is bound to his Master’s principle domicile.
As the only person or creature to have ever provided me comfort as a child, the thought of wounding Gobbert by thrusting freedom upon him is beyond the pale. For Hermione's part, she has not offered to 'help' me, and I am grateful. I must do this alone, and I must plan carefully, for while Gobbert is a proud elf, he is also sensitive. While I am neither soft nor emotional, I respect this elf. My elf.
"I am returning to the Manor," I announce. She looks wounded, but quickly composes herself and straightens her shoulders. I know she is recalling another time I had said those words to her. I want to reassure her, I'd like to be able to tell her that all will be well, but there is still much to work through, much to consider before I can make any changes in my life. One step at a time, I remind myself.
“And when I return, it will be with Gobby. I must search the Malfoy Archives; there are several large volumes dedicated to the house-elves, their genealogy and biographies. The spell to release the house-elf’s enslavement will be there.”
In the end, it was much easier than I'd anticipated. After Flooing to the Manor, I spent the remainder of the day researching Gobbert's family background and instances of the spell and the presentation of clothes. Mercifully, this only occurred twice in the last eight hundred years or so. It was Gobbert, in the end, who rescued me from my turmoil.
"So what you is saying, sir," begins Gobbert, "is you is wanting I to serve only you. And if I’s want to do that, I has a choice. I can either be freed and you hire me," at this, his face takes on a pinched look, his eyes squinting, mouth pursed and nostrils flaring as if smelling rancid meat, "or I is given the opportunity to offer Iself for enslavement to you. Is I right, sir?"
I nod, staring in wonder at this creature who is calm amidst what I can only imagine to be a horrible blow.
"I likes the second choice much better, sir. But I has a few requests, sir, if you don't mind." Gobbert is dignity personified at this moment, and I couldn't be prouder of him.
"Go right ahead, Gobbert," I respond formally. The elf relaxes, acknowledging that the negotiations have begun.
Over the next twenty minutes, I discover that Gobbert is an excellent negotiator. His demands are few, but firm. I am to immediately enslave him upon offering him a bow-tie, a vulgar clip-on, to be exact. It is the smallest piece of clothing he can imagine. To minimize the effects and lessen the pain of freedom, a simple slaving ceremony will take place. He will utter “Gobbert is yours to do your will,” to which I will respond, “You are mine to do as I will,” and then I will cast the Foveo Ligatio spell.
Gobbert’s second request is for Draco to inherit him upon my death, as well as any and all of Gobbert’s future offspring. And finally, the offer of freedom must never again be made to him or any of his descendants.
My conditions are absolute, as well. He is to never utter one ‘thank you,’ neither is he to offer one bow nor one quivering smile in regards to his new ownership status, whether he means it or not. To do so will result in unpleasant circumstances, including a month’s visit to Narcissa.
Narcissa is away visiting friends, making my time at the Manor almost enjoyable, and now, two days later, I am once again taking up residence in the penthouse, this time with Gobbert in tow. Gobby, for his part, is settling in very well, and I secretly suspect he is enjoying finding the more interesting spells and charms that have been cast upon his new home. Every few minutes he is popping in and out of my study either to offer a comment or suggestion as to what he sees are serious deficiencies in household protection and offering suggestions for more enjoyable living quarters. Laughing, I wave my hand, knowing he will interpret it as acquiescence for him to do as he wishes. I know exactly what he has in mind. And I wonder what Hermione would think.
As I retire for bed, I notice two journals on the bedside table. I have gone through the previous journals that covered the years after Voldemort: they offer surprisingly little beyond those rocky beginnings with Hermione. I wonder if perhaps I have kept separate journals after I became involved with the witch. Believing I had forgotten to lock these away with the others, I open the safe. There are the other journals I had placed there, which mean these are new. Gobbert. He must have either brought them with him from the Manor, or he found them here. Climbing into bed and tying my hair back, I open a journal and begin to read.
Two hours later, I set the book aside. Rage is once again boiling under my skin while jealousy spears my head and heart. She betrayed me. Hermione Granger betrayed me. And not with some stranger or some boy she knew from school. No, she betrayed me with someone I trust, someone whom I look upon as a brother. Severus Snape.
The killing blow is that I have no justification to be mad, no reason at all to be feeling jealous. Three months ago, I turned Hermione away. I had been grossly unfair to her, not willing to commit to her, not giving her a definite decision as to what I wanted. I knew that she was in danger. I knew that she deserved more than an affair, but my way of life was clinging to my robes, and I was having a hard time walking away, no matter how tempting and exciting this new world seemed to be with Hermione at my side.
My journal entry for that infamous weekend is choppy and barely legible at times, not at all the graceful scrawls that is my usual style. I began the entry by reassuring myself that I was correct in refusing Hermione’s offer. She was not the occasional witch whom I would fuck and then abandon. Apart from the occasional quick shag, I have never had an affair outside my marriage. That I was giving thought to leaving my wife was a revelation, but speaks of the depth of feeling I had, have I correct myself, for Hermione Granger.
Why then did she turn to Severus? She had left my arms and walked into his. No, I correct myself, she ran from my arms.
Smashing the tumbler of Scotch into the fire makes me feel only marginally better.
Tomorrow, I will pay a visit to Severus.
“What is your relationship with Hermione?” I sit down on the sofa in Severus’ study, declining the cup of tea that he handed me. Severus shrugs, setting it on the table. Sitting in his leather chair with a cup of tea in his hand, he sets his gaze upon me, as if to study me for a moment before answering.
“How are you holding up, Luc?” Severus asks, his concern evident.
“I’ve had one hell of a week, Severus, I can tell you that. I’ve been Obliviated, learned that I’m working with a Mu… a Muggleborn to conduct business with Muggles. Muggles, Severus! Can you imagine? Me? It is disgusting; yet, when I read my business journals, I learned I am actually enjoying it, like playing a new game on a new pitch. It is strange and has left me quite at odds with myself.
“I also learned the exciting tidbit of information that I’ve been contemplating a relationship with a Muggleborn and that I actually care for this witch, I care for Hermione. I’ll admit I’m attracted to her, and on some level, I know her. It is quite disconcerting to learn that the life you thought you lived wasn’t really a life, after all.
“And last night I learned that she ran from me straight into your arms. My best friend, my brother in all ways but blood, fucked the woman I wanted. Care to explain?” The rage is once again threatening to consume me, my fingers itch to feel my wand, to throw a curse, whether justified or not, would feel so satisfying.
Severus for his part merely sighs and leans forward so that his arms rest upon his knees. “We’ve been through his before, Luc. I did not ‘fuck’ Hermione. I will not deny that we each needed what the other was offering; but, she is not mine, and that is what I told you three months ago.”
“I want your Pensieve.” I want to see the memory; I need to know exactly what happened.
Severus stands and rounds his chair, his hands resting on its leather back, gripping it slightly for control. “What good would that do, Lucius? You’ve forgotten what you witnessed…”
I walked in on them? Fucking gods! What had been going on? The rage is boiling in my lungs, preventing me from breathing. My heart stops beating for the burning coursing through me. He would dare to talk me out of his memories? I begin breathing deeply, knowing he is still speaking, knowing I must pull my thoughts together and listen to him.
“… to me for an explanation, I gave it to you. Perhaps it is a gift that your memories were taken away. It is a chance to start over, start a new life. You finally found freedom, embrace it. Don’t look back at what you think you’re missing and lose sight of what is in front of you! Oh, I’m sure you can fill in the blanks of the past five years; you always were an excellent note taker, I cannot imagine you not having extensive files on your business dealings, and such.”
Severus does not sound like a man who has betrayed his friend, and yet, that is what he did.
“What did I walk in on, Severus?” I need to know; this fire in my chest is a raging inferno.
What Severus says makes sense, yet he is not the man who has lost five years of his life. I want that time back. I want the memories of Hermione back. I want to feel what she was, is, to me. My bond with the witch goes beyond attraction and trust. While I am indignant at the idea of needing anyone, I admit to myself that I need her. I cannot be in the same room with her and not desire to pull her into my arms, to tell her of my day, to describe to her all the ways in which I want to worship her body.
I want to give Hermione the world. I want to offer myself, my pure blood running through my veins, my desire to conquer all in my path. I want to give all this to her without reservation, but I need to put these ghosts to rest. I need to know what has happened so that I can walk away with no looking back.
“I want to know, Severus.”
Severus sat down once again. “Lucius, I want you to think. Subconsciously, you recognize her for what she is to you, even though the memories of her are gone. The feeling she is able to invoke is still there. I don’t feign understanding for you pushing her away as you did. But, Luc, Hermione and I did not make love, have sex, or fuck ourselves silly, although the last does sound appealing.”
“Severus,” I grind out, and he quickly clears his throat.
“I consoled and comforted her, and in the end, I reassured her that your feelings for her were true and genuine. You were caught between two worlds, and I asked her to give you some time to sort things out.
“She wanted someone who was free to want her. And truth be told, I needed what she was offering, as well.” Severus finishes, rubbing his face with his hands before running them through his hair.
“I want the Pensieve, Severus.” Like a well-placed Crucio, I know it will hurt, but I need to know the worst of it, how far it had gone, so I know exactly for what I am to forgive her.
Severus’ face reveals his exasperation and defeat. “Fine,” he says. Follow me.” We make our way to his lab and his Pensieve. Forcing my jaw and hands to relax, I straighten my shoulders and follow him.
A/N: As always, thank you Wildcatcdc and Sc010f, for your hard work and lovely suggestions. I appreciate both!
Written for the lovely and talented Dynonugget! Rawwrrrr!
“Now, tell me how I am to free Dobby’s older brother, Gobby.”
For the next hour, Hermione and I engage in delightful banter. Hermione flings facts and rehashes historical data while I offer my vast knowledge of elf history and welfare. The more I counter her arguments, the more animated she becomes. Soon, her hands are waving about while her voice takes on a stern, Head of House quality that is slightly arousing, much to my dismay.
Eventually she abandons her rhetoric regarding elf freedom in general and supplies the same information as Severus had earlier in the week. The notion of offering Gobbert clothing is repugnant, and I am loath to put both Gobbert and myself through the ordeal. The truth of the matter is that so much of an elf’s psyche is tied to his ownership that the elf oftentimes becomes depressed to the point of suicide should his owner offer clothes, for to offer freedom in the form of clothing breaks their deep-seated bond.
Gobbert must be able to leave the Manor, as much for his welfare as for my sanity, and as it is now, he cannot. While Dobby was bound to the family, his brother, being the eldest, is bound to his Master’s principle domicile.
As the only person or creature to have ever provided me comfort as a child, the thought of wounding Gobbert by thrusting freedom upon him is beyond the pale. For Hermione's part, she has not offered to 'help' me, and I am grateful. I must do this alone, and I must plan carefully, for while Gobbert is a proud elf, he is also sensitive. While I am neither soft nor emotional, I respect this elf. My elf.
"I am returning to the Manor," I announce. She looks wounded, but quickly composes herself and straightens her shoulders. I know she is recalling another time I had said those words to her. I want to reassure her, I'd like to be able to tell her that all will be well, but there is still much to work through, much to consider before I can make any changes in my life. One step at a time, I remind myself.
“And when I return, it will be with Gobby. I must search the Malfoy Archives; there are several large volumes dedicated to the house-elves, their genealogy and biographies. The spell to release the house-elf’s enslavement will be there.”
In the end, it was much easier than I'd anticipated. After Flooing to the Manor, I spent the remainder of the day researching Gobbert's family background and instances of the spell and the presentation of clothes. Mercifully, this only occurred twice in the last eight hundred years or so. It was Gobbert, in the end, who rescued me from my turmoil.
"So what you is saying, sir," begins Gobbert, "is you is wanting I to serve only you. And if I’s want to do that, I has a choice. I can either be freed and you hire me," at this, his face takes on a pinched look, his eyes squinting, mouth pursed and nostrils flaring as if smelling rancid meat, "or I is given the opportunity to offer Iself for enslavement to you. Is I right, sir?"
I nod, staring in wonder at this creature who is calm amidst what I can only imagine to be a horrible blow.
"I likes the second choice much better, sir. But I has a few requests, sir, if you don't mind." Gobbert is dignity personified at this moment, and I couldn't be prouder of him.
"Go right ahead, Gobbert," I respond formally. The elf relaxes, acknowledging that the negotiations have begun.
Over the next twenty minutes, I discover that Gobbert is an excellent negotiator. His demands are few, but firm. I am to immediately enslave him upon offering him a bow-tie, a vulgar clip-on, to be exact. It is the smallest piece of clothing he can imagine. To minimize the effects and lessen the pain of freedom, a simple slaving ceremony will take place. He will utter “Gobbert is yours to do your will,” to which I will respond, “You are mine to do as I will,” and then I will cast the Foveo Ligatio spell.
Gobbert’s second request is for Draco to inherit him upon my death, as well as any and all of Gobbert’s future offspring. And finally, the offer of freedom must never again be made to him or any of his descendants.
My conditions are absolute, as well. He is to never utter one ‘thank you,’ neither is he to offer one bow nor one quivering smile in regards to his new ownership status, whether he means it or not. To do so will result in unpleasant circumstances, including a month’s visit to Narcissa.
Narcissa is away visiting friends, making my time at the Manor almost enjoyable, and now, two days later, I am once again taking up residence in the penthouse, this time with Gobbert in tow. Gobby, for his part, is settling in very well, and I secretly suspect he is enjoying finding the more interesting spells and charms that have been cast upon his new home. Every few minutes he is popping in and out of my study either to offer a comment or suggestion as to what he sees are serious deficiencies in household protection and offering suggestions for more enjoyable living quarters. Laughing, I wave my hand, knowing he will interpret it as acquiescence for him to do as he wishes. I know exactly what he has in mind. And I wonder what Hermione would think.
As I retire for bed, I notice two journals on the bedside table. I have gone through the previous journals that covered the years after Voldemort: they offer surprisingly little beyond those rocky beginnings with Hermione. I wonder if perhaps I have kept separate journals after I became involved with the witch. Believing I had forgotten to lock these away with the others, I open the safe. There are the other journals I had placed there, which mean these are new. Gobbert. He must have either brought them with him from the Manor, or he found them here. Climbing into bed and tying my hair back, I open a journal and begin to read.
Two hours later, I set the book aside. Rage is once again boiling under my skin while jealousy spears my head and heart. She betrayed me. Hermione Granger betrayed me. And not with some stranger or some boy she knew from school. No, she betrayed me with someone I trust, someone whom I look upon as a brother. Severus Snape.
The killing blow is that I have no justification to be mad, no reason at all to be feeling jealous. Three months ago, I turned Hermione away. I had been grossly unfair to her, not willing to commit to her, not giving her a definite decision as to what I wanted. I knew that she was in danger. I knew that she deserved more than an affair, but my way of life was clinging to my robes, and I was having a hard time walking away, no matter how tempting and exciting this new world seemed to be with Hermione at my side.
My journal entry for that infamous weekend is choppy and barely legible at times, not at all the graceful scrawls that is my usual style. I began the entry by reassuring myself that I was correct in refusing Hermione’s offer. She was not the occasional witch whom I would fuck and then abandon. Apart from the occasional quick shag, I have never had an affair outside my marriage. That I was giving thought to leaving my wife was a revelation, but speaks of the depth of feeling I had, have I correct myself, for Hermione Granger.
Why then did she turn to Severus? She had left my arms and walked into his. No, I correct myself, she ran from my arms.
Smashing the tumbler of Scotch into the fire makes me feel only marginally better.
Tomorrow, I will pay a visit to Severus.
“What is your relationship with Hermione?” I sit down on the sofa in Severus’ study, declining the cup of tea that he handed me. Severus shrugs, setting it on the table. Sitting in his leather chair with a cup of tea in his hand, he sets his gaze upon me, as if to study me for a moment before answering.
“How are you holding up, Luc?” Severus asks, his concern evident.
“I’ve had one hell of a week, Severus, I can tell you that. I’ve been Obliviated, learned that I’m working with a Mu… a Muggleborn to conduct business with Muggles. Muggles, Severus! Can you imagine? Me? It is disgusting; yet, when I read my business journals, I learned I am actually enjoying it, like playing a new game on a new pitch. It is strange and has left me quite at odds with myself.
“I also learned the exciting tidbit of information that I’ve been contemplating a relationship with a Muggleborn and that I actually care for this witch, I care for Hermione. I’ll admit I’m attracted to her, and on some level, I know her. It is quite disconcerting to learn that the life you thought you lived wasn’t really a life, after all.
“And last night I learned that she ran from me straight into your arms. My best friend, my brother in all ways but blood, fucked the woman I wanted. Care to explain?” The rage is once again threatening to consume me, my fingers itch to feel my wand, to throw a curse, whether justified or not, would feel so satisfying.
Severus for his part merely sighs and leans forward so that his arms rest upon his knees. “We’ve been through his before, Luc. I did not ‘fuck’ Hermione. I will not deny that we each needed what the other was offering; but, she is not mine, and that is what I told you three months ago.”
“I want your Pensieve.” I want to see the memory; I need to know exactly what happened.
Severus stands and rounds his chair, his hands resting on its leather back, gripping it slightly for control. “What good would that do, Lucius? You’ve forgotten what you witnessed…”
I walked in on them? Fucking gods! What had been going on? The rage is boiling in my lungs, preventing me from breathing. My heart stops beating for the burning coursing through me. He would dare to talk me out of his memories? I begin breathing deeply, knowing he is still speaking, knowing I must pull my thoughts together and listen to him.
“… to me for an explanation, I gave it to you. Perhaps it is a gift that your memories were taken away. It is a chance to start over, start a new life. You finally found freedom, embrace it. Don’t look back at what you think you’re missing and lose sight of what is in front of you! Oh, I’m sure you can fill in the blanks of the past five years; you always were an excellent note taker, I cannot imagine you not having extensive files on your business dealings, and such.”
Severus does not sound like a man who has betrayed his friend, and yet, that is what he did.
“What did I walk in on, Severus?” I need to know; this fire in my chest is a raging inferno.
What Severus says makes sense, yet he is not the man who has lost five years of his life. I want that time back. I want the memories of Hermione back. I want to feel what she was, is, to me. My bond with the witch goes beyond attraction and trust. While I am indignant at the idea of needing anyone, I admit to myself that I need her. I cannot be in the same room with her and not desire to pull her into my arms, to tell her of my day, to describe to her all the ways in which I want to worship her body.
I want to give Hermione the world. I want to offer myself, my pure blood running through my veins, my desire to conquer all in my path. I want to give all this to her without reservation, but I need to put these ghosts to rest. I need to know what has happened so that I can walk away with no looking back.
“I want to know, Severus.”
Severus sat down once again. “Lucius, I want you to think. Subconsciously, you recognize her for what she is to you, even though the memories of her are gone. The feeling she is able to invoke is still there. I don’t feign understanding for you pushing her away as you did. But, Luc, Hermione and I did not make love, have sex, or fuck ourselves silly, although the last does sound appealing.”
“Severus,” I grind out, and he quickly clears his throat.
“I consoled and comforted her, and in the end, I reassured her that your feelings for her were true and genuine. You were caught between two worlds, and I asked her to give you some time to sort things out.
“She wanted someone who was free to want her. And truth be told, I needed what she was offering, as well.” Severus finishes, rubbing his face with his hands before running them through his hair.
“I want the Pensieve, Severus.” Like a well-placed Crucio, I know it will hurt, but I need to know the worst of it, how far it had gone, so I know exactly for what I am to forgive her.
Severus’ face reveals his exasperation and defeat. “Fine,” he says. Follow me.” We make our way to his lab and his Pensieve. Forcing my jaw and hands to relax, I straighten my shoulders and follow him.
A/N: As always, thank you Wildcatcdc and Sc010f, for your hard work and lovely suggestions. I appreciate both!